There’s a certain clarity that comes with remote work, especially for someone like me, a software developer who needs deep concentration and focus to get into the flow. The lack of commute, the comfort of home, and the ability to work undisturbed are all benefits that have helped me thrive. The “come back to the office” chorus, often led by those who prefer to have their teams in sight, doesn’t hold the same allure for me. Productivity speaks for itself; results are measurable. When the work is getting done, and getting done well, it’s easy to question whether office presence is truly necessary. In fact, I’m sure the productivity equation tilts heavily in favour of those quiet hours at home, uninterrupted.
Yet recently, I’ve started going into the office one day a week, just to see if maybe there’s a side to in-office work I’ve been missing. The shift has been... interesting, a mix of unexpected downsides and delightful surprises. True, my productivity dips on these office days. The environment can be distracting compared to my quiet home setup, and the pace doesn’t quite match that of a dedicated day in my study. But what I’ve found—and perhaps even rediscovered—is the joy of in-person connection.
Stepping out the door a little earlier, hopping on a bus, and taking a brisk walk to the office stirs a sense of nostalgia. There’s something refreshingly grounding about leaving the house with a purpose, joining the ebb and flow of people heading to work, and the slow hum of the city waking up. Once there, I get to see colleagues not as tiny, pixelated faces on a screen, but in full, 3D, real-life presence. Today, I even ran into a few people I hadn’t seen in ages, some of whom I’d never even met face-to-face until now. It was strange and wonderful, and yes, there’s a certain buzz, a dopamine kick that can’t be replicated over a video call.
I even enjoyed the mid-morning escape from the desk, ducking out for a sandwich and smoothie, a small ritual that felt indulgent, even celebratory. The office itself was nearly silent—ironic, given that most people are still working from home—but in the quiet, there was a soft reminder of why we all do this work together. As I left at four, with the familiar anticipation of a pub meet-up, I felt a balance I hadn’t in a while. Sitting with a pint at the end of the day, typing this post and waiting for a friend, I can feel that strange joy of shared space and human contact.
Maybe there’s no “best” way to work; perhaps it’s about embracing the mix. I’ll always love my quiet, productive days in the study, the freedom remote work offers, and the way it lets me dive deep without distraction. But these occasional office days add a welcome splash of colour, a reminder of community and connection. And maybe that’s the sweet spot: a life where flexibility reigns, where both the solitude and the soft buzz of connection can coexist, each enriching the other in its own quiet way.
Today, I feel grateful for both worlds and the freedom to choose. Life is good, balanced—and, right now, the world feels like it’s in a good place.