The Blessing and Curse of Remote Work
I did the math a couple of months ago. Forty-two minutes on the tram to get to work, plus a twelve-minute walk from home to the tram stop. Multiplied by two, that’s... Okay, I was lying. I didn't actually do the math. Let’s say it’s two hours.
Working from home instead of going to the office has given me two extra hours every day.
That’s two hours that I could use to do anything.
I could write, for example.
However, there is only one slight problem: I have nothing to write about.
My daily commute used to be an endless source of story ideas.
I used to spend the better part of those two hours observing the other passengers, eavesdropping on their conversations, imagining backstories for them.
I never got around to writing about any of those people, of course. I had a full-time job and spent two hours on my commute. Where would I find the time to write?
Now I have found the time but cannot find the stories.
I miss not being a writer.