Fellow artists, fellow work-from-home-ers, fellow introverts, fellow misanthropic lovers and anxiety addicts, I’ve learned an important, vital lesson today:
You really, really need to get the heck out of the house. On a regular basis. Preferably every time you need to work.
Ok, ok, so you’ll say things like
“Well, waitaminute, that’s a bit overly general, I quite like my home office, I do quite well in it and get regular socialization and am still well rounded and well adjusted.”
Right, which is why in this particular blog post, I’m not addressing you. Good for you. Well done. I’m genuinely jealous of your well adjusted-ness in this facet of life.
I’m talking to the folks who, given their druthers, they’d’ruther not. They’d rather (ruther) hide, work from their couch, talking to the dogs, and inserting home chores between emails, if not for the specific and overt effort they need to make in life to not ostrich themselves for no real reason whatsoever other than the fact that their anxiety has a whole host of ‘might be’s’ that it won’t shut up about.
I write this from my new co-working space which my friend lovingly, firmly, bluntly told me I should check out because holy crap you’re talking to the walls and they’re talking back, and you won’t really get much of anywhere unless you actually talk to people. This seems unfair to me, but apparently reality doesn’t care about that and that’s just how it is. And as I signed up, and sat down, I watched the next couple of hours host more productivity than the last 5 months have, and I was reminded exactly how dangerous it is to listen to the nervous, paranoid, exhausted little devils un anxious types have mumbling on our shoulders all the time.
So thank you, Caitlyn. You were so right. And ya’ll, really, ignore the shoulder squatter, do the thing. And then keep doing the things. You’ll feel so much better (probably).