Thinking (about the) Inside (of the) Box

The weather here in southwest lower Michigan has been improbably wonderful this early fall. I found myself looking for excuses to leave my office to go outside so I could pace up and down the walk out front to feel the sun on my face while I made phone calls.

I love my office. But for not having a window or skylight it is perfect. My company is housed in a building that used to be an old Hudson dealership from the early 1920s. It has 30'  half-circle vaulted ceilings and is framed by riveted pig iron trusses that span the width of the wide open space in the middle which used to be the showroom and garage area.

My office itself is big with a big desk and lots of storage. There is room for a separate conference table for collaborative work. There are plenty of file drawers so I can stay organized. It has a high, high ceiling. It is right across from the kitchen, which is where we keep the food and the coffee, which are two of my all-time favorite things.

I have wireless bluetooth speakers on which plays music nearly 100% of the time I am in residence. Since my space is a little off the beaten path, I sometimes jam the music. Some songs require being jammed. It's state law.

The walls are painted a nice, soothing blue; my favorite color. There are pictures of the people and things I love interspersed throughout. Just to prove I am a worldly cosmopolite, there is a large black and white photo of Manhattan's Central Park, pictures of our travels to Europe and some of the more exciting places in our own land, and old-timey maps of famous Michigan locales.

It would not take long for someone to size me up by looking at my office. Or rather, it wouldn't take long to size my wife up. She's the one who put it all together for me. If left to my own devices, I would have no pictures, the walls would be swathed in an indifferent coat of "whatever" and I would be fine. This is because of my unending laziness and indifference.

My journey to a place where I finally had an office is Homeric in scope with many tales, some fraught with intrigue and missteps. Ok, that's not at all true. But c'mon, does it sound nearly as compelling to write that "my career track has been nonstandard and includes many unique circumstances"?

I began working in a corner work station in a conference room. All the managers were there. It was a fun, collaborative environment and we made the most of our times in the office together. We helped each other and formed relationships.

I like it, except that it was our only conference room, which meant that we got displaced when there was a meeting, or a client, or whatever. There was also never leaving anything on your desk, since the room was multipurpose. While I habitually keep a tidy desk, I cannot say there is NOTHING on it.

Then, the desks went away. We struggled, like so many companies in the Detroit area in the late aughts and there was no need for multiple desks - or managers. We went from five to two. I consider myself to be lucky to be one of those two. But among the many consequences of downsizing is there was precious little time to be at the office when you are fighting fires in the field.

I had no perch, nor mooring. My Mercury Grand Marquis was my mobile office. I was as a store bought P.I., with my vaguely cop-car looking, file folders on the front seat toppling, all night stakeout having self. In 2009, I logged 53,000 miles for work. A record for me.

When I left operations and went into sales and marketing, I began principally working from home, though I did work out of one office rather consistently in our St. Joe location when I just had to "go in" to work. Though over time, that office was usurped and used as file storage, so it was back to the conference room for me.

I fondly refer to working from home as the "golden times".  Even though at home, my desk was a girly sort of affair from Pier One in the guest room. It is a nice piece of furniture for occasional use, but as an everyday appliance, it left something to be desired. And there was that fact that whenever we had guests, I was displaced.

Sensing a pattern?

Meanwhile, Emily also worked from home. A few years hence, we bought her a desk that we built in the room like a ship in  a bottle. It is the size of an aircraft carrier. I was so jealous.

We have different organizational techniques, my wife and I. My dresser is littered with things that don't have a place, clothes yet to be put away and other detritus. It is a "transitional" space for me. Emily does not have such a compunction. My excuse is that I live out of a suitcase, so I am kind of in that mode, even when I am at home.

Her desk, unlike mine however, is a vast wasteland of piles. Piles in strata which can be aged by gauging the depth of yellowing of the papers and number of wrinkles of the magazines that form them. Piles on piles between piles next to piles.

And she had the space to do it  on her giant ersatz cherry wood desk, too big for the room or her needs while I limped along on Polly Prissy Pants' "My First Desk".

Emily stopped working from home when her job changed. As such, I had designs on assuming her former office. No need for two home offices taking up both guest rooms. And, frankly since my work was the engine of our family economy, I figured the good, big desk was my right.

It took six months to convince Em of that. And when we finally made the change, we did it grandly. Because nothing can ever be easy, we removed all the furniture, (yes, the desk too), stripped the walls, fixed the plaster, repainted, cleaned the carpet and re-engineered the layout to make it a more functional space, (and masculine), space.

It took a month to do and  I was in the office all of a month before, surprise, my job changed. Working from home would now be the exception rather than the rule. And concurrently with all this, Greg moved in for a spell and that dainty little lady desk is now in the basement along with the disused hideaway Singer sewing machine desk that's probably worth like a gajillion dollars, to make room for him.

So, my office, which used to be her office is now our office. Or, "the office" as we simply refer to it. I finally got a nice, brown, masculine room with manly knick-knacks, (like a Corvette shaped bourbon decanter, a globe and  a chess set), only to lose it, again.

I worked from home yesterday. After 45 minutes of shifting piles to carve out enough space for my broad shoulders and little laptop. Emily said, "did I make a mess of your desk?" to which I replied with a cockeyed grin, "It's our desk now."

But the blow is softened a bit as I finally have an office at my office. I got to chose it myself, like a big boy, and Emily and our friend Jenny, (also the wife of the company owner and my boss), graciously painted and decorated my new space. They even took into account my suggestions and wishes, which may be a first in human history. I lock it when I am not there. It belongs to no one else. If you look hard enough, you will find a globe and a bottle of bourbon for one of those "just in case" moments among the other, more sentimental accoutrements. I suppose there is even room for a chess set or 50. It really is a big office.

All this may seem like it should not be a big deal, but is to me. After all, aren't we all just looking for a place to call our own? A place that is home base for our thoughts and dreams and wishes? What if you have a lot of all of those, but no place to ruminate about them grandiosely?

It just never seemed right. But, that's all over now. At least for now. If history has taught me anything it's that I best not get too comfortable with the status quo. For in my life, the status quo is a lot like common sense... it's rare as fine gems and a nebulous as a dream in the middle of the night.