When I decided to become a full-time journalist back in the mid-90s, nobody would hire me.

I applied for staff jobs, but got not a single nibble.

So as a hail-mary pass, I decided to become a freelance magazine writer. It was a genteel way of saying “I’ll employ myself, since nobody elseseems to want to.” We do what we must.

Hey, in the long run, it all worked out! I’m still a magazine writer today. It was a very long slog to sustainability (a tale for another time), but the upshot is, I’ve spent 24 years being self-employed.

Which means I’ve spent nearly a quarter century as a work-from-home “remote” person.

My past now looks like a lot of people’s futures. The pandemic has brought on a ton of remote work that shows no signs of going away. In May 2020, fully 69% of all US employees were working remotely at least part of the time, a number that by the fall of 2021 was still 45%. Recent polls show that a good chunk of workers want to stay that way …

I’m fascinated to watch this transition unfold. For years, when I told people I toiled at my kitchen table, a small number thought it sounded cool — but the majority were mildly horrified. “I’d never get anything done if I worked there,” they’d say. “What’s it like?”

If you’ve been working remotely for the last two years, you’ve probably already drawn some conclusions from your own experiences. Maybe you’ve loved it; maybe you’ve hated it.

But as someone who’s got two-plus decades of this under his belt, let me share some of the long-term effects that remote work can have on a person — the good and the bad.

Specifically:

No commute = 5,292 less hours in traffic

The amount of time I’ve saved by not commuting is truly astounding.

An average one-way commute to work is 27.6 minutes. That means I’ve avoided 4.5 hours of commuting each week — or 5,292 hours over the last 24 years. (Or: 220 full days!)

Many folks who’ve gone remote in the pandemic find that losing the commute is the #1 thing they love. You sleep more, have more time for exercise, hobbies, family, or just dorking around. Your carbon footprint goes down, as does your blood pressure: No more sitting in gridlock or waiting on the Heisenbergian uncertainty of public transit.

On the other hand …

No commute = missing the positive parts of that daily ritual

The thing is, commutes have their positive aspects. They offer a quiet moment of privacy away from both workmates or housemates. Research shows people often use it to catch up on reading or listen to podcasts; it might be the only time of day when you’re not incessantly interrupted, making your commute a weird and mobile oasis of peace.

Also, when we go to work we often need to settle into a slightly different personality, our “work selves”. Having an interstitial space lets you transition from one role to another, like an actor changing in the green room. All told, this is why surveys find anywhere from one-third to one-half of workers enjoy their commute and wouldn’t want to permanently give it up.

I may have gained the benefits of not commuting, but I’ve missed out on the upsides too. Personally, I like my tradeoff, but YMMV.

A very blurred line between work and home

After doing remote work since Bill Clinton was in his first term, lemme tell you—it has really blurred the line between home and work. I often work late into the evening (I’m a hard-core night owl), and frequently part of the weekend too.

If you’re the type of person who wants work to shut down at a predictable hour, I have to say: It hasn’t been my experience at all.

That said …

The flexibility is life-changing

I’ve never had a boss staring at me from the across the office, and thus have never felt the need to theatrically perform “I’m working, I’m working”. So I’ve been able to figure out what my actual work rhythms are, and to respect them. (Those night-owl hours? I’m knocking it outta the park at 11:30 pm, often. Then I take it very slow in the morning.)

I know a woman in publishing who was startled to discover, after heading home in the pandemic, that her job could be accomplished in perhaps two solid hours of work a day. Only two hours. And it’s not like she’s slacking; she’s killing it, nailing all quotas and sales figures and more. What she’s realized, really, is that her former office life was filled with hours of busy-ness that had no relationship to actually doing work. She was forced to be there from 9 to 5, so she’d do something, even if there was nothing actually necessary to do.

Now that she’s no longer in the panopticon she no longer needs to keep up the pretense. She can just work when work is needed, and chill when it isn’t.

It’s been the same for me.

Working from home also gave me far more flexibility to be with my family every day. Being there when my kids got home from school was terrific; the same goes for being able to run errands or clean up during the day, or to look after a family member when they got sick.

After 24 years at home, sure, work bled into life. But the converse was true: I could shove work aside when family was the priority, so long as I got my job done.

Casual day, every day

Not needing a work wardrobe has been thrilling for many in the pandemic. Sales figures for pants and belts plunged. We’re all business from the waist up, but anywhere below is a permanent Casual Friday. You don’t Zoom your legs. It’s been the same for me for 24 years; nobody has cared what I wear.

Now, ironically this freedom has meant less to me — because I really enjoy dressing up! Atypically for a guy, I have uselessly large collection of ties, suits and sport coats, and I love to wear them. I would have had a blast primping and preening before heading into the office. Oh well.

It’s hard out there for an extrovert

I’m an extrovert! Which sometimes makes me wonder: Why in hell did I pick a career where I sit in a room by myself all day long? Winner.

Granted, I do get to interview people and go on reporting trips, which is deeply social. But often I’m simply not around anyone.

To cope with the isolation I’ve had to make sure I get my butt out of my chair as often as possible and into the world — seeing friends in the evening, going for drinks, doing long bike rides; I formed a band, started playing gigs and recording albums. Those connections to the outside world have been crucial.

Another thing that’s helped is that in the last 8 years or so, my wife also worked from home frequently — probably half the time. We’re both chatterboxes, and both writers, so it has really helped out. Interestingly, we often work in separate rooms while keeping up a long rolling conversation via chat, a sort of high tech Pyramus and Thisbe.

Haunting the cafes

The other way I’ve coped with isolation is to haunt the cafes. I’ll work in coffee joints, restaurants, and even have my laptop open in the back table of a dingy dive bar while the locals get soused. Working in public gives me a nice contact-high from humanity, and because I don’t work with the people around me, their conversation doesn’t distract. In fact, the constant murmur helps keep me focused, like the gentle roaring of a human sea.

Missing out on office culture

I sometimes feel sad that I’ve missed out on office culture.

Not the bad part of office culture: The aggro managers, the Elizabethan court intrigue, the meetings so pointless they feel like surrealist art.

I mean the good part — being part of a team, having other people to bounce ideas off and learn from, face to face. Plenty of research has documented the creative ferment that comes from casual encounters in offices. I’ve missed out on all of those, which sucks.

Possibly the bad of “office culture” outweighs the good; I have friends who find their offices exquisitely miserable. But I still wish I’d had a taste of it.