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I came back on my own terms: for real connections, fewer hours, and with zero patience for corporate politics.
It started subtly. First, a few companies politely asked employees to come in just one day a week. For remote workers like me, it seemed harmless. Sure, one day a week is fine, we thought. I can get out of my pajamas and actually see my work-folk.
Then, it became a mandatory two days a week—you know, "just for a few meetings," to break up the Zoom fatigue, grab a morning coffee, or catch a happy hour. Soon after, things got weird. We couldn’t just be on Zooms anymore; we had to have our cameras turned on.
Eventually, later than most, the official RTO (Return to Office) email landed in my inbox: Effective next week, we are back in person.
But here’s the twist: I didn’t actually wait for a corporate mandate. I gave myself the ultimatum. It was time to go back to the office every day.
The Hidden Cost of Being Remote
As a consultant, I have the luxury of coming and going as I please. I can run my entire day via Zoom, Slack, and email threads. Technically, working from home was fine.
But over the last two years, I noticed a shift. The corporate culture had reverted to an in-office culture. The real action was happening at the water cooler: Monday morning catch-ups, group lunch orders, and the informal trading of gossip about who was being hired and who was being let go.
The reality of remote work: Informally, you have no idea what’s actually happening at a company unless you are physically there. Even dropping in just for scheduled meetings doesn't cut it. We all know it.
So, I committed. I got a desk. I set up a nameplate with the company logo, brought in a cactus, and put up a family photo.
The payoff was immediate. In my very first week, two colleagues walked past my desk and stopped: “Oh, there you are! I’ve been meaning to set up a meeting with you. What do you think about…”
Just like that, I landed two high-value meetings that never would have happened if I were sitting at home.
Dealing with the "Kens and Karens"
By week two, however, having a dedicated desk brought back some harsh reminders of why working from home was so liberating. Remote work makes it incredibly easy to dodge microaggressions and office politics.
Once you're back in the bullpen, you have to deal with the cultural tax:
The Micro-Managers: "Ken" flat-out asks what value my consultancy brings to the company, acting as if he personally signs my checks.
The Interrupters: "Karen" corners me to ask if I can afford to contribute to an office birthday party (as if a consultant can't spare $5).
The Obligatory Capitalist Rituals: Actually having to go to said party in the conference room to eat stale cake.
On Zoom, wishing someone a happy birthday takes 30 seconds, and then everyone goes back to work. In person, these interactions become a minefield of people questioning your skillset or trying to figure out how much money you make.
Setting Boundaries and Reclaiming Time
To survive the transition, I simply set my boundaries and focused on the upside.
The work-from-home era was a beautiful, necessary moment. It was a much-needed reset from a 20-year office grind that had begun to feel exactly like the movie Office Space. We stayed home, and we enjoyed it.
But for me, it was time to go back. I needed the structure and the clear boundary that comes with physical office hours. Ironically, I actually work fewer hours now.
Why? Because I do one thing I never did while working from home: I leave at 5:00 PM on the dot.
During the pandemic, the lines blurred. We were home, but we worked constantly. Those mid-day naps and snacks left us with a subconscious guilt, making us feel like we owed the company more of our time. We didn't. Now, I enforce a strict separation of church and state; I do not bring work home with me.
While some tech giants are forcing a rigid, five-day office week, my company is keeping Fridays off. Let’s not get ridiculous—I’ll take a three-day weekend forever. But Monday through Thursday? You can find me at my desk.