“Di-lup Di-lup, Di-lup Di-lup”, my alarm clock cheerfully opines. I vehemently disagree, but it pays no heed.

With practiced if resigned movement, I slide out of bed, eyes still closed. 08:30 must be the latest anybody’s ever complained getting up at. Such a sleep hog.

No time to waste: a glass of water, a snack for the cat, kiss my love good day, and off I go. Oh, and wear something appropriate. For the office.

A short bike ride in the morning is great, basically. But I’m in a hurry - every misplaced dumpster and mistimed traffic light receives a shower of mental swears. I pass the same obstacles every day, thinking “maybe tomorrow I’ll have time to move them.” I never do.

I park my bicycle and run to catch the train. Did I mention I get up at 08:30? I could get up earlier, and maybe not run. Yes. I could.

But I won’t, because:

  1. I’m a sleep hog, and
  2. You and I are both grown-ups, and we know exactly what would happen. If I got up earlier I’d feel entitled to more chill time than I actually gave myself and end up running anyway. And if I get up a lot earlier - might as well catch the earlier train.

So I run.

40-ish minutes of letting the world slide by. Maybe it’s crowded and I just listen to music; or maybe not and I pull out my laptop, get acquainted with the latest OpenAI drama.

A brisk walk and I’m at the office. I celebrate another successful journey with customary rituals: the don’t-meet-eyes-at-the-elevator, awkward kitchen dances as morning routines clash, and the all-time favorite, make-smalltalk-but-don’t-get-too-involved.

If I’m lucky I left something half-finished to help ease myself into work, or Incubated(TM) to get some fresh ideas. Otherwise I have to pretend to work while procrastinating on finding something useful to do. I know it doesn’t really matter - in 5 minutes or an hour, someone will walk in, or something will come up, and I’ll find myself doing something else anyway.

An hour or two of flow, refreshing and productive. But then I need a break. Is it lunchtime yet? Not remotely. Another glass of water, then back to my desk. Now what?

There’s a lot of friction in the office. Small awkwardnesses that pile up, a ton of interruptions. Talking About Big Stuff With No Room For Nuance Cause Ain’t Nobody Got Time.

That’s when my Office Lethargy rears its head.

“You know what’s the next big thing, and you also know you don’t have it in you to start it today. Double dish of procrastination for you!”

“See that sun over the lovely view from this plush office tower? Your eyes will be its companion as it travels across the sky today.”

“Remember how you like to dance to blaring music in the living room? Yeah we don’t do that here. You have a desk, and a chair. You can stand if you wish.”

I tried to fight it at first. But it’s so much easier to give in to the lethargy, to embrace it.

I don’t have to be here. I’m a free spirit. Or just lazy and distracted. I don’t care. But I really don’t have to be here. Let me explain.

There was a startup. It sounded cool, innovative, impressive. Interviews, a take-home assignment. When they offered me a full-time job, I balked. I knew it was going there, but I’ve been freelancing from home since 2020, and my previous experience with the office and full-time employment was… mixed. Maybe it won’t be so bad? I still hesitate. “How about a trial period of three days a week, from the office, to test the waters?” “Sure!” What’s to think about? It’s the best offer I could get.

So I handed my resignation to one of my other projects, and, 30 days later, started coming to the office.

I was excited, and a little apprehensive. The first days were overwhelming - lots of interesting (and very nice) people, interesting tech, a deep stack. Plenty of good reasons to stay. But every day, at some point, the lethargy would inevitably kick in.

Like I said, I tried to fight it, at first. Go for a short walk, get a snack, talk to someone I haven’t met yet. But it’s not enough. There’s that claustrophobic buzz in my head, telling me I’m still in the office, confined to the walls and the rituals. So I submit, let it wash over me and sink in.

And over time, a realization sinks in, too:

This is not for me. Despite all the reasons to like it there, despite the graceful offer extended to me, my office lethargy makes it abundantly clear that all the beginnings I’m having are borrowed from somebody else’s story. All the tensions building up, Chekhov’s guns promising to fire - I don’t want to be there when they do. What a relief to allow myself to think that! I will not stay here. I almost cannot stay here.

Have I told them? No, not yet. But I will, any day now. Maybe next week.
For now, it’s me and my office lethargy.

And let me tell you, it’s a fascinating experience, being physically and mentally present but emotionally checked-out. I experience a lot of things differently, as an observer, letting them pass without looking for a reason to stress out over them.

Free from self-judgement, I can let go of judging others, too. And I feel I see them more accurately: not as antagonists, doing their best to foil my efforts; rather as earnest people, doing what they believe is best for themselves and the company.

A wave of compassion washes over me: how difficult it must be, dealing with all the tensions, juggling life and work, navigating decisions and anxieties. I wish there was another way.

Or maybe I’m projecting and patronizing, and they have a completely different experience? Someone steps by and starts smalltalk, and I snap back in.

I grind my teeth and push myself to be productive till the end of the day, for which I know I’ll pay a price. Lethargy never fails to collect.

Finally, the day is done. Say goodbye, pack up, and head towards home sweet home.

Trying hard to keep the words “rat race” out of my thoughts, I join the river of people, each heading to his or her own home sweet home. Many of them are hurried and impatient, heads buried in their phones. This time, at least, I don’t need to run.

A peculiar kind of mindfulness, which I attribute to the disengaging effect of the lethargy combined with the newfound liberation of finishing work for the day, allows me again to observe the people around me with curiosity and compassion. Hundreds of life lines brushing by, almost interwining but not quite. What are their stories? Did they have a good day? What kinds of homes are they coming back to? Then someone particularly impatient squeezes uncomfortably close and the compassion is gone, I just want to get home.

And then, at last, home. Here the lethargy has no power - it is easily chased away by my feisty cat and a dose of good music. “See you tomorrow, I guess,” it must have the last word.

Yes.

But not for long.

Any day, now.