Like most folks, I spend as many hours at work as in bed. “At work” means mostly “at my desk.” And the view from my desk has gotten loads better.
Mind you, I didn’t get a better office. And, aesthetically, the view is crummy. The vista through one window is of a refrigerator-sized emergency power generator. Through the other, across a small courtyard, is a 15-foot concrete wall.
Today, though, we focus on my door. Let me explain.
I worked at home for months. But in August, needing physical and psychic release, I returned to my office.
I felt safe. Few other people were working on-site. I spent whole days without seeing anyone.
And, to ensure distancing, I shut my office door. I labored there for months, cocooned alone with that clamped door as my shield.
A week ago, I cracked the door ajar. Then a little more. And more. By week’s end, the door stood in full retreat.
The view? A hallway’s cinder-block wall.
But I see something better: the big-sky, golden prairie of my release from covid captivity.
