Caleb Fallin
A few weeks ago, my girlfriend and I were showing our family around our small mountain 'downtown' - which is really just a single road of brick buildings nearly as old as the Constitution. Propped between a narrow Art Deco theater - with its original ticket window beneath a curved, old-style marquee - and the typical mix of coffee shops and college bars, was a gleaming glass structure that seemed to float above its ground-floor windows, with a sign announcing 'Innovation Junction'. This modern coworking space felt wildly out of place in a population I thought only consisted of college professors and retirees.
I’ve spent the last year and a half working ten feet from my bedroom with the unwavering belief that remote work is the next chapter for modern companies. The thought of lukewarm coffee, and bullpen-style cubicles gave me nightmarish flashbacks to a previous life. But rather than retreating to the comfortable bubble of my home office, I stood there wondering what I might be missing by staying home.
The decision to start paying for an office space would’ve shocked my past self. I spent four miserable months in a cubicle on the sixteenth floor of a downtown office building. Two hours of my day disappeared inching through perpetual highway construction, I forced down the same dry chicken and rice for lunch every afternoon, and I spent more face time with my coworkers than my girlfriend.
But the worst part wasn't the routine - it was the hollow emptiness of my days. I'd sit at my desk hungry for meaningful work, counting down the minutes until I could leave at 5. When I got assignments, I threw myself into them - eager to prove my value. The realization that I was in the wrong place came when my boss told me I needed to slow down on my work since we billed by the hour. My life revolved around a system that valued billable hours over actual results.
During those four months, I spent every free moment hunting for an escape. I found it in a small remote-first startup. I walked away from a clear path of incremental promotions and corner office promises to work for companies that people ask “Who?” when they hear the name. But trading certainty for autonomy bought me my life back. My days expanded beyond the confines of a corporate schedule, and I gained the freedom to structure my day around my life instead of my job.
For the longest time, I had a simple explanation for my happiness: remote work saved me. I was convinced that offices themselves were the enemy, that the sterile fluorescent lights were slowly draining my brain of serotonin and the freezing temperatures were numbing both my fingers and my enthusiasm. I swore I'd never subject myself to that life again. Yet here I am, a year and a half later, voluntarily paying for a desk in an office space. So what was actually missing?
The freedom I gained from remote work has been so profound that I never thought to look past the surface. Initially, I reveled in the obvious benefits: work finally served my life rather than consuming it. But my attraction to a coworking space helped me realize that my unhappiness wasn't about the office - it was about being treated like a kid whose worth was counted in minutes, not results. What I found in my new company wasn't just flexibility - it was trust.
I’m not talking about some vague corporate value plastered on a wall, it's the everyday reality of my work: no one tracking my minutes, no empty hours at my desk, no rigid schedules. When a project needs extra hours, I put them in. When my work is done, I close my laptop without guilt. The difference in my productivity isn't just measurable; it's obvious. I'm doing more in focused bursts than I ever did in mandated 40-hour weeks.
The truth is, this was never about remote versus office work. Honestly, I’d love it if my company had a local office - I miss the spark that comes from collaborating in person. But the physical location was just a distraction from what mattered. When companies give their employees the autonomy to work in ways that fit their lives, they don't just get loyalty - they unleash the potential that micromanagement could never touch.
Caleb