Remote work has transformed my relationship not just to my job, but to my body itself. The office used to incorporate movement without effort: the walk to the bus stop, the hurried climb up stairs, the casual stroll to a colleague’s desk all forming an unspoken exercise routine. Now, I can spend ten straight hours glued to a laptop within a ten-foot radius, forgetting that the human form isn’t built to fold around glowing screens forever.

Time’s Blurred Boundaries 
Time feels different, too. Offices sliced the day into structured segments: coffee breaks at ten, lunch at one, meetings that signaled the slow approach of evening. Those rituals gave the hours a reliable framework. At home, the day often melts into a seamless blur. I catch myself sending emails at midnight or eating lunch well past two, as if my internal clock has lost the anchors it once depended on.

Nostalgia for the Irritations
Strangely, I even miss the minor frustrations of the morning traffic, the elevator waits, the stiff dress shoes. They served as markers of transition, reminders that I was shifting between worlds: worker, commuter, friend, family member. Now, all those roles collapse into the same chair, the same desk, the same persistent screen.

Embracing the Freedoms 
Yet, remote work has unlocked unexpected freedoms. I can craft my own rhythms, slip in a midday walk, or stretch while a file uploads. My office is wherever I choose to open my laptop. The trade-off lies in retraining the body inventing fresh rituals to replace the vanished ones.

A Broader Lesson 
Perhaps this is the true insight of remote work: the office was never solely about tasks. It was a scaffold that organized our bodies and time, shaping days that now spill and stretch unpredictably. As the world redefines the “workplace,” I’m still guiding my body to rediscover itself without the office as its constant cue.