For three years now I have had the pleasure of working from home in Canberra, doing communications and PR work for a small, Melbourne based company. That role finished in October, and since then, I have been looking for other work outside of the house because the time has come to broaden my horizons again. It was great while it lasted, and I really enjoyed the work and the people I worked with. And the flexibility it offered suited me and my family for that period of time.
But since that role finished, I have barely been into my home office, and it has gradually become the junk room. Beach towels, unfinished sewing projects, piles of books, reference articles, clothes to sort into piles of keepers and for the Salvos all populate the space … now it’s just somewhere that I used to work.
Even writing for this blog is done on a different computer in another room. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to be in there. I want to draw a line under it, close that door and jump through another window. Move forward. (That’s enough clichés for now.)
However, every time I walk past the room, I groan. It’s more than it being a junk room. Yes, it’s a tip, with piles of papers and books on the floor, and filing to be done. But I am starting to think that the new phase of work that I want to move into can’t really start until I deal with that room and its contents.
So, kids go back to school tomorrow and I will attempt to make a start, push through the psychological barrier. Something has to shift, and I am the only person who will move it.