What I’ve Learned About Silence from Working at Home

I’m a talker, I admit it.

Some people really like conversation and I’m one of them. Deep, meaningful discussions about life and the cosmos. Rancorous debate about politics and policy. Catching up on the latest news from friends and family. Trading opinions about books and movies, and what about that House of Cards season finale?

Since being laid off and embarking on my career as a consultant and writer, conversation is something I particularly miss about office life. When I commuted to work each day, conversations were had in the parking garage and the elevator with staff I might never have had the chance to get to know otherwise. Most mornings, I met up with the other early birds at the coffee machine or said a quick hello as I passed their desks, mug in hand.

Not that the office was a nonstop marathon of talk. I sometimes spent long stretches at my computer, so engrossed in a project that my light would turn off automatically, detecting no motion for a solid hour. Still, I knew I could get up whenever I wanted and just a few steps away, people would be gathering at the water cooler to recount the Oscars or discuss the elections.

Quick chats offered an easy way to alleviate the monotony, but were also highly useful. Research shows that this type of informal conversation can lead to stronger teams, more employee satisfaction, greater innovation, and higher productivity. Sharing personal bonds can strengthen professional bonds. Within limits, of course. No one needs to hear about your hot date.

Through these exchanges, I picked up intel on who was doing what across the organization. I also built relationships. I heard about my co-workers’ home improvement projects, their kids’ swim meets, their vacations in Cancun. Somewhere amidst the anecdotes, casual friendships sprang up. Trust was built. That was how the wheels of everyday business were greased. At some point down the road when these colleagues and I would work together on a funding proposal, project design, or major recruitment, cooperation came easily. Instead of being awkward strangers, we had a common foundation. A starting point for relating and a history of good will.

Now that I work at home, I don’t run into anyone in my kitchen — except the birds who have built their nest under the air conditioner. They have a lot to say but it’s not the same as brainstorming about new programs or comparing weekend plans. Without immediate access to a team of colleagues, I have to be more deliberate with my professional social life. Since I no longer stumble serendipitously upon co-workers, I call them now, over skype or by phone. I schedule coffee or lunch dates with people in town who share professional interests. It takes more effort, especially since so much talk has been replaced by text, but it satisfies the craving that we all have — to connect.

I’ve also discovered an entire cohort of professionals who work from home and substitute social time for what used to be long commutes or trips to the gym. We take afternoon walks through the neighborhood, enjoy brown bag lunches at each other’s homes, meet for drinks, or talk on the phone while we’re on our way to meetings. It breaks up the long stretches alone and even allows for the same networking I used to do by the vending machine. Now that I’m marketing myself and my skills as a free-lancer, extending and nurturing my contacts is essential to my success.

There are formal professional gatherings, too — receptions and briefings I used to feel too socially exhausted to attend when I was surrounded by people all day. And, occasionally, just for fun, I schedule a face-to-face meeting with someone I could just as easily consult by email. It may not seem “productive” to managers who are focused solely on deadlines and deliverables, but in the long run, making personal connections is shown to increase productivity. Social capital is every bit as important as financial capital.

At the same time, working from home has taught me to appreciate the role that silence and solitude play in creativity and concentration. For the first few weeks, I kept the radio tuned to NPR all day, not loud enough to register, just enough to provide background noise, something to absorb the soundlessness so I wouldn’t hear my keyboard clicking. The quiet was unnerving, reminding me that I was alone and unemployed, my time no longer in demand.

But, before long, the steady stream of talk became irritating. Rather than being informed, I was distracted. Now, I listen to podcasts or live programs when I can concentrate on them; I no longer need noise for the sake of it. Silence, I have realized, is something you can feel — and feel good about. That busy, productive silence I immerse myself in most mornings is like an energy wave that pushes and propels me. By contrast, the peaceful silence I feel at night when my kids are sleeping restfully in their beds and I decide to tap out a few more words on the laptop is like a soft blanket wrapped around me. And the amiable silence I experience when I’m reading or writing with a close friend at my side can waft over me like an ocean breeze.

Perhaps I had previously felt such an aversion to silence because I had experienced so much of the painful kind. Not only the stillness that replaced the daily buzz of my office, but the reverberating echo of slamming doors, the cavernous quiet of an empty house, and the sad slump of realizing you have nothing to say to someone you love. That silence is suffocating.

Eventually, all humans adapt and I am no different. We learn to live comfortably in our empty nests, our single lives, and our home offices. We find ways to work and fill the silence with companions of our own choosing — whether birds, radio hosts, or lunch dates. Maybe all of the above. It demands discipline to work from home and still be social without losing productivity. It requires balance. And sometimes it requires bravery to confront your silences.

I’ve learned that I can do all these things. I can be alone, and I can chat up a room. I can talk and I can listen, and I can sit in silence and enjoy the serenity.

Turns out, I don’t really miss the office all that much. Working from home is just fine for me.