We either have an infinite capacity for discontent, or we are a species who are hard-wired to crave contact with our own kind.
Recently an office opened in this city which is peopled by freelancers who used to work at home. I scratched my head in bewilderment too when I first heard this, because is that not really the whole point to being a freelancer, to be able to work at home in your underwear, untroubled by icy roads and congested highways? Why on earth would anyone who has the freedom to pop into the kitchen for a snack whenever they want or bring the laptop out to the back yard patio give all that up? Are they insane?
Many of the advantages to working from home are actually a double-edged sword. Sure it's easy to do a load of laundry while you are working, but it's hard to stop there sometimes. So you clean the sink and do some grocery shopping and go for a workout and see what looks good in the fridge and organize the linen closet. And the next thing you know, the sun is setting and that article has still not written itself.
And then of course, there is the little matter of human contact. When you start waiting for the letter carrier and when the cashier at Safeway is starting to feel like your closest friend, you know you need to get out more. And it's difficult to bounce ideas off the cat, regardless of how much she wants to help you type.
I can understand what drives some people to need a centralized place from which to freelance. Ultimately we crave routine, discipline, and human contact. But whenever I find myself disgusted by the fact that I am still in my housecoat at 9:30 in the morning or whenever I start pacing the house talking to myself just to hear a human voice, I simply turn on the traffic report and gloat over the fact that I am not on the Deerfoot. And I always feel better when I can gloat.