When I switched to Runner’s World from my job at Rodale International, that meant a new desk in a new location, albeit right down the hall. My old desk was in an office, my very own office, with a door. My new desk is in a supercube. (Supercube [n.]: A giant cubicle with four desks in one walled-off space.)
I thought I’d lament the loss of privacy, but other than when I have to be on conference calls, it doesn’t really bother me. What does really bother me, however, is how far I am from windows.
Who needs a window when you have a drawing of a shark-dinosaur on the moon and a photo of a cat riding a keyboard through space, amirite?
My office didn’t have a window, but the ones across the hall did, so I could live vicariously through those people. I could see, through their doors and windows, whether it was light outside or dark, sunny or cloudy. Sometimes I could even tell whether it was raining.
My current supercube is in the very middle of the building. If I were to stand on tippy-toes and look over my cube wall, I could see the faint glow of distant windows, but that’s not something I’m wont to do.
I get to work in the morning, when the sun is out. I emerge at 5:30 or 6 p.m. to find total darkness. If I don’t exercise at lunch, my only exposure to natural light happens as I’m rushing to get to work. Recipe for seasonal affective disorder? I think so.
I’m fully intending to work out at lunch more often, but when I don’t, I need to make a point to at least get out into the fresh air for five or 10 minutes. A quick walk around the building should be enough to remind me that it’s not really dark outside all day long, it just seems that way in the supercube.
