In partnership with

They say working from home gives you freedom. I say it gives you a front-row seat to a daily matinee of animal-themed absurdity – and you’re always the understudy with no script.

Take today. It’s 9:04 a.m. My coffee’s still hot, my to-do list is ambitious, and the first Slack call is just getting underway when Dennis, my chameleon, decides now is the time to explore vertical real estate. I watch – half horrified, half impressed – as he descends from a curtain rod like a slow, scaly Spider-Man, directly into frame.

“Is that a…lizard?” someone asks.
“He’s a colleague, actually,” I reply.

Meanwhile, Roger (my dog, not an angry uncle – though temperamentally similar) is losing his mind over a squirrel daring to exist within a three-mile radius. Riley, his sweet, co-dependent sister, offers emotional support by barking slightly louder in the complete opposite direction. Visitor alert protocol is triggered by Amazon packages, leaves in the wind, and on one memorable occasion, my own reflection in the mirror.

And yet, I love it. Even the aquarium emergencies. Yes, plural. Turns out aquatic life is not passive décor, and sometimes your guppy takes a leap of faith mid-client call. Cue me mid-sentence: “That’s a great point – hang on, Dumbledore’s out again.” No one knows who Dumbledore is. They will by the end of the call.

Then there was the tornado. Actual one. Zoom meeting in full swing, and I had to calmly (read: frantically) excuse myself because a tornado touched down a mile away. As I hunkered in the bathtub with two dogs, one lizard, and zero dignity, I realized: this is what they meant by “flexible work.”

Flexible enough to host brainstorming sessions from a blanket fort.
Flexible enough to pause a presentation to prevent Dennis from eating a houseplant.
Flexible enough to run a business while moonlighting as Dr. Doolittle.

And weirdly? I wouldn’t trade it.

Remote work isn’t a polished LinkedIn post. It’s a living room with bad lighting and great stories. It’s finding confidence not in perfect conditions, but in your ability to lead a call while cradling a fishbowl. It’s unmuted dogs, unplanned chaos, and a whole lot of showing up anyway.

So if you're wondering whether you're “doing it right” – you are. The squirrel alerts, the lizard cameos, the weird line where home becomes headquarters? That’s not unprofessional. That’s life.

And you, dear reader, are crushing it. Chaos and all.