Multiple-choice reading

On the first morning of my “work from anywhere” experiment, I carried my laptop to a café near the sea and chose a table with a view. It felt like I’d discovered a secret loophole in adult life: I was still earning a salary, but I could hear waves instead of traffic. Around me, other remote workers were doing the same thing, each with a neat glass of iced coffee and a serious expression that suggested they were building the future. I opened my inbox, ready to enjoy the best of both worlds.

By lunchtime, reality had arrived in the form of unreliable Wi-Fi and a phone battery that seemed to drain at an alarming speed. I spent twenty minutes trying to join an online meeting while the café owner politely asked me to move because a family wanted my table. Later, when I finally found a quieter place, I realised I’d forgotten to bring my headphones. I could either listen to my colleagues discussing quarterly targets or listen to a street musician practising the same three chords repeatedly. I chose the musician and guessed the rest.

None of this surprised me as much as my own reaction. For years, I’d complained that commuting was a waste of time and that offices were full of unnecessary interruptions. Now, with the office removed, I was discovering a different kind of distraction: the constant need to make decisions. Where should I work today? How long can I stay without feeling guilty? Is it acceptable to buy only one drink and occupy a seat for three hours? In an office, these questions don’t exist because the rules are clear. Freedom, it turns out, requires effort.

Remote work is often presented as a perfect solution, especially in glossy social media posts. The photos show people typing calmly beside a mountain lake, as if spreadsheets naturally belong in nature. But most remote workers I’ve met aren’t chasing a fantasy; they’re trying to find a routine that allows them to do their job well without sacrificing their health or relationships. One designer I spoke to told me she moved out of the city not because she wanted an “adventure lifestyle”, but because she couldn’t afford rent and still save money. Another person, a customer service manager, said remote work let him care for his father, which he had been struggling to do while working full-time in an office.

Yet remote work also changes places in ways that aren’t always discussed. In the coastal town where I was staying, locals had mixed feelings. The bakery owner was delighted: remote workers bought lunch and returned for cakes in the afternoon. The bus driver was less enthusiastic, arguing that short-term residents pushed up prices while contributing little to local life. In the evenings, the streets filled with people who looked as if they had stepped out of the same catalogue: trainers, minimalist backpacks, and a slightly anxious expression when they couldn’t find oat milk.

I began to notice the small environmental contradictions too. Working from a café felt harmless, but I was ordering more takeaway drinks than I ever did at home, simply because it gave me permission to stay. Meanwhile, the apartment I’d rented had air conditioning that ran for hours because I was inside all day. Remote work can reduce commuting, which is good news for emissions, but it can also spread energy use across thousands of individual homes and temporary rentals. It’s not automatically greener; it depends on choices that people don’t always think about when they’re excited by a new lifestyle.

There was also the question of culture. One afternoon I joined a local book club, hoping to do something that wasn’t connected to my screen. The discussion was lively, but I felt like a guest who might disappear at any moment. When someone asked how long I was staying, I gave the vague answer that remote workers often give: “Not sure yet.” It sounded casual, but it also suggested I didn’t need to commit. I left with a friendly goodbye and an uncomfortable thought: perhaps the easiest way to feel like you belong somewhere is to be unable to leave whenever you want.

By the end of the month, I had stopped chasing the perfect working spot. I returned to basics: a desk, a reliable connection, and a daily routine that didn’t depend on the weather. I still walked by the sea, but not as a background scene for my job. It became something separate, a break that I actually noticed. I also started to understand why some companies are asking employees to come back to the office, at least part of the time. It isn’t only about control, as critics claim. For many people, shared spaces create shared habits, and shared habits can make work less tiring.

I’m not arguing that remote work was a mistake. It gave me time, it reduced stress, and it showed me how much of my old routine was based on habit rather than real need. But the month also taught me that “anywhere” is not the same as “everywhere”. Places have limits, communities have rhythms, and people have responsibilities even when they’re holding a laptop instead of a briefcase. The best version of remote work, I suspect, is the one that looks less impressive in photos and feels more honest in daily life.