My work building is currently undergoing a major renovation process. At first all I noticed was that they shut off the fountain outside. I mourned its loss. I liked that fountain. My friend and I would take our lunch there sometimes, happy to get some fresh air outside the office. Or when I needed a break I would take my laptop there and sit as far on the edge as our wifi connection would let me. In the last week of the year, they closed off the side entrance to our parking structure. We groaned, annoyed at how it made our route five minutes longer. Then the jack hammering started. Walls scraped bare, flooring removed, stairs blocked off. Entering our building became an obstacle course, trying to see which doors were open today, which elevators were in order — all to get to the first room on the second floor. We are working in a skeleton of a once pretty and functional building. Funnily enough, aside from the fountain construction happening in the back, the building looks fine from the outside. They coated it with fresh paint a few months back.
Here’s the thing though. Before this all began, they showed us what it would like look at this time next year. Blew up large prints of their plans and showcased them in the lobby. A beautiful workplace with new modernized spaces that will give us more places to work outside and inside and meet other people in our building. Plants and sunlight everywhere. So, as close as we are to witnessing and dealing this deconstruction daily, we make our way around it. Make conversation with people I’ve never met in the elevator I never before had to take. Collectively complain about the shaking building (jackhammers, man) and take more walking meetings and work from the coffee shop across the block for a few hours when the drilling gets too much. After all, this is temporary. There is something better coming. The prints are gone but we still remember. This is what it will take for that to become the new reality.
And these realizations make all the difference.
