There’s something odd about working remotely and running your own show, especially when it’s something you love doing. I wrapped up my client(s) work early – not because I was rushing or watching the clock, but because I’d hit that sweet spot where the to-do list was done and my brain decided it had had enough for the day. I closed the laptop, stretched, and looked out the window toward the lake. It hit me: this feels like I’m on vacation.
The funny thing is, I’m not. There’s no suitcase in the corner. I haven’t booked time off. My inbox will still be waiting for me tomorrow morning. But there’s a certain magic in the way this place, and this way of working, blurs the lines between “work mode” and “holiday mode.” I think it’s a combination of factors, and they all work together in a way that’s hard to replicate in a traditional job setting.
First, there’s the lake itself. Whether it’s shimmering in the late-morning sun or lying still under a blanket of haze, it has that same effect as a beach scene on an Instagram post – an immediate lowering of the shoulders. You can’t look at water and not feel a little lighter. Even on the most demanding days, I can take a quick break, gaze out, and feel like I’ve stepped outside of the grind.
Then there’s the pace of life here. I’ve mentioned it before, but I now live in cottage country, where the pace is much slower than in the city. Remote work has stripped away so many of the daily irritations that eat into mental bandwidth. There’s no commute, no idling at traffic lights, no parking lot shuffles. I don’t have to set aside half an hour to find my car buried under snow in the winter or weave through construction detours in the summer. That time goes back into my day, and it shows up as a calmer rhythm. Oh, yes, I’m busy; sometimes I work until 8 p.m., but it’s just different because the next day I may shut it down at 2 p.m., something I couldn’t do in a corporate office.
There’s also a different social tempo. I’m not dodging the office chatterbox or pretending to be busy while someone unloads the weekend’s drama. Here, “noise” is birdsong, a boat engine in the distance, or the slap of water against the shore.
Working in a place like this brings a sense of autonomy that’s impossible to overstate. When the day’s work is done, I’m not stuck in a cube, waiting for 5 p.m. to roll around. I can close the lid on the laptop and be outside in minutes. That shift from keyboard to shoreline is as immediate as walking from a hotel room to the beach on vacation.
The lack of a commute also changes the mental math. In the city, you finish work but still have that travel time before you’re “free.” Here, when I stop working, I’m already home. That extra time isn’t just more time – it’s better time. Time I can fill with something that recharges me instead of drains me.
The combination of the view, the pace, and the freedom creates something more powerful than all three on their own: a mindset shift. My brain doesn’t file “work” and “rest” into two rigid categories anymore. I can be productive and still feel relaxed, because my surroundings don’t scream hustle.
On vacation, part of the joy is that you’re somewhere designed for enjoyment; a place that invites you to slow down. Here, I get to work from such a place every day. It doesn’t mean the deadlines aren’t real or that the work doesn’t matter; it means the environment is working with me, rather than against me.
Of course, it’s not perfect. There are still foggy Mondays when the brain takes a little more coaxing to kick into gear. There are still moments of frustration, internet outages that sometimes occur in small towns, and the occasional burst of noise from the outside world. And when I do wrap up before the traditional end of the workday, having met all my deadlines, I sometimes feel anxious – as if I am somehow cheating and should be doing more, working until 5 p.m. But even on those days, the balance tips toward peace instead of pressure. And that’s probably why this feeling, this odd sense of being “away” while staying put, happens. It’s not that I’ve tricked myself into thinking I’m on vacation; it’s that I’ve built a routine and a location that give me the parts of vacation that matter most: the change of pace, the environment, the space to breathe.
I think this is the hidden perk of remote work that doesn’t get talked about as much. We hear about flexibility and cost savings, about avoiding commutes and having more time for family. But there’s also this quieter, subtler benefit: the ability to create a life where work doesn’t feel like a daily grind, and where the good parts of “time off” sneak into your everyday.
And on a beautiful day like this, with the lake just outside and the workday behind me, it’s easy to believe that maybe I’ve figured out a way to carry a little vacation with me all year long. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading outdoors for a nature walk – right outside my door.
John Berkovich Talks 