For the past three-ish months, I’ve been working from a tiny desk that’s a mere 36 inches from a much cushier couch, 111 inches from the fridge, and smack dab in the middle of my girlfriend’s favorite meandering route through our apartment.

Despite a lengthy track record of avoiding desks of all varieties, I’ve been clinging to this hunk of wood like it’s the door from Titanic, trying to summon a smidge of stability amid the choppy waters of the pandemic.

I’m still not sure I’ve entirely succeeded at “being a person who actually works at a desk productively,” but I’ve definitely improved a lot. Here are some pointers!

How’s your posture? Don’t make yourself sit up straight. Take a seat, get to work, and see where your body gravitates. 

Are you hunched over your laptop, struggling to stay in frame during Zoom meetings? Consider purchasing a stand that raises your computer to eye-level. It’ll save your neck and shoulders, and video calls will feel way more comfortable.  

Are you perched on the edge of your chair, not even touching the back rest? Ergonomic office chairs are pricey, but lumbar support pillows that can attach to whatever seat you already have are pretty affordable.

Keep tweaking your set-up until good posture isn’t something you’re striving for, but rather a natural byproduct of the space.

Why do you keep getting up? For me, it’s reheating coffee. I sip beverages slowly and I get distracted easily, but I’m determined to finish them, so I’ll ping pong between my desk and the microwave, getting less focused with each trip. And then I got a coffee warmer. Maybe it’s silly, but it cost less than $10, and it drastically reduced how often I’d interrupt my workflow. 

Are you leaving to grab tissues? Put a box on your desk. Are you leaving to throw away those tissues? Put a trash can within free throw range. Are your feet cold? Get some fluffy slippers or a tiny heater. Tight skin or dry lips? Keep self-care essentials, like chapstick and moisturizer, within reach. By now, you get the idea.

Everyone is different, so pay attention to what’s routinely luring you away and see if there’s a way you can eliminate that pull.  

How long has that pile been there? Often, I’ll put things on my desk with the idea that I’ll find a better spot for them at some point. Other times, I’ll set things there to attempt to make myself do something (read, edit, sort, etc.) with them. 

In both cases, there’s an underlying belief that if I put a thing in my way, I will deal with the thing. This is a lie. In reality, the thing will just sit there and take up space and frustrate me while I’m working on higher priority items. 

If you’re also telling yourself that lie, do yourself a favor and find a different layover location for your unfinished projects. Sometimes, “out of sight, out of mind” is a good thing. 

When you zone out, what are you staring at? Honestly, the best part of my desk is its proximity to a window with a view of the nearest streetcorner and every dog that pauses there mid-walk, waiting to cross the road. 

I recognize that not everyone is quite this blessed, but if you can spruce up your usual P.O.V. with something cheerful or grounding, it’ll help you build a positive association with your workspace.

In lieu of a parade of dogs, I’d recommend flowers, trinkets from loved-ones, thought-provoking artwork, or really anything that moves you toward appreciating your senses. 

Are you putting yourself in the best light? I *hate* fluorescent light, and traditional desk lamps remind me of the interrogation scenes in every crime drama ever. I usually get plenty of natural light from the aforementioned window near my desk, but I also keep candles, string lights, and this LED neon rainbow wall light on hand.

Even if you’re unbothered by bright lighting, consider playing around with alternative light sources and seeing if it affects your headspace. I’ve found that I prefer different lighting for different types of work: daylight for routine tasks, just ambient lights for creative writing, a mixture of the two for job applications. 

At first, my white-knuckle grip on my desk was reflexive, an instinctual attempt to anchor myself in uncertain waters. But as I curated the space to suit my rhythms and needs, it became far more than an arbitrary handhold, a buoy that allowed me to float.