Every year on Father's Day, I'm reminded of how grateful I am for my family. I'm also reminded of what helps me to remain grateful: that little oasis of tranquility just down the basement stairs — my home office.

I love my office. I also need it.

I try to get my wife to take advantage of the office. I tell her she can use it whenever she likes, but she never takes me up on it.

It's very simple. If I can't get my work done, I go crazy. I can't get any work done without an office. Therefore, in order to remain sane, I need an office.

Mobile threat

I tried not having one about six years ago when it was just my wife, my son, and me in a little ranch we rented one block over. I had my desk set up in the corner of the living room. I had two computer displays, which, kind of I guess, created a little barrier or faux-wall separating myself from the couch and the television on the other side of the room. It worked, barely, but it was better than nothing.

Then, our firstborn starting walking. And talking.

Fortunately, we moved around the same time. The first thing I did in the new house was to make an office.

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Notes from underground

The new house is small too, with the same layout as the old one: three bedrooms and one bath on one floor. But the new house also has a basement that is about 50% finished. On the east end of this basement, there is a separate room, complete with its own bathroom and a solid door you can actually close.

The floor had been painted red probably 25 years ago. When we moved in, it was chipping and ugly. The walls were covered with equally old wallpaper that ended halfway to the ceiling. People did that in the '80s and '90s a lot. I remember because my mom did it with one of our walls when we were growing up. The bathroom was just as bad. Same red paint, same flowery wallpaper, same '80s horror vibe. But the walls were drywall, and there was a ceiling too — drop in the bathroom, drywall in the main room.

As soon as we finished moving the last box into our new place, I got to work rehabilitating the '80s horror show downstairs.

I ripped the wallpaper down over the course of a few days. I repaired the holes with putty. I painted the walls and ceiling bright white and the floor dark gray. I hung a big mirror in the bathroom, bought a shower curtain, and set two imitation stained glass pieces of plastic film over the small windows. These fake stained glass inlays are pretty cheeseball and not ideal, but it’s better than looking at the weeds through the window up near the ceiling.

I laid a big rug down in the main room and smaller ornate ones around on the still-exposed concrete. I installed a dimmer on the light switch, replaced the old door knobs with new ones, moved in my desk, tables, bookshelves, lamps with warm bulbs, stereo and speakers, microphones, cameras, and everything else that I use for work.

Hole for one

That was six years ago, and since then, I have spent too many hours to count down in my little subterranean sanctuary. Every year, I make it a little nicer. I hang some more photos, organize a little better, buy some more lamps, and try to keep my desk cleaner.

My most recent improvement came in the form of some Oasis lamps, which are advertised as providing warm ambient light. I’ve got four in my office set on “candle mode,” and I can confirm the light is both ambient and warm. It feels nice and light in here despite it being in the corner of a cold basement.

I try to get my wife to take advantage of the office. I tell her she can use it whenever she likes, but she never takes me up on it. I don’t think she likes the basement that much. I understand. The rest of it is kind of a hellhole. The kids play down there a lot, and more often than not, I find myself stumbling over toys and puzzles on my way to my hallowed little haunt of soft lighting and soft music.

A quiet place

We’ve got a small house and three homeschooled kids who use their imaginations instead of iPads. It’s a chaotic environment to say the least. I hear the yells outside the bathroom window, which is near the deck, and I hear the running across the floor of the living room from my desk directly below.

I think what gets to us as parents is the slow grinding down of our patience over the course of the day. It’s also that our stuff is always going missing or something is always being broken. It’s the constant questions and it’s the feeling like we have no space to ourselves anymore.

This is why dads have notoriously taken so long in the restroom and probably why moms take so long when they go to the grocery store by themselves. They are just trying to get some peace and quiet.

That is why I need an office. And while my workspace in the basement isn’t much, it has come a long way since 2020, and it’s more than enough. It’s a little peace and quiet.