Terrible commutes. Expensive child care. Employees explain why they will keep working from home.
4 min
What’s still keeping American workers out of the office?
At a time when restaurants, planes and concert arenas are packed to the rafters, office buildings remain half full. Thinly populated cubicles and hallways are straining downtown economies and, bosses say, fragmenting corporate cultures as workers lose a sense of engagement.
Yet workers say high costs, caregiving duties, long commutes and days still scheduled full of Zooms are keeping them at home at least part of the time, along with a lingering sense that they’re able to do their jobs competently from anywhere. More than a dozen workers interviewed by The Wall Street Journal say they can’t envision returning to a five-day office routine, even if they’re missing career development or winding up on the company layoff list.
Managers say they will renew the push to get employees back into offices later this year. The share of companies planning to keep office attendance voluntary, rather than mandatory, is dropping, according to a survey released in May of more than 200 corporate real-estate executives conducted by property-services firm CBRE, one of the largest managers of U.S. office space.
A battle of wills could be ahead. The gap between what employees and bosses want remains wide, with bosses expecting in-person collaboration and workers loath to forgo flexibility, according to monthly surveys of worker sentiment maintained by Nicholas Bloom, a Stanford University economist who studies remote work.
One reason workers say they’re reluctant to return is money. Some who have lost remote-work privileges said they are spending hundreds, or in some cases thousands, of dollars each month on meals, commutes and child care.
One supercommuter who treks to her Manhattan job from her home in Philadelphia negotiated a two-day-a-week limit to her New York office time this year. Otherwise, she said she could easily spend $10,000 a year on Amtrak tickets if she commuted five days a week.
Christos Berger, a 25-year-old mortgage-loan assistant who lives outside Washington, D.C., estimates she spends $2,100 on child care and $450 on gas monthly now that she is working up to three days a week in the office.
Berger and her husband juggled parenting duties when they were fully remote. The cost of office life has her contemplating a big ask: clearance to work from home full time.
“Companies are pushing you to be available at night, be available on weekends,” she said, adding that she feels employers aren’t taking into account parents’ need for family time.
Rachel Cottam, a 31-year-old head of content for a tech company, works full time from her home near Salt Lake City, making the occasional out-of-town trip to headquarters. She used to be a high-school teacher, spending weekdays in the classroom. Back then, she and her husband spent $100 a week on child care and $70 a week on gas. Now they save that money. She even let her car insurance company know she no longer commutes and they knocked $5 a month off the bill.
Friends who have been recalled to offices tell Cottam about the added cost of coffee, lunch and beauty supplies. They also talk about the emotional cost they feel from losing work flexibility.
“For them, it feels like this great ‘future of work’ they’ve been gifted is suddenly ripped away,” she said.
If pandemic-era flexible schedules go away, a huge number of parents will drop out of the workforce, workers say.
When Meghan Skornia, a 36-year-old urban planner and married mother of an 18-month-old son, was looking for a new job last year, she weeded out job openings with strict in-office policies. Were she given such mandates, she said, she would consider becoming an independent consultant.
The firm in Portland, Ore., where Skornia now works requests one day a week in the office, but doesn’t dictate which day. The arrangement lets her spend time with her son and juggle her job duties, she said. “If I were in the office five days a week, I wouldn’t really ever see my son, except for weekends.”
For some, coming into the office means donning a mask to fit in.
Kenneth Thomas, 42, said he left his investment-firm job in the summer of 2021 when the company insisted that workers return to the office full time. Thomas, who describes himself as a 6-foot-2 Black man, said managing how he was perceived—not slipping into slang or inadvertently appearing threatening through body language—made the office workday exhausting. He said that other professionals of colour have told him they feel similarly isolated at work.
“When I was working from home, it freed up so much of my mental bandwidth,” he said. His current job, treasurer of a green-energy company, allows him to work remotely two or three days a week.
The longer the commute, the less likely workers are to return to offices.
Ryan Koch, a Berkeley, Calif., resident, went to his San Francisco office two days a week as required late last year, but then he let his attendance slide, because commuting to an office felt pointless. “I’m doing the same video calls that I can be doing at home,” he said.
Koch, who works in sales, said his nonattendance wasn’t noted so long as his numbers were good. When Koch and other colleagues were unable to meet sales quotas in recent weeks, they were laid off. Ignoring the in-office requirement probably didn’t help, he said, adding he hopes to land a new hybrid role where he goes in one or two days.
Jess Goodwin, a 36-year-old media-marketing professional, turned down an offer to go from freelance to full time earlier this year because the role required office time and no change in pay.
Goodwin said a manager “made it really clear that this is what they’re mandating right now and it could change in the future to ‘you have to be back in five days a week.’”
Goodwin, who lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., calculated that subway commutes to Midtown Manhattan would consume more than 150 hours annually, in addition to time spent getting ready for work.
Goodwin’s holding out for a better offer. She said she would consider a hybrid position if it came with a generous package and good commute, adding: “And I would also probably need something in my contract being like, ‘We’re not going to increase the number of days you have to come in.’”
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China is launching the first regular Arctic cargo route to Europe, offering faster journeys and lower fuel costs as melting ice and Red Sea risks reshape global shipping.
4 min
Shipping cargo through an Arctic shortcut never made economic sense—until now.
Climate change and war in the Middle East are flipping the math that previously kept ships plying longer routes from Asia to Europe. A Chinese company on Saturday is starting the first regular cargo service to Europe through Arctic waters, seeking to reap the benefits of quicker travel time and less fuel use.
The shipper Sea Legend will dispatch the Dubai Tower from Ningbo, China, to Felixstowe in the U.K. on what it calls the Arctic Express, following a route along Russia’s north coast. The voyage by the vessel, which is capable of carrying 1,740 20-foot containers, is the biggest commercial step in the Arctic since a Maersk containership first completed the route in 2018.
Global warming is a big factor behind the new route, but it is not the only one. Nearly half the Arctic region’s summer ice—an area four times the size of Texas—has melted over five decades, clearing a fairly reliable path in the summer months. Meanwhile, high oil prices and attacks by Houthi rebels in the Red Sea have made the traditional routes costlier and more dangerous.
Beyond that, Beijing has ambitions to play a role in the Arctic’s future, lending a geopolitical dimension to the Chinese company’s shipping route.
Last year Sea Legend completed a trial run from Asia to Europe in a record 20 days. That is roughly half the time of a voyage via Africa’s Cape of Good Hope that many carriers now take because of the Red Sea uncertainty.
Fuel accounts for 70% or more of the costs while at sea, said Alan Murphy, a former Maersk analyst who runs research firm Sea-Intelligence.
Saving fuel by shortening the journey doesn’t automatically make a route profitable. Insurance premiums for the Arctic are 40% higher than the Cape of Good Hope route, said Jonathan Steenberg, an economist at credit insurer Coface. Sea Legend’s Arctic vessels are relatively small. And even after warming, an icebreaker is still sometimes needed to help the cargo ship.
But if the ship can go without an icebreaker, Coface said the Arctic route is now cheaper than a Cape of Good Hope voyage in some circumstances. It estimated that at current oil prices of around $90, the cost of shipping liquid bulk such as liquefied natural gas could drop roughly 33% compared with the Cape of Good Hope route, while dry bulk goods such as cereals would cost about 8% less.
The route is only passable in the summer and fall. Sea Legend plans eight voyages between August and late October, before conditions get too icy.
“It’s not the Suez Canal but it’s a significant number for the Arctic. It shows there is potential,” said Malte Humpert, founder of the U.S.-based Arctic Institute and author of a book on Chinese shipping in the Arctic.
Even in summer, ships have to navigate around dangerous ice floes and deal with rapidly changing weather. By the end of the shipping season in October, the sky is dark most of the time.
A Russian tanker suffered serious damage to its hull while sailing along the Arctic route despite being assisted by an icebreaker, its insurer, AlfaStrakhovanie, said Thursday, adding that it paid out roughly $650,000.
Coface estimates 3.5% of trade among East Asia, Europe and North America will be able to use Arctic routes within the next five years, representing $64 billion in goods.
Last summer, a record 23 cargo ships transited the Northern Sea Route, which hugs Russia’s north coast. That is tiny compared with the Suez Canal, where more than 30 ships transited daily.
Western companies that want to follow in Sea Legend’s path have to navigate treacherous politics. Russia claims sovereignty over the entire Northern Sea Route and permits for ship traffic are issued by its state-controlled nuclear operator, Rosatom.
“Western companies are in a tricky position,” said Humpert of the Arctic Institute. “At what point do they jump back in the water? When does it become economically necessary, and how do you weigh that against environmental risks and the political dimension?”
An alternative Arctic route, the Northwest Passage that connects the Atlantic and Pacific oceans via the Canadian Arctic, is less passable because it is dominated by narrow waterways where ice gets bunched up. The highest number of cargo ships completing the passage in a year was 13, in 2023.
China has declared itself a near-Arctic state despite not having access to Arctic waters. It depends on Russia’s goodwill to use the Northern Sea Route.
“Beijing is concerned that if they don’t establish a significant strategic presence in the Arctic now, it’s going to be more difficult in the future,” said Marc Lanteigne, expert in polar geopolitics at the Arctic University of Norway in Tromsø. However, he said, “China needs to be careful not to give the impression that they are trying to challenge the strategic order in the Arctic.”
Sea Legend didn’t respond to requests for comment.
Any polar venture contributes to China’s quest to master Arctic travel. The country also has three icebreakers and a support vessel currently on a monthslong scientific expedition north of Greenland. Scientific and commercial voyages can yield data about natural resources awaiting below melting ice caps and information for positioning nuclear-armed submarines.
