Can’t Focus Until I’m Comfortable: The Ritual of Pre-Work Nesting

There are people who can sit down, crack their knuckles, and just start working. They open their laptop and immediately dive in as if the world around them does not exist. I am not one of those people. My brain refuses to operate unless I have first constructed an environment so cozy, so unnecessarily specific, that it could easily be mistaken for a ritual. Before I can get a single word out, I must nest.

Nesting is not just fluffing a pillow or adjusting a blanket. It is a whole ordeal. My chair has to be adjusted, not just once, but three or four times, until my hips feel like they are aligned with the stars. The lighting must be soft enough to avoid migraines, yet bright enough to trick my brain into believing productivity is possible. The beverage situation must be addressed too. Not just water. No, I require the holy trinity: water, coffee, and something carbonated, all within arm’s reach. And heaven help me if one of those is missing, because the entire system collapses.

The desk must be cleared, but not too cleared. I need my planner visible, my favorite pen uncapped, and my notebook angled just slightly to the left. Too much clutter and my brain screams at me. Too little and I feel like I am stranded in a sterile office cubicle, waiting for someone to scold me about quarterly reports. There is a sweet spot of organized chaos, and I will not be able to work until I find it.

Then there are the creature comforts. Slippers on if my feet are cold, only socks if I am overheating. A blanket at the ready for when my body inevitably decides to betray me with a random temperature swing. Over-ear headphones snugly in place, even if I am not listening to anything, because silence feels wrong but so does raw noise. The headphones give me just enough padding from the outside world so that I can trick myself into thinking it is only me and the work.

At this point, you might think I am finally ready. But no, not quite. The emotional environment also has to be right. I will light a candle or spray something vaguely herbal into the air, like I am exorcising the demons of procrastination. I will make sure the ferrets are accounted for, or at least barricaded out of reach of wires and toes. If my brain senses even the possibility of distraction, it will latch onto it and refuse to let me focus.

It is ridiculous when you spell it out like this. I know that. I can feel the absurdity every time I go through the motions. But here is the truth: it works. My brain will not start until it feels safe, comfortable, and contained. It is not efficiency. It is survival. Pre-work nesting is how I calm the storm enough to find a window of clarity.

Of course, the dark side of this ritual is obvious. Sometimes, the nesting becomes the work. I will spend an hour rearranging pens or folding blankets just right, convincing myself that I am “preparing” when really I am stalling. There is a thin line between creating comfort and indulging distraction, and I trip over it constantly. But even on those days, when I have burned all my energy just on setup, I still end up with a space that feels like mine. A space that whispers, “You can try again tomorrow.”

So yes, I might be extra. I might treat my workspace like a shrine that requires constant tending. I might spend more time curating my comfort than actually writing. But when it works, it really works. My brain slips into gear, the words come, and for a little while, I forget that I had to fight myself to get here.

It is not glamorous. It is not efficient. But it is my ritual. And sometimes, that ritual is the only thing standing between me and another day of avoidance. If I have to build a nest just to focus, then fine. Let me gather my pens, my drinks, my blankets, and my candles. Because when I finally sit down in that carefully constructed cocoon, I am not just comfortable. I am capable.