I have been a professor at McMaster for nine years now, since 2001. I’ve always really enjoyed my work – discussing ideas with students and working on research problems until I find a resolution. Working late at the office has become a habit for me, and I have endeavoured to make my office a pleasant place – it has three modern squarish wrinkly paper lanterns: a tall one that rests on the ground and then two tiny ones, on my working table beside my desk and on the filing cabinet. There’s also an old Persian-style rug that came from IKEA, a black padded desk chair, two black guest chairs and a black poang leather recliner and footstool. It’s really quite comfortable and cozy. So much so that sometimes I put a blanket over myself and read quietly, use my MacBook, or even take a quick nap. On nights such as these, I feel profoundly the gently serene soft glow of my incandescent paper lanterns splashed against the deep mustard yellow of my walls. I feel the coziness of my wall of brown bookshelves, filled with the writers and thinkers whose lives and minds I have dived into over the years. My books are my friends, and while walking the empty halls and deserted college common to buy a coffee, I am often struck by the thought that I read to know that I am not alone. It is in these calm moments, with the fading din of the day students’ enthusiastic voices still echoing in the halls that I realise just how much I love this place. I realise the happiness it brings me to be here, in my office, thinking about ideas for research and planning my lectures for the following week. I feel calm and warm and safe and productive. I feel connected, and that’s beautiful.