People often speak of routine in terms of monotony. Routine is boring. The daily grind. It’s too predictable. There’s no spontaneity. I am a creature of routine.
Every morning I do the same things. I get up, have coffee, read the news. I check the DVR for shows that I might have missed because I go to bed at the same time every night. I know exactly where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing at almost any time of day. I like the control. Having a routine gives me the ability to live my life on my terms. I authorize any and all changes to my standard operating procedure. Except when I don’t.
Funny how routine just sort of happens. I didn’t make a conscious effort to plan out exactly what my days were going to be like. Routine is what happens when we are trying to figure out what to do with our daily lives. We slip into patterns of behavior that feel comfortable to us, and they become our norm without our realizing it. We don’t start to notice until we feel that we’ve been living the same day over and over again. But if that day is by all measures a good day, why do we feel like we’re doing something wrong? Where did the stigma come from?
Control. I hate to be out of it. Life takes so much of it away that I sometimes feel remiss in not reclaiming it when and where I can, even if it’s just deciding when to have coffee or read the news or catch up on old television shows.