The Routine Palace

The truth is, I like routine. I do better when I do the same stuff at the same time every day. Like wake up at this time, breakfast at this time, exercise at this time, lunch at this time, dinner at this time, bed at this time. And writing or work or meditating or whatever at regular times too. I also like weekly routine, like meeting with this person on this day, doing that yoga on that day, hiking with those chicks at this time on that day. And then there are times when I want things to be extra fun, for whatever reason, it’s a holiday or Mike is going to be going out of town for a while, or some other special occasion, where I feel like my routine is getting in the way of untold other fun and I should just loosen up and be less rigid. But it almost never pans out the way I think it should or want it to.

My routine is my routine because it works for me. It’s not a prison, it’s my palace. And no one but me is thinking it’s too rigid or such a bummer for me to just need what I need and do what I do to take care of myself. No one but me when I get that itch to be more fun than I am, more spontaneous and adventurous than I am, more flexible, more able to stay awake past 8pm.

But I’m not that. That lack of acceptance is yet another volley from Evie the inner critic, telling me things are not okay, I’m not okay, when really if I just look at what’s up in my life, with the people I love, with myself relative to how I’ve historically been feeling, and think about it, it’s all intensely okay.

And okay is wonderful. Just normal, not trying to be special. For me, normal, just okay, day in, day out, is more wonderful than cymbals and parades and specialness every now and then. It's ordinary-special. It’s what I want and I’ve got it. I’m going to enjoy it. Today. Right now.