Like many people (I think), I am a creature of habit. I like my routines, I probably need my routines. They are crutches that free up mental space for other things (or so I think). I can already feel myself making the counter-argument that they are simply a default setting, a way of not thinking, a way of sleepwalking through life. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I had to re-learn how to tie my shoes each morning, or had to think about what I want to do next every time I switched tasks. Yet, as I pay attention to my own cognition – I realize that, despite routines, I still put a fair amount of thought in to efficiency, how to do routine things, and a “what comes next” way of thinking. It’s like saying keys, wallet, cellphone before you leave the house. Fill the pot to the eight, coffee filter, four scoops, on button. For me, I think about the order of things. Coffee takes longer to make than waffles, so always start the coffee – I tell myself something along the lines of coffee first, feed the cat, step on scale, fork and knife, plate, syrup, butter, sugar in mug, turn on waffles….
Every.
Single.
Day.
I don’t just get up and do it, I actually think about it, repeat the steps. I structure lots of little blocks of time like this. And then I connect the blocks and build a day. At times, it’s so ingrained that a slight change and it might throw a whole bunch of other things off. All habits developed, I’m sure, as a way to cope with the world. Developed to ensure I got to school, and eventually work or the train, on time or to make sure my daughter got to school on time. This has it’s benefits. A multi-dish dinner requires planning in order to have all the food come out at the same time. Long-term project management requires thinking about the end product and outlining and sequencing the steps required to get there. There are, of course, other ways to live.
For me, the biggest dilemmas occur when I’m faced with competing interests or when my actions are dependent on other people or things like the weather. This may be the product of a deficit mentality, a fear of missing out approach. “Run early, gonna rain later.” Or “I have that thing after work tomorrow and won’t want to do laundry later, better do it tonight…..” How can I fit it ALL in. Already (it’s 7:30 am), and I’m thinking I might want to order a burger for dinner and go for a walk before I pick it up and yet still have enough time to sit on the balcony and have a beer. It’s 7:30am and I’m thinking about what comes next all the way through dinner…. when I could be in the now. This is precisely why I’ve taken up poetry again – to be more present, to shake myself loose, to hear a bird and smell the rain a few miles in the distance and not really care how it impacts anything else.
I’m good at being present, but it takes effort.
Even as I’m writing this, I’m about to get my second cup of coffee, and I’m thinking: but second cup is for reading on the porch time, and I really like reading on the porch… however, this morning, for one reason or another, I have a few ideas that I want to try to string together in this post about routine, and dating/relationships (I’ll get there), and work, and life… and if I try to go out and read, I know my mind will keep wandering back, and I’ll get through a few lines, or worse yet, my eyes will scan the words, but my mind will be somewhere different. Yes, that was a run-on to simulate the thought process. Being this way, is sometimes exhausting – even for me. I’ll write it again. There are, of course, other ways to live.
I’m pretty sure I get this methodical neurosis from my parents. I know my mom is a planner, and my dad is ridiculous, almost obsessive, about his routines. Just the other night he was telling me what newspapers he reads in the morning. I’m willing to bet that he reads them in the same order every day, with the same breakfast every day, followed by the same walk (or whatever) every day – just like he has one glass of wine every night and six glasses of water between the hours of five and when he goes to sleep – or something compulsive like that. When I find myself getting that programmatic, I sometimes try to shake it up – to push myself out of my habits. It’s usually with little things: put the left shoe on first, or take the computer over and sit on the sofa and write – or take it out on the porch…. If I pay attention to my cognition, I realize that there are very few moments when I’m not planning or thinking through things. It’s probably why I liked the week at the shore so much – all of that thinking and planning seemed to get turned off – a complete break from routine. This too, can be the beauty in relationships. They can shine a mirror on who we are and how we think. They can teach us new things.
Breakfast. It’s one of my favorite meals of the day. I’m not quite sure why, but I’m pretty established in my routines here too. I wonder if it has to do with the general entropy of the day. A knowing that there will always be curve balls and deviations. The best laid plans laid to waste by traffic or an unexpected phone call or the cat puking his guts out as I’m about to walk out the door. Start out with order, and let chaos descend from there. Exercise control over one small thing. Of course, an adventurous spirit might take the opposite approach; might wake up and say how do I want to start today – as though every morning could be something new. An even more free spirit might not think about it at all and just do what comes naturally. I’m hungry, I eat. I’m bored, I read. I’m anxious, I meditate. I’m tight, I stretch. I can see a beauty in those approaches, an appreciation for the small gift that is another day, the small gift that is the present moment… the opportunity to be a little more free from the constructs of yesterday and the day before that, and “the way things get done.”
I eat almost as soon as I get up. My brother does the same thing. If I had to guess, we’ve always done this. I tend to have the same thing every morning. Two waffles with butter and syrup and a cup of coffee. And as much as I enjoy breakfast, more often than not, I treat it as another thing to get done, to check off the list before moving on to other things to get done. On the weekends, I luxuriate a bit. I mix it up and will sometimes make pancakes and I usually add in bacon and eggs (to the breakfast, not the pancake mix). This is what I call my big boy breakfast – a little extra decadence on the weekend, a small celebration of the luxury of time.
My ex-wife and I didn’t really eat breakfast together – she wasn’t a fan of breakfast. My daughter, however, loved it when I made French toast for us. She and I often ate breakfast together. When my ex-fiancee, B, and I started spending time together, I learned that she couldn’t eat breakfast first thing in the morning. We actually argued about this once or twice. At first, being selfish and thinking everything was about me, I took it a little personally that she didn’t want to eat with me. Then she explained that she really enjoyed eating together but it upset her stomach to eat first thing. That’s the way couples should communicate. I adjusted and got in the habit of waiting a bit to eat. It wasn’t hard, and the end result, a nice breakfast together and conversation, was worth it. She also pointed out that I probably use too much butter and syrup on my waffles – feedback that I hear in the back of my head almost every morning as I continue to use too much butter and syrup on my waffles. I don’t know if mornings were “free” for B. She might have been just as routine as I was. But the difference in those routines, in how we moved was eye opening for me – transformative. And while I may have fallen back in to old patterns (two waffles, coffee, next), out of laziness or necessity (and there is nothing wrong with the patterns), I’m appreciative of the “learning” that takes place when you observe how someone else moves through the world, when you let who they are challenge you – because it feels like growth and not a threat to who you are and how you live. They show you that there are, of course, other ways to live.
Reflecting back on some of what I was writing about last night – the fear of starting over, the energy it takes, and why I think I’d be more comfortable and confident with the support of a partner… It seems tied to this notion of change and the relative safety we feel when securely attached to and challenged by another. It seems tied to this notion of individual self and couples self. How far apart are those two versions of the self? How inflexible or set in my ways is individual me? How dependent on another is couples me? Change is hard. Last night, I was trying to explore the fear associated with that type of changeā¦. there’s a flip side to it as well. I almost feel compelled to push myself in those directions, to step out on those ledges. I feel challenged to be the person I want to find – a little fearless and willing to push myself because I don’t have a partner pushing me or telling me they’ll catch me (or at least help me up) when and if I fall.
I write all of this as a reflection and a consideration, not a judgment. In order to be able to connect with other people, I believe it is helpful, if not imperative, to know who I am (a never-ending, and sometimes completely self-absorbed, process). Sometimes I think B fell in love with vacation me, weekend me, single me. As we became more of a couple, as schedules needed (in my mind) to be coordinated, planner me started showing up more and more. The me that calculated what time I needed to leave the office so I could avoid traffic so I could get a parking spot so I could pick up a few groceries so we could cook dinner together at x hour and then have time for a walk and wine on the front step which meant getting in to work at x hour so that I can leave on time, etc. etc. The intentions were pure. I wanted to create as much time and space for us as possible. Most days, it played out effortlessly.
That is not the life she wanted to live- an overly planned and structured life. I can understand that. What I don’t think she knew or saw (because I didn’t know it or see it) was that it wasn’t entirely how I wanted to live either. It was how I had lived. It was how I had learned to move through the world. The efficiency of routine, the autopilot of doing things because it’s how they’ve been done as opposed to feeling the moment and going with it. It wasn’t until I met her that I started to questioning why I move the way I do. Why I need to get to the concert early to find parking to get a beer and to our seats before I can enjoy myself (decades of going to Penn State games and showing up an hour, maybe two, before the start time – I know it’s ridiculous….) I sometimes marveled at how some mornings she did everything early and other mornings took longer walks with the dog and was on a later schedule – how free she was from that slave master the clock. While not intentional, it was unfair for me to rely on her to show me a different way to move in this world – it was unfair to put on her the burden of that teaching, that responsibility. There are, of course, other ways to live.
Tiny Acts of Rebellion
One of my more memorable non dates was when my friend Brooke and I went hiking. We went to Ricketts Glen – a crowded hike with over 20 waterfalls. It was a great day, fun drive, dive diner afterwards. One of the things that stuck out was that we were deciding where on the hike we would stop and snack. We got a spot on a high rock next to one of the waterfalls. Our legs dangled over the edge next to the water dropping below. Brooke pulled out two beers and said she had been waiting all day to surprise me with them. Old Matt, straight-laced and serious about his hikes, would have never even thought to bring beer along (old Matt knows it’s a violation of park rules). That small act was part of a larger breaking away from routine that I’ve been quietly undertaking these past few years. The last two summers that I went to the beach house, I started taking beer with me down to the beach. My family was a little shocked. I’ve tried to touch on this desire to let go and be a bit more free in other posts (most directly in “Not Dancing“). I am constantly at war between head and heart, feeling and thinking. While it’s not a zero sum, winner-take-all game, I am trying to throw off the yoke of routine. I’m trying to dial back on the responsible work-horse approach to life, and let my heart lead and soar with desire and fulfillment.
There’s a poet who goes by the name Atticus. He’s extremely popular – I suspect among teenage girls caught up in the sentimentality of tender-hearted love. I was still reeling from my fiancee leaving when I came across his work on my trip through North Carolina. The poems are both appealing and overly sentimental. They have an almost false wisdom about them. They’re short and pithy and obvious and maybe deep? They seem designed for Facebook and Instagram (I believe that’s how he got his fame) yet they read like an old haiku. “A good muse / gives you calm seas / in the morning / and storms / at night / to make you kiss the shore” or “She was just a broken doll / dreaming of a boy with glue” or “You and I / will be /lost and found / a thousand times / along this / cobbled / road of us.” I’m not sure if I like them or hate them. Yet, they have something in them with which we can all identify. Somewhere else on this blog I shared one of his poems – it spoke to the incredible burden we sometimes put on others – the expectation that they might help set us free. In what ways are we responsible for ourselves and each other? Are we all, as Ram Dass says, “walking each other home”? A good relationship seems to be one in which we are accepted for who we are and are encouraged through patience and understanding to become who we hope to be. Effective dependency (if we are present and open and curious) seems capable of turning threats to our status quo in to assets and turning differences in to complimentary parts – a constant growth through the acceptance and assimilation of another… always learning that there are, of course, other ways to live.