It’s Saturday morning, and blessedly quiet in the house. The incessant rain makes me too lazy to even hoist an umbrella and run out to collect the papers off the driveway, so this is feeling like a more meditative post. ( meditative is a great word substitute for lazy, wouldn’t you say?)
We’re all creatures of habit to some extent, and we like a certain amount of consistency in our lives. Not so much that we fall into a rut, but just enough so we don’t have to over-think our daily choices and can use our finite pool of energy on the things we consider important. I think that’s why I’m fascinated by other people’s routines. Every Sunday The New York Times profiles a person’s Sunday routine in the Metropolitan section and I just eat that up. One week it’s the lead ballerina for the NYC ballet and the next week it’s Jonathan Schwartz from WNYC, but it could also be the doorman from the Dakota and I’m just as enthralled to hear where he gets his bagels or that he always buys flowers from the same stand near the bakery where he visits his mom in Astoria. When I worked in NYC I would think about following one of my fellow commuters to the final destination of their commute just to observe their routine: where their office was/ where they got their coffee/ did they take the bus or the subway? I never actually did this, but I find the morning rush to work just a fascinating human activity based on routine. All of us scrubbed and shiny, thinking about our day ahead and the array of possibilities unfurling before us. You know, anything can happen in that golden hour before you are chained to your desk working for The Man.
So I start the week with a full head of steam on Monday thinking about work and all those lofty objectives on my “to- do list” and by Thursday my mental wrapping is beginning to come loose (and I’m running out of appropriate work attire) as that blank check known as the weekend is waiting to be cashed. Most of the folks around me are feeling the same way, and I like the “Yabba Dabba Doo” sense of community we have as 5PM approaches. And there is just more stuff to do than I can fit into any one weekend! I like this crazy rhythm to my weeks, even when I’m falling into bed exhausted on a Sunday night. (or a Friday night if the week has been particularly grueling ~ after Joan Rivers’ Fashion Police, of course.) And when I wake up on Saturday morning with nothing on the calendar (other than an appliance delivery in the late afternoon, but that’s a whole ‘nother kind of story) I’m in a state of boredom bliss trying to decide what to do first.
When I was a kid time felt so infinite and slow that I doubted I’d ever make it to adulthood. Now that I’ve seen quite a few winters and summers, I’m beginning to understand more fully something my late mother-in-law used to say, ” The days are so long but the years are so short.” Maybe it is nature’s way of helping us to weed out the unimportant stuff, to get on with the business of really living. I’m not saying that life is only about enjoying yourself ~ sometimes we have to do things that are not our choice. But it is this cycling of life that causes us to think more artfully about what we do, how we do it and who we do it with.