As one dedicated to routine (we won't go into the reasons here), I feel I am singularly qualified to write about "clinging to a habit", for I cling to all of mine. I've convinced myself that without my habits I wouldn't be able to make it through a day. I admire the Dalai Lama for many obvious reasons but especially because I read once that you can take him anywhere, set him down in any rough or smooth place, and he will still be his true self.
Me? Take me anywhere away from my accustomed lair and I am disoriented. There are so many elements to my morning and evening routines, applying unguents and rubs and creams and foams and drops, that I can't manage them in any setting other than my own, familiar space.
And then after the applications the routine continues: In the morning version of it, I dress. I go to the computer room and turn on The Beast, whose age and loss of speed send the grandchildren into hysterical laughter. While it warms up I bounce on the Rebounder: 100 bounces is just the right length of time for the computer to come alive. Then I step off the Rebounder (carefully) and push the button to open my email, which arrives in another 100 bounces. At that point I read whatever email has come in overnight.
I allow thirty minutes or so for meditation, breathing, Swimming Dragon, and other methods of calming the self and opening to What Is.
And then to breakfast: put water on for DinoVino's coffee. Oh, even taking the time to write down the routine is boring. Can you imagine how boring it is to live through it? Every single morning?
Several months ago I was telling DinoVino how very much I love three-day weekends. Even though I don't have a "job", there's something about that extra day "off work", the Monday when nothing happens, that fills me with a sense of possibility. He, in his wisdom, said, "There's no reason you couldn't make every weekend a three-day weekend." Out of the mouths of husbands . . . !
So I have rearranged my schedule to leave all my Mondays totally free and I think of each one as a holiday. Already I feel liberated.
This is exciting. A routine, yes, but a changed routine. A NEW routine, though that sounds like an oxymoron. What will its long-term effect be? Will it give me renewed interest in life? Will it stem the passage of days that inevitably lead to more and greater age?
Now we're coming to the point. What does it mean, as I move through this year on my way to yet another December birthday? Talk about change. Gone are the lightness and humour and perspective I had at 70, when I wrote Hesitating at the Gate. We're no longer in Kansas, Toto. But where are we? Where are we going? What's the best way to get there? Well, Toto, I think it's all about attitude. Keep that in mind as you encounter the adventures of the Yellow Brick Road on your way to pull back the curtain and unmask the Wizard.
Audible.Ca: go to https://www.audible.ca and search for Ann Tudor
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