It is now Thursday at 9:24 pm and I am sitting on my bedroom
floor, my back to the wall, taking a deep breath.
I have not written anything on this little blog for a long time. Since my last
post, I’ve survived the winter, moved from JP to Somerville, assembled a Target
shelf and climbed the thirty-seven flights of stairs at Harvard Stadium. Tonight I told
myself that it is not too late to write here again (even if I don't live on Custer Street anymore).
At some
point we all need to pack up everything we own and rearrange it in a new space. So that’s
what I've done. My room is small with light blue walls and a doorknob that
reaches above my waste (which is unusually high—am I right?).
I’m a routine girl, gradually establishing one that's new. I love routines, which is why I love learning about the routines of others. What wakes them up in the morning? What mug do they choose? At what
moment do they realize they have a chance to start over?
The sequence of events in my morning routine include my horoscope, a few sips of water, exercise, a shower, hair drying via t-shirt, five minutes waiting
for the coffee grinds to settle in the French Press and twenty minutes of newspaper
reading. If all goes well I walk out the door, prop my sunglasses in front of
my eyes, and feel ready.
But maybe readiness is not what brings a good day—it’s
worthiness. The sweet, fleeting ownership of the sunlight on the sidewalk, the
crossing guard motioning cars to stop and let you go, the crowds of dogs
playing in the park. It’s also feeling worthy
of the hard things, from work deadlines to an unexpectedly long wait for a pizza delivery during a company lunch.
All we need is to realize that we deserve what makes us happy
can handle what makes us sad. Let that be what our routines provide: a reminder that
we are enough, that the world is big, and that we are it for a reason.
