Even
while kicking and screaming in defiance of admission, the reality
is we all have habits.
Many
don’t want to admit it. I suppose it’s a fear of the word routine
(or something a thesaurus would offer as an alternative for routine).
The preference being that spontaneity and freedom are always a
description of what’s happening around us. Wild and free and nothing
routine about us.
Unfortunately,
we all give the truth away with a version of the same question:
What
time does the mail get here?
I
said version of the question, because honestly the mail arriving
may not matter. It might be the time you leave for work. Could
be when the kids get out of school. Perhaps you settle in to watch
television every Thursday evening. The idea here is simple… there
is something that you repeat, and do without thought, and accept
as a given, even if it’s where you keep your forks and spoons.
Not
many of us would compare having a drawer with knives in it to
knowing to wait until after 11am to check the mailbox. That’s
fair. But when it comes to routines, we’re wading into those waters
of habits, and things we generally feel comfortable understanding
without thinking about them. Take your car keys as an example.
As
long as the keys are in your purse, or on the hook in the kitchen,
or with your wallet, then you’ll find them easily the next day.
But toss them on the nightstand, walk away and not need them for
two days, and all hell breaks loose. It’s the rough equivalent
of looking for the sunglasses on your head or the cell phone in
your hand.
Outside
of our house each day, there are three people that I regularly
see. Two walking as a couple, and one woman walking two dogs.
If I mow my lawn, take a short ride for running errands, or any
endeavor takes place that has me outside for a bit, I see these
three people. It’s kind of small-town life at its finest. Almost
neighborly. Regular enough for a smile, nod and wave.
The
mail arrives at our house around 11:20. There are days when it’s
early. A few days when it’s late. But a handful of minutes before
11:30 is a fairly safe bet. Why do I know this? I never knew it
at other places I’ve lived. But then again, I’ve never known the
name of the person delivering my mail before either.
I
used to be able to tell what type of day I was going to have at
work based on the time I was turning the car out of my driveway
and onto the main road. 8am or earlier, and I was going to be
a few minutes early, not rushed, and set up well for the day.
Anything later than that and I might not feel right for the rest
of the day, with everything hurried and out of sorts.
There’s
a term in cooking, mise en place. In the simplest of definitions,
it refers to setting up your work station. It translates to English
as—perhaps a tad bit roughly—everything in its place. A cook will
set up a work station with the things that are needed, from ingredients
to much of the equipment. It efficiently and effectively organizes
the area so that dish after dish can be created properly without
wasted time or effort.
Ask
anyone in the culinary world about it, however, and you’ll learn
it’s far more than having all the vegetables, meats, spices and
sauces prepped and ready to go. They’ll explain it in almost religious
terms, comparing it to a professional zone where everything becomes
automatic, approachable virtually without thought, and a full
immersion into the moment.
Ok,
sure, most of us are not setting things up to operate like the
most well-tuned of professional kitchens. We agree on that. But
I didn’t say we were. I said: “… the reality is we all have habits.”
I
am not hyper-focused on a postal vehicle stopping at the end of
my driveway. But I do know about what time it’s going to happen.
And I’ll say hi to Steve when I see him. It’s just one of the
things that makes me comfortable around my house. It’s one of
the things that I’ve come to recognize as having a time and a
place.