He said to me, so you are like, one of those people that loves routines then?
No, no! I silently scream, I despise routine, routines are for the elderly and their labeled pill boxes so they remember that Monday is Lipitor and Tuesday is Prilosec. I am young! I am carefree! I wake up in the morning to eat leftovers, and then make pancakes for dinner!
Instead I smile and nod, seemingly agreeing what what my conversational counterpart has just inquired, but actually acknowledging the reality of my day.
It begins by hitting the snooze button three times too many. When my guilt acts as the final alarm clock, I glance up at the crucifix hanging right above my bed. Jesus' tender gaze, even in excruciating pain, is glancing down at my sleepy head. There really isn't a more poetic way to wake up.
After smiling at God, I roll out of bed, feel my way blindly along the wall to the bathroom, opening my eyes only after I have turned on the light and given my closed lids ample time to muster up courage to open themselves. I brush my teeth. I wash my face with cold water, because it feels wonderful, and I heard it prevents wrinkles.
I shuffle back to my room, stare at my closet and mentally match all outfit possibilities for the day. I think about putting on make up, think about curling my hair, look at the clock, decide I have no time to look pretty, and I begin the long journey to work, involving multiple forms of transit, free newspapers to keep from people-watching, and daring the crosswalks to let me go.
Then I sit on my rear for about ten hours doing many important grown-up, real-world activities that people care enough about to give me a paycheck. I start my evening wind-down. It's the same, only backwards and without a snooze button.
Could it be? Do I have a routine? Have I, in a mere ten months succumbed to the all-too-widely-accepted definition of a grown up? My ten-month old grown up self wants to say,
No sir, not today, not ever. You see, when you asked about my day-to-day, I made the mistake of answering your all-too-common question with an all-too common answer. Do not ask me about my day-to-day, rather, ask me what inspired me today. Ask me how my day was anything but ordinary, because if God has made this day, then by golly it is extraordinary. Ask me what my favorite flavor of pancake is, because I need to start thinking about dinner anyway.
But the truth is, I have a routine. I rely, perhaps too much, on my Google calendar. It is a color coded, accurate-to-the-minute diary of my past, present and future. And it's really not that terrible and boring.
I have a day-to-day schedule that can be summed up succinctly, but there is joy in the routine. If we are made in His image and likeness, then we too can take pleasure in the sunrises and sunsets, and other beautiful things that follow a precise schedule. In routine, your eyes are opened to the smaller nuances of your day because they stand out a little more. I fondly remember the abundance of spontaneity in my life, but it dulled my keener senses to so many little things. Now I can fully appreciate a new tube of toothpaste. And let's get real, a new tube of toothpaste is just too great not to brighten your whole day.