The Gift of Routine

I don’t necessarily like living by the clock. Counting the minutes that I can check my phone before I have to leave for work. Coutning the minutes of the commute. Counting the minutes after I get home, when I can have dinner, wash the dishes, when I can read the book I’m entranced with, when I am too word-weird and it’s time to put on the TV. Counting the minutes until I have to take out the trash, shower, put out my clothes for the next day, make my lunch for the next day, dry my hair, water my plants.

I don’t have a knocker-upper. I have an Amazon Echo, with nine alarms set for a complicated, hybrid week.

I spent five months unemployed. I was lucky – I had a reserve of cash, so it was kind of like a stressed-out vacation: stressed because I was seeking a job, vacation because I could sleep forever and ever – turns out, the last job I had was so demanding, I was beyond stressed. The first day after I left the job, I slept for sixteen hours.

I spent those five months aimlessly. Blogging, podcasting, yes. But without a specific purpose. There was no taxonomy, no team to manage. Those are my two strengths. I was…recuperating.

I’m trying to love the alarm. I love the result of it – the commute to Newark is not bad, honestly, and I have a dedicated parking garage to go to. There’s so much support, as an employee – these days, we’ve been beaten down and don’t ask for much.

And I have taxonomy work. Even if it’s all thrown out next week, I’m happy to have done it. And I am thriving in the routine, even as I resent it. The alarm clock is an insult. But it’s also a propulsion. One way or another, I’ll get up and get going.