I am the conductor of my life’s orchestra. I define the tempo of my days. I make adjustments where things make sense to. I play off my moods and feelings and the interactions I have with others. I take great pride in this performance. I stand upright and deftly lead myself to a beautiful and fulfilling life.
I live by my routines. I wake up the same time every day and similarly go to bed around the same time every night. I eat the same breakfast every day. I cook the same few dinners. I go to the same workout classes every week. I see the same barber every month. When I walk around the neighborhood, I always take the same route. I order the same coffee from the same coffee shop. I grab the same takeout from the same few restaurants. I shop the same brands when I shop. I use the same products daily. I’m a consistent person.
That’s not to say I don’t add variety or I’m terribly rigid when it comes to my life. I’m not at all. I change things up. I subtract things that no longer work for me and add in new things when there’s room. I’m constantly fine-tuning and readjusting and reevaluating. I love new experiences but only in moderation. I’m sure you might think this is boring. Sometimes it can be. But, for me, the repetition and routines I follow give me comfort. And even more so, they give me power.
Most days, I know what to do and what to expect. I am in control. I try not to plan my days by the minute. Instead, they’re usually planned by actions. First, I’ll do this. And then, I’ll do that. Things follow sequentially in a way that probably makes the most sense only to me. Cleanings happen in the morning when I have the most energy. Errands are an afternoon activity while the sun is still out. Grocery shopping though can either be early morning or early evening. Not really an afternoon time for me, personally. Showers are a morning activity. Cooking dinner shouldn’t start after 5 to give myself enough time to cook and eat and still make it in bed at a reasonable hour.
I think about my planning the most when I’m traveling. If I’m trying to get somewhere by 7, my inner monologue tells me: Okay, so if we have to get there by 7 and it’s a forty minute subway ride, we should leave around 6 maybe 6:10 at the latest in case the subway is delayed. So that means I should shower around 5 and get dressed around 5:30. I’ll wear this outfit but just in case I’ll also have this other outfit prepared if I feel ugly in the outfit I’ve already worn many times before. I think about each necessary action and how it fits into the greater routine of my life.
Another way my routine manifests itself is in how I schedule out my week. I go to the gym frequently and attend workout classes. Sundays I take Pilates with a specific instructor who’s more relaxed fitting into the vibe of a Sunday. My hardest sessions are Tuesday Pilates and Wednesdays with my trainer in the middle of the week where I’m rested enough but not too overtired to function. On Mondays I focus on one strength area, Fridays another. Thursdays I give myself a break — I usually do laundry on these days. Saturdays I bike to knock out a workout before getting on with my day. Tuesdays I tend to go to a drawing session at a Chelsea gay bar. Fridays or Saturdays I go to the movies. Fridays I hardly ever go out at night to the bars because I’m too tired from the week, but Saturdays are perfect as I’m well rested. Mondays are for reorienting and reorganizing as Monday, for me, is the cardinal day of the week. Sundays where people usually reset, I lounge. Every decision I make about how I live my week is rationalized. I have to have a reason for everything. Everything fits into its perfect place.
When you hold a routine as strongly as I do, you start seeing the same people every day. The strangers who fill the background of my life give me so much comfort and anchor me down. I know their faces but not their names. They must feel the same way about me. Routine has helped me build a budding community. I see the same people and feel more willing to open conversation. After workouts, I’ll ask another regular how they feel it went. At my drawing sessions, we casually start conversations comparing the different models from the last few weeks or the different drawings people present. I see the same tellers at the bookstore I frequent and have started discussions about what novels are worth the hype or not. New York can feel like an isolated place where everyone’s in their own head, but the familiarity I gain from seeing these people every day has allowed me to open up and reach a hand out. I feel more of a sense of belonging now that I have ever did living anywhere else.
I know on some level that the sense of control I love from my routines and my life stems from the way my anxieties manifest. I need to be in control at all times and know what’s going on at all times to ensure that things never go wrong. It’s when these routines fail and when life happens that I feel the most stressed out — like the ground gives out and I’m falling, hoping to cling onto something. I worry about myself backpedaling as if I’m losing everything I’ve gained from being consistent. I fear that I’ll never get back into that routine again. I feel listless in a way that deeply unsettles me.
I know these thoughts are catastrophized. That none of it is true. That when your routine fails or you’re thrown off balance, the easiest thing to do is to just pick it right back up again. You can start again. Over and over again. There are no rules against that. There’s no streak to daily life. You know how these routines work. You just gotta get back into that rhythm and hit your stride. In the grand scheme of things, missing one day or missing one week doesn’t hurt you. Life is cumulative. It’s the sum of its parts. In the moment, I tend to forget that. It’s easy to. But once that routine settles back into place, the mental clarity comes with it.
I needed that reminder this week. With all the traveling I’ve done for the holidays and then getting sick as soon as I got back to New York, I worried about losing all the momentum I have built up the last few months. My life felt like a fine oiled machine and then suddenly it stopped. I couldn’t attend the workout classes I wanted to. I put a hold on attending my drawing session. I couldn’t go out to see friends. I did nothing but sit around and wallow while I tried to rest up and get healthier hoping this would be all over soon. Routine brings so much meaning to my life that its absence is palpable.
I have cultivated this super intentional and specific life to be full of moments that make me happy. I do things for myself every day because they make me feel good and they give me comfort. The fewer decisions I have to make each day allows me to be more present in the now. I notice the small changes in myself and the world around me as days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months. The light in my apartment dances differently across the wall as the sun shifts in the sky. People who once flooded the streets are taking more time to be inside. The familiar echo of children laughing in the park next door is winding down as snow is on the horizon. Each new day is filled with much of the same but differences in the tiniest of ways.
I wouldn’t trade this life for anything else.