The bright sunshine streams in through the window, reflecting off the snow in the front pasture. The dryer hums in the utility room, and the clock on the mantel ticks cheerily on a Saturday morning. I pad around and make coffee, not quite sure of myself yet. These sights and sounds are familiar in part, yet - they’re in my brand new digs on my journey south.
Jordan Peterson said something about how a daily routine is so important, as it gives us a framework upon which to live. I’m starting to see his point. In the past, I’d visit with my elderly friends, listening to their stories of everyday life, and come away with an unsettled view of “that’s it?” Where were the magical forests and big rock candy mountain? The dragons slain? All I hear is about Thanksgiving dinner from ‘76?!
When I was a boy, I’d go to the beaches of Delaware. Every once in a while, an Atlantic wave would decide to tumble me around a bit, and I’d have a salty taste of pure chaos. As I grew older, I embarked on adventures of a similar sort. Mind you, they were voluntary and controlled (traveling by train and playing street music), but about as far away from a daily routine as possible. I’m reduced to a tiny island of a man, guitar, and backpack, with New York City or a dark southern night swirling hard around my shores. On the bright side, it’s exhilarating, and calls into being parts of myself that I didn’t know I had. On the other hand, it’s exhausting, and leaves little room for the Subtle. Everything is a major event.
Even now, I type this surrounded by the packing materials of a new life. The sunlight blinds me with beauty as it bounces off the snow out the window…but that daily routine is still forming. I’m in the wave, being tumbled by the Atlantic, or in this case, Lynchburg, and suddenly appreciate the daily routines much more - something that we can hang our hats on, a secure garden bed to grow nuance and beauty from.
So, maybe those old folks have something figured out. They usually do. A walled city had to be hacked from the wilderness, and if it’s built right, no dragons show up at the picnic. Hmmm. Guess I’ll go unpack a bit and build up some structure.