I am very much a creature of habit; the idea of routine and ritual make my heart settle. Probably it has something to do with the control freakishness I struggle with, but mostly I think it is because I want so much to build myself a home, and that to me, rituals are home.
There isn’t much in the ways of home when you’re changing cities every week, and there certainly isn’t much space for routine. And, oh, I miss routine. Miss it, miss it, miss it.
And so it’s been fun noticing how I’ve been weaving it into my days without really noticing it. Tiny little details repeated one day after the other, quiet things that ground me.
In Los Angeles it was a daily fifty-minute walk to Abbott Kinney street in in late afternoon; the same walk down Venice Boulevard, past the local high school and the Deus Ex-Machina café, the same shops to wander into, the golden light. Here, it’s breakfast at the Café du Monde, at around eight in the morning to beat the crowds, the heat heavy already, the powdered sugar that gets everywhere. In Oahu it was walking to Food Pantry at the beginning of the evening to buy a bottle of ICE sparkle water.
It makes me feel like I know what I am doing, like I am tethered, like I am building something. Like I am letting places in rather than shutting everything out. Like I am less of a stranger. It’s minuscule, really, but it’s these tiny things that make me feel like I might belong in the world, like an active participant in building my own life.