Marching to the beat of a drum

I’ve always run away from routine. The idea of knowing where I’m going to be the same time tomorrow sucked the fun out of daily adventure. I didn’t care if the next day or week was going to be worse than this day or week, as long as it was different.

After college and the drudgery of educational routine, I unknowingly put myself in situations (professional/personal) where every new day was going to be a surprise. Being in my 20’s really worked out well for this particular life choice. I changed jobs, I changed industries, I was in love quite often, heartbroken equally so. It was a rollercoaster and I never wanted to get off.

But since the past 11 months routine has become my security blanket. It’s something I clutch to with all my might and any disturbance to it rocks my world – but like the way an earthquake would. The rhythmic pace of shower, breakfast, coffee run, nap for the baby, work while the baby naps, lunch, bike ride, park/museum/swim class/music class, second nap/work and so on feels like the beat of a drum during a high school march past. It’s almost like if the drum keeps beating you will keep walking and vice versa.

Have I always unknowingly loved routine or is this a trap? An addiction that quietly, slyly – with it’s tentacles of prediction – makes you feel that you’re in control. And before you know it you’re wrapped up in the idea of being the master of your daily fate?

Maybe there is security in routine. And having a child makes you yearn for the predictable rather than the unknown. Yes, I want adventure but I also want to make sure my daughter eats her 4 meals a day. Fruit included.

Or maybe there’s a time for routine and a time for wanderlust (god I hate that word). And we need one to really appreciate the other. Yin yang, black white, light dark etc.

So I am embracing this routine and this steadiness in my life right now. And despite myself, quite enjoying it. It’s only year one of parenthood. I’m told the adventure never stops so I’m just going to roll with it.

That being said, every time I strap my daughter on to her bike seat – I don’t know where we’re headed. Are we going to the museum? The pool? Are we biking to the playground? How about lunch in the park? No one knows! No one can stop us! We’ll go where the wind takes us.

Published by therunawayjuiceincident

I write about my travels. Intergalactic and otherwise....

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