What is routine? A reason to get up in the morning; to persevere throughout the day. I think that’s what it comes down to.
So it’s important that the first routine be pleasant. Or productive. Which means different things to different people.
My favorite start to the day is coffee on the patio; an array of bricks pushed together in the form of a square. I watch as the sun rises and the geese fly in, then worry the geese will find their way into the garden; begin their day by ripping out grass.
But the routines of others often circumvent our own. Nature’s day starts with sunshine or a rain storm or swarms of mosquitos; an occasional wildfire tinges the sky orange and smokes the air. On some days, International Flavors and Fragrances belches toxic fumes into subdivisions, as it produces chemicals to scent cleaners, and lotions, and flavor unenticing food. Which no one suspects as they shop. Just as they don’t see the animal skinned alive as they grill their steak; or the worker pummeled as the living corpse thrashes against the knife.
So we never know until we arise what the day will bring. Routines are often interrupted. Hopeful plans skittered. A day munching grass is replaced by a crate, slippery with urine and manure; a cement floor slick with blood. Or a workday with bombs, courtesy of Freddy Krueger, commanding his people to be as disturbed as himself.
Long routines and short; indoor and out. Bracing ourselves for the days’ unexpected gifts. They give us a reason to rise in the morning and face the unfaceable. They keep us from shivering beneath our bedcovers.