What’s this? I’m posting my blog on a Tuesday, not my usual Monday. Crikey.
In fact, it’s a deliberate break from the same-old, same-old nature of my life. Yesterday, as I was summing up my morning to someone, I stopped and looked at the text. It was the same as nearly all the others. I tried to think of one single, tiny thing I had done which was different.
Nothing was different.
If you were to call me at any point in the morning, I could tell you what I would be doing. 8.40: dropping the kids to school. 8.55: cycling. 9.20: housework – a questionably pleasing variety of cleaning the bathroom one day, hoovering the next, tidying every day, dusting (rarely). 10: preparing the dinner. 10.30: making a cup of tea and settling down to write. And so it goes on – hardly ever changing.
The funny thing is, I don’t mind my days being the same. It’s reassuring, stabilising, even satisfying. It’s only when my routine is reported that I feel ashamed. In private, I am fairly content. And why on earth not? Mostly, life is a consistent road of identical stepping stones, and when the route or the path changes, we find it unsettling – sometimes in a good way, sometimes not.
Of course, you never hear the word “typical” said without it sounding negative. Anytime a rebellious child, or adult, transgresses, they are accused of being predictable, and not in a good way. The French saying ‘metro, boulot, dodo’ that I’ve referred to before paints the act of doing the same thing every day in a bleak light. But then, usually after their death, people are praised for faithfully going to the same place every day and consistently doing the same thing.
So here’s a suggestion for you: predictable living is too often called ‘boring’. Why not try ‘faithful’ this week instead?