[Habit becomes Ritual]
Throughout most of last winter and last spring, my schedule held some regularity. I had a regular Monday night thing, a regular Tuesday night thing, a regular Saturday night thing. A regular Sunday morning thing. And so on.
The regular Monday night thing was visiting Boulevard Café on my way home from work. I'd have a bourbon or two and a decaf or two whilst chatting with Joey and Shar-MEE-ahn [a name I couldn't possibly spell correctly no matter how many times I try] and I'd either eat there or get food to go.
I had a largely unproductive [as far as my personal to-do list is concerned] but incredibly helpful [as far as others to-do lists are concerned] day at work today. I got a present from my boss [club box Cubs tickets]. I left on time.
And, without thinking about it, I found myself walking toward the Boulevard Café on my way home.
I hadn't been there since May, but my beverages of choice were remembered and I was filled in on happenings I'd missed.
More than the news, what I'd really missed was the rhythm of my week. I realized that I've been partly out of sorts because I hadn't been maintaining some of my habits. These scheduled events parsed my life in a way that I found comforting, and over the summer, I lost some of that rhythm.
When I was younger, I would have found this want for a set schedule disconcerting forcing when not feeling an air of unpredictability. Now, although serendipity is refreshing and welcome on occasion, predictability is comforting.
Strangely, though, now I find admitting this disconcerting.
There are some games one can't win.