Chaos is anathema to me. I much prefer to have order in my life. I make my bed each morning because I don’t like the feel of going to sleep under tousled sheets and blankets. I have a touch of attention deficit disorder that often causes me to freak out if the things that I use daily are not in their usual places. I don’t like the sight of dishes piling up in my sink or countertops littered with the objects of daily living. For some reason my brain does not work properly in situations where there is nor order and design. All of which does not seem to fit with the joy that I feel in ignoring the clock in performing my daily rituals.
Some mornings I linger in my pajamas for hours even though I have arisen earlier than the sun. I may choose to read and write and sip on my tea well past noon without even realizing that it has become that late. I don’t like following a fixed schedule for eating. In fact there are times when I even forget to feed myself. I love the serendipity of aimlessly taking off on a day trip to the beach or on an unplanned journey. I am often able to do such things because I keep the chores of living in good working order. At any given moment my laundry is clean and folded away. My kitchen is ready for preparing the next meal if and when I decide to do so. My bed awaits my return with smoothed out sheets and blankets. The dust can wait, but the biggest tasks have already been done.
Of late my life has not been nearly as adventurous as it once was. My father-in-law is a man of strict adherence to routines that never seem to vary. He awakens and immediately dresses for the day complete with tucking his shirt neatly inside his trousers and donning his shoes before walking through the house. He eats breakfast at much the same time each morning then retires to his room where he stretches and lifts weights. He spends several hours gathering the news and taking care of business before pausing for lunch. An hour or so after he has eaten he walks on the treadmill and then finds interesting videos on the Internet to entertain him until five in the afternoon. That is when he exists his room and sits at the kitchen table expecting a glass of wine and perhaps a bit of cheese and crackers. He wants us to sit and talk with him before enjoying dinner that he always follows with dessert and a session of television watching. At nine or nine thirty he goes to bed ready to rest before repeating the process the next day.
My father-in-law tells us that he has had mostly the same habits throughout his lifetime. When he was working he arose from his sleep a bit earlier, but other than that his schedule was as tightly regimented as it is today. His habits are healthy and predictable and no doubt have contributed to his longevity. I suppose that I should admire him and perhaps even emulate him, but I have an itch inside my DNA that compels me to wing it now and again. I spent so many years as a teacher being tied to the ticking of a clock that I long to be free from even noticing what hour it happens to be. I like the feel of adventure that comes with just going and doing without being tied down to sameness.
I suppose that the time will come when I will leave the confines of my home less and less. I will no doubt revert to a stricter schedule as my body and mind grow older. Nonetheless, I think of my mother when I feel outright rebellion against tracking my activities under the watch of a clock. She rarely did the same thing two days in a row. She was always ready to go in an instant if an invitation to explore came along. I remember the times when she would show up unannounced at my home wanting to leave responsibility behind in search of adventure. The two of us would spend the day randomly going wherever our imaginations led us. It was always so much fun!
I learned from mother how to carefully and methodically take care of my business and responsibilities so that if a case of wanderlust hit me, I would be able to fly away like the wind. I suppose that the balance of being steadfast and open to change at one and the same time has been a good way of living for me. I am both a reliable worker and a vagabond. A person who keeps my life running smoothly and someone who is ready to be daring on an ordinary day. I am both obsessive compulsive and messy. I suppose that my personality and quirks are in line with the tests that indicate that I use both my left and right brain with almost equal emphasis. I am both rational and emotional depending on the situation.
I don’t know if my balance in life is a good thing or one that is bad. What I do know is that it works for me as effectively as my father-in-law’s strict adherence to an unchanging routine does for him. I suspect that neither of us would be comfortable in being forced to change our ways. Each of us approach life in ways that we have adapted to our personal needs.
When I was teaching I learned all too well that everyone faces the world with different coping skills and foibles. Some approach challenges with deadly seriousness. Others need to laugh and poke fun when times get tough. There is no single right way of living and we would all do well to understand that before judging or misjudging the people around us. What works for me may not work at all for someone else. Thankfully most of us are free to make the choices that work best for our needs. I often think of how much harmony there would be if we just followed the dictum to live and let live. Instead of trying to force people to adopt our preferred ways of surviving maybe would should be more tolerant of our differences. The truth is that there are indeed different strokes for different folks.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 