Repetition till you hit your Rhythm / Part I
Repeating—over and over again—till you understand the flow
Rise from bed, greet the world, tuck yourself back in when night falls.
Rise from bed, greet the world, tuck yourself back in when night falls.
Rise from bed, greet the world, tuck yourself back in when night falls.
This is repetition.
Rise from bed, have a cup of coffee, greet the world, meet a friend for lunch, go on a walk, tuck yourself in when night falls.
Rise from bed, take the dog for a walk, greet the world, take the bus to work, attend three meetings, eat a spaghetti dinner, nudge your sleeping partner to their side of the bed, tuck yourself in when night falls.
Rise from bed, greet the world, wear your favorite jeans, answer your sister’s call, get through work, visit a library on your way home, tuck yourself in when night falls.
This is rhythm.
Over the years, there’s a conversation that occurs between my mother and I, repeatedly. The words always follow the same script, but the moment in time and space differs. One of the first happens at the kitchen table, the morning sunlight beaming across the floorboards.
Teenage Ariel: How do people just do the same thing EVERY DAY and not get bored????
Mom: You learn to find the fun and magic. You use your off time for things you enjoy.
Teenage Ariel: But why do we have to do this?? Why do we have to have jobs and go to work and just accept that this is life??? It’s STUPID.
Cut to a few years later. Separated by 2,500 miles of land but connected via the airwaves of a phone call. Teary eyed and voice shaky, I asked my mom again, what is the point of doing all this when it all feels the same over and over and over again.
Cut to a few years later. I’m in town, my mother and I spending the day together. In the car, I express how I’m still baffled that people grow up in one place and never leave, just do the same thing everyday. How could someone be content with having their day be a carbon copy of the one prior… and a blue print for the one to come next? My mom reiterates her role in this continuous script.
Cut to last week. I’m in my living room, the sun shining through the sheer curtains. Once again, expressing my feelings. As I’m in the midst of a depression spell, she asks through the phone if anything is particularly wrong. No, it’s just the knowledge that this is what life is. Having started my third decade of living, I can’t help but be distressed that the next thirty years will be just has humdrum as right now feels. How does one continue carrying on?
She responds,
You have to look at the positives in your life. Take stock of everything you already have. Look at what you are blessed to hold on to. You have accomplished so much in your life already. You have seen and done so much. Life is routine. As we get older we fall into a rhythm. We get up, go to work, shop for groceries, make dinner for our family, watch a movie, go to bed, and do it all again the next day. That’s when you have to make the fun, find the joy, seek adventure, even if it’s just a little bit. You have to choose to be happy.
Since my inception, the doldrums of human routine were shackles of regularity that I desperately wanted to break free from. It was my personal quest to squeeze every ounce of meaning out of every second that I was to be alive. If I could clone myself in order to live every shade of existence, I would copy myself a thousand times over.
While my teenage self was too busy raging against the capitalist machine, I never silenced my mind enough to hear my mother’s wisdom. I wanted to see everything, do everything, be everything. Nothing could tie me down in any shape or form, not even adulthood and it’s macabre rules.
As I’ve grown up, I’ve gotten better at taking a moment of pause. I take stock of what I’ve accomplished, the memories I’ve made, the people I’ve known and loved. I press the meaningful moments of my life into the book that is my story. Instead of trying to fill each second to the brim, I’m enjoying the passage of time for what it is and what I can make of it.
These past couple of years have been the most habitual of my adult life. My weeks are predictable, stable. I wake up looking out the same window, make the same breakfast, take the same bus to the work, shop for the same groceries on weekend mornings, and walk through the same parks in the early evenings.
This is my life’s repetition.
But this predictable pattern has given me a sense of peace that opens my heart and mind to explore other aspects of life. Within these parameters of habit and security, I can enjoy the beauty that comes from letting myself stay still for a moment and not uproot everything out of fear of losing time.
Yes, I wake up looking out the same window. But some mornings I witness a bird chirping in a tree, and I write a poem. I may go to the same job daily, but I get the opportunity to learn something new from the individuals I work with. I may purchase goods at the same shop every weekend, but I get to buy new ingredients to try out new recipes. I may walk though the same parks, but I may come across some vibrantly blooming tulips. I can choose some weekends to go out in the woods and camp under the starry sky, knowing I have a home to return to. I can explore an idea I’ve had swirling in my head for too long and actually do something with it. I can expand and constrict my life knowing that my day to day is reliable, not mundane.
This is my life’s rhythm.
We are limited in what we can do in this lifetime. It is the tragic beauty of being human. We only have finite amounts of time, and every day we decide how to use it.
A part of me will always feel like I’m racing against the clock. I’ll always be trying to savor every moment from a single minute. I’ll continue to be a sponge of memory, photographing in my minds eye the people, places, experiences, feelings, thoughts, and beauty of it all. That will be a repetition I welcome in my life.
But as I age, and the anxiety of running out of time subsides, I embrace the art of molding and shaping the rhythm of my existence. I face the fact I can’t do it all, and that is okay. Life is a lot of the same, but it’s also full of surprises and memories. It’s a kaleidoscope of experiences that shape one’s life into their own personal story. We repeat the motions until we find the flow that works for ourselves.
I hope you’re being gentle with yourself and awakening your soul like the blossoming flowers of spring.
Take care, Ariel