Welcoming the New

I had the chance to get away for a few days last week.  I packed with a delightful sense of excitement and anticipation.  I made a list of the gazillion things I could do in my day and half of time away in a new place.

Off I went. 

The first afternoon went fine.  I caught up on reading for two hours while sitting in the late afternoon sun by the ocean. Idyllic. 

The next morning I meandered my way through a leisurely cup of tea and quiet writing time. So far, so good. 

Then it started.  I got back to my room after a stroll through town and a niggling sensation grew in my stomach. 

So much time, so many options.  What to do next? I started struggling with that First World problem of too many choices.  In my fierce attempt to escape the mundane, I left all my anchors of rhythm at home. I felt somewhat lost with out my ritual-like activities, and the abundance of possibility was about to overwhelm me. 

I realized how attached I am to the routines I created over this past year. 

But here is the funny thing...Routine and I have a love/hate relationship. Being a future thinking extrovert with maybe a wee bit of ADD and a large boisterous family, I gravitate toward the new, the adventuresome, and the pure energy of lightly managed chaos. 

When my kids were younger and life was unpredictable on a daily, and sometimes hourly, basis, I prided myself on my flexibility and adaptability. 

At the same time, I secretly wished for just one day to go as planned. Or one week with the same rhythm and routine. 

Enter COVID and the ensuing lock down.  

That’s when my wish became reality and Routine and I became dear friends.  Regular yoga, daily walks in the woods and family dinner every night.  These anchor points steadied my days and weeks like checkpoints along a race route. They kept me going.  They kept me sane during a dry and isolated season. 

Now, like the blossoming trees which line the quaint little street I walk, we are opening and emerging from a long season of monotony. Restaurants are hopping, friends are beginning to cautiously gather again. You can all but smell possibility in the air.

I meander the streets of this seacoast town and ponder how to keep my dear friendship with Routine and make space again for the New and Unexpected.  The activities and rhythms which served me so well during months of the pandemic must give way.  If I am to step into spring, I need to hold lightly my old friend and welcome in, or perhaps welcome back, the new.  

Once home, I find myself in the woods again. I feel the comfort of Routine and offer up gratitude for the rhythms of the past season.  And like a gardener preparing for the new season, I also make ready the space for new and more colorful blossoms.