My friend challenged me by calling my daily routine monotonous. Monotonous?
She stirs awake at dawn and fumbles for her blackberry. News from the Americas. She reverts to her blogger dreams. Less than an hour later, she is waking her broad up, either with music or with the allure of sunrise. "Look, the sun over the flamingo pond!"
The family descends down 43 floors in the elevator to a brand new day. School for some, pilates for other, or coffee with her better half. Circuit training, lifting weights, fitting a morning nap, blogging under a palm tree.
Loads and loads of homework, of ballet classes, of golf, of horseback riding, of swimming. And the constant: radio and coffee to fuel the day. The evening falls, she escapes to bikram yoga or to an art opening. She then slows down, with a novel, her beloved, outdated, folded to the right article, LeMonde and her blackberry loaded with hundreds of pictures: family, silly selfportraits, palm trees, cityscapes. And she falls asleep.
Aren't we all creatures of old habits? Don't we feel comfortable with the predictable? Don't we enjoy the Swiss lifestyle because it is reliable? Don't we learn best with repetition in ordered days? How can there be monotony in a day full of education and sports, intellectual and physical stimulation? Isn't there always an attempt to learn new and more things? To urge your body to perform a new record? To discover more art?
In routine, I find poetry. It is harmony not monotony! Yet post scriptum obliges me admit that routine isn't always as good as I claim because you can fall into complacency. My yoga instructor did advise tonight: "pull yourself out of routine".