​Habits. They get a bum rap.  Webster’s defines a habit as “an acquired mode of behavior that has become nearly or completely involuntary.”  They are the things we do without even thinking about them; we go on autopilot. Typically associated with negative or harmful things – like biting your nails, skipping breakfast, smoking, Starbucks – habits are generally discouraged. 
 
Routine is habit’s close companion.  Defined as “habitual or mechanical performance of an established procedure,” this duo is often synonymous with dull, boring, rut.
 
Habits and routines aren’t all bad, though.  They get us out of bed and to work, dressed and presentable. They keep us safe when we click our seat belt. They keep us healthy when we take our nightly walk and eat our veggies.  They keep us organized when we put things away when we’re done with them. They can be good.  They can be beneficial.
 
I’m finding another benefit to this combination these days – continuance. In a time when my life doesn’t even feel like my own, I’m finding myself doing things – necessary things – out of sheer force of habit. I do them because it’s what I’ve always done.  I wash clothes when the hamper gets full.  I take my vitamins. I feed the dogs. I pay bills when I get paid. Involuntary. Mechanical. Boring.
 
Sometimes it all feels like I’m just doing it for the sake of doing it. It’s like I’m house-sitting, and it’s simply what’s required or expected of me; there’s no other point to any of it. Sometimes I do things for no other reason than it’s something to do when I can’t figure out what to do.
 
Habits and routines are moving me through this period.  These modes of behavior, these involuntary performances of established procedures, are mechanically propelling me forward.  I am grateful for their familiarity and distraction. I resent them for forcing me into a future that I don’t want.
 
Habits and routines. They are my best friends. They are my worst enemies.