Gertrude Stein had a routine of driving into the French countryside
with her beloved partner to view cows. The American writer, poet and art
collector needed to gaze upon one – the right kind of one, reportedly –
in order to feel calm and happy. She would get out of the car, set up a
camp stool, paper and pencil in hand, hoping for inspiration to write,
while Alice Toklas took a switch to a cow to coax her into the author’s
line of vision. If the cow didn’t suit Ms. Stein’s mood, off they would
go in search of one that did. (Apparently, she had a thing about looking
at rocks, too.)
Writers are often ritualistic. They need their routines, perhaps
because a fervid imagination needs a little structure to keep it running
along nicely: to start it up; give it rest; enhance its endurance. It’s
a bit like breaking in a wild horse. Stephen King insists on going to
sleep with the open end of his pillowcase pointed toward the other side
of the bed. John Grisham has to have written his first word of the day
by 5:30 a.m. Once, I interviewed John Waters, the Prince of Puke, as the
American writer and maker of cult films (Hairspray, Pink Flamingos)
is popularly known. He told me he sets his alarm for 6:10 every morning
and has to get out of bed by 6:14 if he wants his day to go right.
But
apart from the legendary (and often superstitious) eccentricity of
writers and their habits, rituals and routines play an important role in
creating a sense of well-being for many people, happiness studies show.
Children
like routines because of the security such predictability creates. And
feeling secure makes them happy. But is comfort and predictability what
we still need as adults? In that regard, we never really grow up,
psychologists say. The world’s capacity to overwhelm its inhabitants
never diminishes, after all. Habits tamp down anxiety over the
uncertainty about what will happen – or not. No matter what, there will
always be a bath before dinner with a bar of delicately scented Roger
& Gallet soap.
Anthropologists will point out that routines
and rituals are the stuff of human civilization. But routines also tell
us who we are.
Sure, they’re a mild form of subjugation – a
control of self, subconscious or not – but I also think of them as
powerful markers of identification. Even bad ones, such as addictions,
tell us how we think and feel. But when we develop good ones, they can
be celebrations of self, a way of honouring who we know ourselves to be.
I like the way Anglo-Irish novelist Elizabeth Bowen described her
habits. She called them “tender ties.” They’re what tether us to our
specific being.
A friend of mine, who lives alone, has a habit of
starting her day with a beautiful breakfast that she cooks carefully for
herself. She sets the table. She puts on classical music. She sits
amidst a collection of flowering plants, the perfection of their
blossoms a source of joy and quiet contemplation, she says. It’s about
setting up her day with calmness; holding the world at bay until she’s
ready to enter it.
Robin Sharma, the motivational speaker and leadership coach whose latest book is The Secret Letters of The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari,
is devoted to his routines, which he calls “my personal institutions.”
For more than 12 years, he has indulged in “Holy Hour,” which begins at 5
a.m., when he rises each day. He exercises to jump-start his metabolism
and promote happy-making endorphins. He drinks water; listens to books
on his iPod; drinks coffee; writes in his journal and reads.
“The
world can take you off course. And rather than being reactive under
other people’s priorities, it’s important to be leading proactive lives,
advancing our own priorities,” explains the former litigation lawyer
whose first book, The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari –
self-published in 1996 and edited by his mother – went on to sell two
million copies worldwide. Far from being restrictions, his routines
“create freedom,” he says.
His habit of scheduling his upcoming
week on a Sunday is his way of “connecting with what I stand for,” he
says. He writes in his weekly massage, his family nights with his
children, his meetings, his workouts. “Just doing these things keeps me
feeling at my best. I think of them in the context of the professional
athlete. The best tennis players don’t just show up on the court and
play brilliantly. They have engaged in rituals off the court which have
allowed them to get themselves into the best state of mind and body.”
Mr.
Sharma’s routines tell him that he’s a performance-driven individual,
who still has a lawyerly “billable hours” mentality about effectively
parcelling up his day to maximize productivity.
And then there are
the famous routines of Winston Churchill. He woke at 7:30 every morning
and remained in bed to eat breakfast and read his mail and the
newspapers, according to the website dailyroutines.com. He even gave
dictation to his secretary from bed. He got up at 11, bathed, went for a
walk, and took a weak soda and whiskey to his study. A three-course
lunch was served at 1 p.m., including champers and a cigar. At 5 p.m.,
he had another weak whiskey and soda. Then he napped for an hour and a
half. He bathed again at 6:30 p.m., dressed for dinner at 8 p.m., and
worked into the wee hours when everyone else went to sleep.
What
does that say about him? Well, he knew what gave him pleasure, and he
was unapologetic about it. So, go ahead, say you’re Churchillian in your
habits. It sounds very grand, and you can do what makes you happy.
The Globe and Mail
