Jill's Journal: Creatures of habit

Whether or not we realize it, we’re all creatures of habit in some way, shape or form.

I know for certain that I am.

Take for instance, each morning I follow a similar routine in getting ready for the day.

On Sundays, I typically sit in the same pew, unless of course, someone else has taken up residency.

Each Wednesday morning, I peruse the Sunshine insert, making a list of the items on sale that I plan to purchase later in the week. The list gets placed in the same spot on my desk until Friday, most weeks, which is my usual shopping day.

I usually do my laundry on Saturdays, sometimes on uneventful Friday nights or Sunday afternoons when life has me busy and nothing better is happening.

You would think I was navigating a high-stakes mission instead of simply trying to locate a clean pair of socks. Throw one curveball into the mix – say, an unexpected Wednesday evening commitment – and suddenly I’m standing in the laundry room on Thursday morning wondering how everything went so terribly wrong. Wasn’t it just Saturday five minutes ago?

It’s not just the schedule, either. It’s the way things are done. There is a system. It may not make sense to anyone else, but to me it is a finely tuned operation. Of course, the real test of any creature of habit is what happens when the habit is interrupted.

Take the Sunday pew situation. There is an unspoken understanding in most churches about “your spot.” Not assigned, not reserved, but universally acknowledged. You know who sits where. You know who will shift slightly if need be, and who likely won’t budge an inch. 

Here’s the deal. It’s one Sunday. One hour. Life will go on.

The grocery routine is no less sacred. By Friday, that Sunshine list has marinated all week. It’s not just a list, it’s a blueprint. I know exactly which aisle I’ll hit first, where I’ll double back, and which items are non-negotiable. 

And yet, for all our routines, life has a funny way of reminding us that we are not, in fact, in control of everything.

Schedules shift. Plans change. Someone else takes your pew.

And somehow, we survive.

We adapt. We do laundry on a Thursday. We sit three rows back. We even shop without a perfectly crafted list. It’s unsettling, yes, but also a little freeing.

Because maybe being a creature of habit isn’t about straying from the routine. Maybe it’s about having a rhythm to return to when things settle down again.

Still, if you see me wandering aimlessly through Sunshine on a Tuesday, clutching a half-finished list and looking slightly disoriented, just know this: Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.