The joy of routine
Banal yet beautiful
A week ago today was my first full day back in Ho Chi Minh City after three weeks visiting my parents in Thailand. I woke up late without an alarm—I knew I wouldn’t want to get up early on my first day back and hadn’t committed myself to the 6:30am start required to get to the morning class at my gym.
My partner had gotten up early for work—as he does every Monday—and I could hear him from the kitchen. The coffee machine whirred loudly, the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickling my nose, drawing me in. I checked my smart watch: 7:30am, time to get up.
An hour later, after the obligatory caffeine ingestion and a bowl of Shreddies I’d brought back from Thailand, I sat down in front of my mounted laptop and began my first task. Around 4pm, I signed off from work, rested for half an hour, then went to the supermarket to do the week’s groceries shopping with my partner.
As my partner wheeled our trolley down the frozen food aisle in search of mussels, I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. This is really nice, I said, I’ve missed this. I feel like normal life has resumed. He gave me a quizzical look. That’s good, he said.
I didn’t elaborate. But at that moment, I felt a deep, inexplicable joy.
Joy in the familiar
It wasn’t until the next morning, while waiting for my 9am class at the gym, that I understood why I felt that joy. One of the trainers was greeting me, asking how my trip had been. It was very nice, I said, but it’s good to be back. Of course, she said, both can be nice. It’s good to spend time with family, but familiarity is good too.
I nodded along. Yes, I thought to myself, that’s what I felt at the supermarket yesterday, on that morning’s dusty walk to the gym, and now while chatting with my trainer—joy in my familiar everyday routine.
My three weeks with family had been nice, but it was an abrupt suspension of the familiar—no loud whirring of the coffee machine squirting out the morning’s brew, no dusty walk to the gym, no shenanigans-filled groceries trips with my partner.1 It was as if my life had gone on a three-week vacation, and only now was returning.
With a smile of comprehension on my face, I went about my pre-workout routine: close laptop, change shoes, put backpack in locker, pee, grab workout towels, fill up water bottle. Then I entered the class. The sound system was playing the familiar loud music, the trainers demonstrated the workouts in the same way they always did, then I completed each exercise in that familiar space, in intervals marked by the sharp, piercing rings of the same old digital timer on the wall, and—once the gruelling 50-minute session was over—took a quick shower in the left-most stall I always used, lathering myself with soap that smelt exactly as I remembered them.
Having changed into a fresh set of clothes, I sat down in the waiting area and pulled out my laptop. I’d work for a bit while waiting for my partner to pick me up for the usual set lunch at our regular spot.
I gave myself an invisible smile as the wave of joy washed over me.
What makes the banal beautiful
It’s interesting when you think about it: why do we find joy in the familiar, everyday routine that characterizes most of our lives? You’d think we’d find it uninteresting, banal. That we’d have to seek joy elsewhere—in the excitement of visiting beautiful places, the novelty of unfamiliar experiences, the rarity of visits home.
And maybe you do find the familiar incredibly boring. But for me and at least my trainer, the banal is also beautiful.
Why this beauty in the banality of routine?
I’ve been pondering this question for a while, and the answer for me is comfort. My everyday routine—with its familiarity—is comfortable. It’s tried and tested. I know with close to 99% certainty that—unless a big-ass truck runs me off the dusty road—things aren’t going to go wrong. I don’t have to subject my brain to the demands of choosing between options with uncertain payoffs—I know what time I need to get up to go to the gym, what route to take, what time I need to close my laptop to get ready for my class, where we’re going for lunch. It’s easy. Risk-free. And I can comfortably settle into it.
It’s this comfort, I think, that sparks the joy I feel when going about my everyday routine. So much is unknowable and uncertain in life that being able to take comfort in the familiarity and certainty of my daily routine becomes a joyful delight.
What do you think?
How about you?
Do you find joy in your everyday routine?
If so, why? And if you find the banal boring, I’d also like to hear from you. Send a reply, leave a comment, share this with someone who brings joy.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
We can usually be found singing gibberish and doing silly dances down empty aisles in supermarkets all over Ho Chi Minh City.