The Surprising Benefits of a Daily Routine
House in North Vancouver. Photo by Tanya Clarke 2022
In the summer of 1982, I became a teenager. That same summer my parents announced they were separating and my dad was moving out. My world collapsed.
I remember sitting on the sofa with my two sisters as mum and dad told us the news. My youngest sister, all of five years old, asked me, "Why are you crying?".
It was a difficult time.
Term Always Starts in September
The school I went to was a small all-girls boarding school in Norfolk, built near the edge of a cliff top overlooking the North Sea. During the winter, the wind howled around the dormitory buildings whipping up the sea into white horses that we could sit and watch from the windows.
I told two of my closest friends what had happened in the summer. I was not the only one.
My housemistress Mrs Cooper, asked me how I was. She told me she understood my parent's had separated. Mrs Cooper wore her hair like the Queen, styled with hot rollers into a practical 'do'. She always wore a skirt that reached just past her knees, revealing thin legs in tights and her feet in low-heeled shoes. Her kindness cracked my fragile guard. I swore at Mrs Cooper and told her it was none of her business. Which was wrong, of course. My care was her business. But I was strung out on worry, sadness and anger. It was hard to contain it all.
The School Routine
I've pondered this period of time frequently over the years and wondered why I didn’t spiral into years of rebellion and depression. The anxiety still hung there, just below the surface. I wondered though, if the school routine, with its repetition and its familiarity, quite by accident, had helped to move me forward in my life despite the difficulties at home.
The wake-up bell rang at 7 am, a second one at 7.10. Breakfast was at 7.30. Then prep (homework) at 8.30, assembly at 9, and lessons began at 9.15. Something like that. Then there was lunch at midday, more lessons at 1 pm, finishing up at 5 pm. Dinner at 6, prep again from 7 pm until 8 pm. Bed time varied depending on which school year you were in.
At the weekend, we had lessons on a Saturday morning with the afternoon to do as we wanted. Get the train up the coast to Sheringham or play a team sport or hang out with friends. As a Church of England school, Sunday was a day of rest. And church.
I remember the grace we said before lunch - For what we're about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen.
A murmuring of words that meant nothing and everything all at the same time.
For some girls, the boring, repetition of the daily routine was something to fight against. For me, that boring daily routine gave me support. Whatever was happening at home, here, at school, things stayed the same. I had to get up, go to breakfast, go to lessons, have lunch, do homework, go to bed. I knew when and where to be, at which time and with whom. The daily routine created stability which, at the time, was so important.
Fast Forward to 2021
There I am enjoying an early summer day (summer again) when I get a call from the hospital saying there'd been a cancellation. My name had moved up the waiting list. Would I like to take advantage of this appointment and schedule surgery sooner rather than later? The surgery was gallbladder removal. Nothing major. Day surgery, in and out in a few hours. Still it entailed a general anaesthetic and a few weeks of taking things slowly while my body healed. I said yes to this unforeseen opportunity and a couple of weeks later, that small, inflamed organ was removed.
Before surgery I'd started working through the 90-Day Novel by Alan Watt. The book guides you through the mysterious process of book writing, "marrying the wildness of your imagination to the rigour of structure." The idea is if you write every day, you can complete a first draft in 90 days.
In June 2021, there I was complete with my gallbladder, having reached Day 45. I didn't think about how surgery would affect me beyond how long it would take to heal. I thought I would carry on writing every day as I had been for the previous 44.
Of course, things are never that simple. Even the smallest of operations can take a toll emotionally. I stopped writing. Halfway through the 90 days, between having a gallbladder and then not having a gallbladder, the desire and momentum evaporated.
Then, three months later, I suffered a concussion after fainting one morning and banging the back of my head on the hard wooden floor of our kitchen.
Everything had gone tits up.
2021 was not the year I was going to complete my first draft.
The First Draft
After several months of healing, I took up my pen and notebook again. I'd decided to try for version two of my first draft.
I set my alarm for 6.10 am. Why ten past the hour seemed the right time is anyone’s guess. For five months, because it took me longer than 90 days, my alarm went off at 6.10 am. At 6.15, I rolled out of bed, visited the bathroom for a pee, drank a large glass of water, gathered my notebook, Watt's book and a couple of pens and sat on the floor in my husband's office in the basement and wrote a few pages every day.
On 13th September, I finished my first draft.
It's now December and I'm still getting up at 6.10 am. I'm dictating my story into Scrivener a bit at a time, every morning. I'm there for an hour, sometimes longer, speaking my words out loud where nobody can hear me. I then walk the dog around the block.
How a Daily Routine Helps
The surprising benefit I’ve found is the crushing fatigue I'd felt every morning has lifted. Quite by chance. Having this daily routine has weirdly improved my energy levels. When I try to lie in, I feel a bit listless for the rest of the day. I am discombobulated, as if the day hasn't quite come into focus. The next day I get up again at 6.15 and my mood is always better.
For example, today, I wanted to do some Christmas shopping. I'd wanted to do some Christmas shopping yesterday but heavy snow on Tuesday had left the roads treacherous. And despite the newly acquired snow tyres on my car I decided to postpone my plans for the following day.
So.
Today is the day. The sun is shining, the roads are clear, and I have a list. I set off. I park up at my shopping destination, get out of the car and slip on black ice. I manage to regain my balance without falling on my bum and looking foolish. In this moment of slight panic, I notice the rear tyre on the driver's side looking flatter than it should. I step tentatively back to the car while thinking about what to do. I get back in the car. I decide the best course of action is to go back home and then work out what to do.
Back home, I park the car up in the garage. Through a number of text messages to my husband and various unhelpful YouTube videos, I manage to inflate the flat tyre to its required pressure.
A year ago, if this had happened to me, I would've been angry and frustrated that my morning wasn't going to plan.
Today, I inflated the tyre and took the dog for a walk. I came back and made a coffee. The sun is still shining and the tyre is still inflated. I remembered I'd got up as usual this morning and dictated some more of my draft. I'm over halfway through.
Somehow, don't ask me how, the regularity of my morning routine helps me manage a day that doesn't quite go according to plan. I remember I can do some of that Christmas shopping online. That I managed to get home safely. That the family dog, however annoying, still makes me laugh every day.
Do you have a daily routine? Does it create calm in your life? Comments are open below.
