A creature of habit

            During the early days of my time in Seattle—the weeks I was healing my sprained ankle, the snow storm, the glasses incident—they all happened at the same time as a very quick, intense, and short-lived relationship.  After this relationship (which ended shortly after the glasses incident), I fell back into my typical routine with relationships, or lack thereof.  To be sure, there were boys in my life who stuck around for a while, but there were no actual relationships.  I feel as though I need to discuss my flaws in this area, because it underlies a lot of the choices I make.  I am aware of the big and glaring piece of my life that is missing, and has been missing for a very long time.  This gaping hole should be acknowledged.

I am, if nothing else, a creature of extreme habit and routine.  I frame my life around my routines.  They make me feel sane, as if I have some sort of control over what happens in my life.  They give me comfort, because I know what to expect from myself.  They provide structure in my life.  And the best part about all of this is that my routines are unobstructed by the unpredictability of another human. 

I have routines both big and small.  For instance, here is what life is like for me most days after work:

1)  Come home

2)  Run with Lucy

3)  Shower

4)  Make Dinner

5)  Eat dinner

6)  Drink hot tea or a glass of wine (depending on my mood)

7)  Spend an hour or so reading, writing a blog, or watching Hulu or Netflix (also depending on my mood)

8)  Get ready for bed

9)  Read in bed until I fall asleep

This larger routine can be broken into smaller routines.  There’s the shower routine:

1)  Shampoo

2)  Wash face

3)  Put in conditioner

4)  Shave, if necessary

5)  Wash body

6)  Rinse out conditioner

Or, the get ready for bed routine:

1)  Brush teeth

2)  Put on face cream

3)  Floss (added this step about a month ago, very proud of myself)

4)  Empty bladder

5)  Take Lucy out to empty her bladder

6)  Get into bed

            Lucy has ferreted out the intricacies of my routines and formed her own based upon them.  When we come home from our run, she heads straight to the bedroom to wait for me to shower.  Then she disturbingly watches as I get dressed.  She can tell that if I put on my PJs, it will be a normal night.  If normal clothes go back on, she knows that a wrench has been thrown into the routine this evening.  She eats her dinner while I make mine, then patiently waits as I eat—sometimes at the table, sometimes on the coffee table at the couch (wow, I know, a bit of variance here).  Once the dishes are washed and I curl back up on the couch (either with my computer or a book), she knows it’s ok to creep up into her corner of the couch with me.

            Lucy and I are both discomforted by changes in our routines.  We both get edgy, waiting for something unexpected to happen.  This is not to say that we are not flexible and open to change.  There are nights I go out to dinner with friends or for a run with my team.  We adjust to these changes, but I typically limit them to one, maybe 2 nights a week.  We integrate these changes into our lives and find ways to form routines around them to make them work.  Weekends are different, less predictable and routine, with many more options for flexibility.  However, whatever choices I make, Lucy adjusts her routines to mine.  She doesn’t demand too much of me.

            My extreme need for my routines, my “me” time, usually works for me.  I handle a lot of stress and activity in my life with relative ease because of these routines.  They have altered slightly over time, but in essence since I got Lucy and started teaching and running, no matter my location (Brooklyn, Queens, Magnolia, the U-District, or Phinney Ridge), these routines are the same.  It may make me sound crazy, maybe a little OCD, but I love my routines.  And I’ve come to the realization in the past year that perhaps my love for my routine is a big reason why I am eternally single.

            Being in a relationship means that you have to share.  You have to share your life, share your time, share your routines.  You have to make space for the unpredictability of change.  You have to take into account someone’s feelings, needs, wants, and desires in your most basic of routines.  I have trouble letting someone in that close to me.  For the most part I think I’ve tended to keep the boys I’ve dated at arm’s length.  In the past, I thought that my inability to keep someone close was their fault, but I’ve been able to step back and look at things from outside of the box.  I now realize that it might be me that doesn’t let them very close.

            Looking back on my life since coming to Seattle has helped me realize this.  But, the problem with this realization is that the longer I’ve gone with it being just me, making my own decisions, the harder it is to let go of that.  To try to factor someone else in.  To put it simply, I think I am just too good at being single for my own good.  But that doesn’t make me any less tired of being single.

            I’m ready for a relationship to work, but for me to do that, I have to let go of a lot of things.  I have to let go of a little bit of the freedom I’ve enjoyed for so long.  I have to let go of some routines.  I have to be flexible.  I have to be willing to share my precious solitude.  It will be hard for me to do this.  And right now, I guess I don’t have to worry.  There is no one knocking at my door asking me to give any of this up yet.

            My hope for the future is that one day (honestly, I hope one day soon), someone will stumble into my life who I will want to give these things up for.  Maybe it won’t feel like I’m giving these things up, but creating a new and different routine in my life—a routine I want to share with someone else.  Maybe the fact that I haven’t wanted to give these things up yet just means I haven’t found someone worth giving them up for.  Maybe there’s still hope for me.  Maybe.

            In the mean time, Lucy and I will keep running.