I have—what? five minutes?—just a LITTLE time to write, and I open up the Ipad, and then I think, "Wait. Should I be doing this? Maybe I should write freehand on looseleaf instead."
Another minute ticks by while I argue that out in my head. Finally, I stick to the IPad. I write a paragraph, and then, on this sun-dappled summer morning, it's time to go to work.
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It seems harder, these days, to find time to write. Some of that challenge is situational, and some of that challenge is all down to me.
It is true that, for example, just as I was about to pull out the tablet and get just a smidgen of writing done at the dining room table last Sunday afternoon...the Father's Day meal simmering in the oven, salads ready, peanut butter pie in the freezer…just THEN, James came up from his basement lair, plopped his laptop down on the dining room table and said, "I think I'll work up HERE until dinner. You don't mind, do you? Change of venue and all that?"
I put my pen down. Even if I said to James, "Let's have this be quiet writing time," and even if he complied, sitting quietly across from me at the table, ear buds in, tapping away at his keyboard—even if he was ignoring me, I would not be able to concentrate.
I had written two sentences. I put the notebook away as Jim busily set up his own workstation; I thought about working at my computer desk, but, as I walked through the kitchen to get there, I realized I needed to baste the roast and turn the potatoes. James decided, then, to set the table, and there was the merry clashing of china and jingle of flatware. Mark was snoring in the lounge chair, and that bit of quiet time, that precious writing hole, closed up and disappeared.
There was no trace of it left anywhere.
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Lately I have been thinking I need a schedule.
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Of course, we all have some sort of schedule. So I do have a schedule, realistically. Some of the activities on my schedule are by choice—morning exercise; morning word games; going to work, usually, four days a week. We eat supper around the same time every night, and, come hell or high water, I am in bed, nodding over my book, by 9 P.M.
But there are mindless, undocumented things in my schedule, too…like the time I spend watching videos of babies saying cute things on Facebook, or the time I spend playing solitaire games online. I can start to do one of those things, just for a minute, and an hour later, glazed, I finally stop and stagger away. (That glazed staggering is not a good lead-in activity to writing.)
Lately I have been thinking I need a NEW schedule.
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Much as I would like to tell you that I am a free spirit who blithely decides, based on the input I receive IN THE MOMENT, what needs to be done, what path to take, or which book to read next, I truly am not that person. I get very nervous without a plan.
I feel justified in this, though, when I go online and find an article called "Health Benefits of Having a Routine: Tips for a Healthier Lifestyle" on Northwestern Medicine's website, nm.org.
(I'm a little puzzled by the difference between 'routine'—which nm.org uses-- and 'schedule,'—which I have been floating about-- so I access the Oxford online dictionary. I learn that a routine is "…a sequence of actions regularly followed; a fixed program."
A schedule, on the other hand, is "…a plan for carrying out a process or procedure, giving lists of intended events and times."
It sounds like a routine is what I follow every day, where a schedule is set up for one happening—as in, the Commemoration Festival we attended last weekend gave us a schedule of events to choose from.
I still think I can, and probably will, interchange the terms, but clearly Northwestern Medicine is correct: what I'm talking about is building a daily routine.)
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Here's what Northwestern Medicine tells me will happen if I create an effective routine:
- I'll manage my stress better, knowing what's coming and when I'll accomplish things. A good routine reduces stress, which will lead me to better mental stability AND more leisure time.
- I'll sleep better, too. And that will be part of that refreshed routine: I'll nod off and wake up at about the same time each day, which will help my rest be—well, more restful. And better rest has all kinds of physical and emotional benefits.
- If I schedule my shopping times and make a meal plan, I'll eat more mindfully, and therefore, more healthfully. And I can plan for those impulsive snack times and have nutritious options on hand.
- A routine promotes good activity and exercise, because I build them in.
The authors tell me that if I want to achieve that lovely routine, I should try these steps:
- Take it one step at a time. If I try to change everything all at once, the article warns, I'm setting myself up for disappointment.
- I should sketch out a plan. I'll look at what I want to do; I'll look at the changes I want to make. Then I'll see what I need to do. I'll break the plan into achievable steps, and I'll start with the first one.
- I should consider my thinking, too: am I telling myself I have to change EVERYTHING? Maybe what I really need to do is incorporate some effective habits into my life as it already is.
The Northwestern Medicine folks are kind and encouraging, and I think I can start by building some sacred writing times into my days.
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We learned the value of routine when James was a small person. He had no autism diagnosis then, and we struggled to understand why Jim had challenges encountering surprises,--why even minor disappointments grew into bitter, sobbing roadblocks for him. He had trouble, too, once engrossed in an activity, switching from that to something else.
A wonderful psychologist, Mr. Mike, told us to build some firm routines into the day, and he gave us helpful articles to read, and slowly, we created an expected path onto which each day unrolled. We hung a copy of the day's 'pods' where Jim could easily see it. He would come home from school, and check to see what was next.
"Oh," he might say, "I have an hour of computer time!" We'd note that the hour would end at four, and ten minutes before that, we'd remind him the hour was waning.
Most days, Jim would close things up on time and go to look to see what was next on his agenda.
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The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, on its Head Start page (see link below) offers some wisdom on building predictable routines for kids. Knowing what's coming next, at home, at school, at day care, is comforting and necessary.
Routine, the authors say, helps kids…
…feel in control of their environment, because they know what's coming up.
…feel safely comfortable, because they know their venues and the people who populate them.
…not be surprised. They know what's happening at any given time; they know what's coming up next.
…learn how to do an activity or job when they have a chance for repeated practice at expected times.
…take part in expected activities, developing social skills.
This kind of routine, advises the site, although it may seem prescriptive, actually helps kids develop independence skills.
Routine works a kind of magic on ANY kid. A kid with autism, for whom the world is often a frightening, jumbled mess of apparently random chores and projects and expectations, can see a regular routine as a lifeline.
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Of course, Mr. Mike told us back in those challenging days, the time would come when the routine had to change. A doctor's appointment during computer time, the end of a school year or a school break, a special celebration…often even things that seem worth celebrating are frightening to a kid who needs that routine comfort.
Then, we had to prepare, using a calendar as a visual.
"On this day," we'd say, "we're going to see Mr. Mike during computer time."
We might figure out a way to put computer time—because, for Jim, that was really important time,---in a different slot in that day's schedule.
And for a week ahead, we'd talk about the deviation and remind him what to expect.
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Of course, all of this sounds easy, and of course, like any other practice involving humans, it was messier than it sounds, putting it down in print. Jim still had days where the computer activity was so engrossing he just didn't want to quit.
Some days, it would have been so much easier just to let him have his way.
But the consistency was where the magic bloomed and grew, and so, at least 90 per cent of the time, we let the written routine determine next steps.
And knowing what to expect mostly helped Jim navigate a confusing world.
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Even now, even when he's mastered how to be a college student, routine can wreak comfort in Jim's life. After classes ended this spring, he announced that he was going to enjoy a few days of flying by the seat of his pants, doing whatever he wanted to do, whenever he felt like doing it.
A couple of days passed, days that included late-night video game bouts and large quantities of unsweetened iced tea.
One day when I can home from work, Jim was waiting at the door, abashed.
"I don't know what's UP with me," he said. "I feel...off."
We talked it through, and Jim realized he'd had enough of the unscheduled life. He sat down and created a new routine, and he started, immediately, to follow it.
"I feel more active," Jim says now of his new daily plan. "I feel more...energetic."
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Of course, the sweetness of a solid routine is emphasized by the joy in taking a break from it. On a trip, for instance, chilling at an Airbnb, we might let certain things go. I might forego writing morning pages and finish my book—a murder mystery I'd hope to finish the night before when, instead, I fell asleep midway through the second to last chapter.
Mark might sleep in until 7:12 a.m.
We might eat last night's chicken wings for breakfast; we might plan sightseeing, plug in long-overdue catch-up visits,---or we might just meander through the day.
It's sweet, that ability to decide in the moment.
And then, home again, returning to routine is even sweeter.
Again, it all comes down to mindfulness. And I want to mindfully build a routine that allows me to write.
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So here's what I've decided. My goal is to write for two hours a day. I'll write in the afternoons between 3:30 and 4:30. I'll write in the evening between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m.
I'll also write on weekends, but I am thinking about different hours then—maybe a nice solid block of writing time each morning.
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Once I get this routine established, once I can morph the writing projects chugging around my boney cavern into words on a page, then I'll reevaluate. Will I need to make other schedule changes?
With a workable routine as a launchpad, I'll figure it out.
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https://eclkc.ohs.acf.hhs.gov/quienes-somos/articulo/importance-schedules-routines
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