The days melt one into another, the alarm goes off at the same time every morning and the head hits the pillow about the same time every night.  The classes are in the same order every day, interrupted only by those times when there’s planning instead of a class.  I leave the apartment every day with purse across the body, the same backpack slung over my right shoulder carrying my laptop and the day planner I’ve used for over 20 years, and the purple lunch bag with my cold pack and diet coke.

While I do have occasional adventures, the truth is that day in and day out looks pretty much the same.  Granted, sometimes the kids do or say something funny, like my Kindergartner looking for her lost “glub” today or the 1st grader who insists on eating his blueberries at lunch straight out of little cup so that he has stains in a circle from his nose to his chin.  It goes with the territory.  It’s the same for a lot of us though, isn’t it?  We get home, throw some laundry in the wash, defrost something for dinner, sit at a tray in front of the TV on the couch and eat.  Those necessary things we all have to do.  When your life is such a predictable routine, where do you find the material to write about?

Maybe the problem is that writing has become part of the routine.  I still look forward to it but my ideas for topics aren’t very earth shattering.  How could they be when I do the same thing over and over.  There’s something inside of me that wants to really change things up but knowing just how to do this is tough.  And scary.  I’ve talked about this before – but when and HOW do I stop talking about it and start doing something so that I can write about it?  It always sounds much easier than it is, at least for me.

So, in the middle of writing this, my better half walks in, says he’s throwing on a hoodie and we’re going out for a goodie.  I throw on a coat and we grab the keys and walk down the hall to the elevator, the usual routine interrupted by a mini-date.  As we walk from the elevator in the parking garage to the car, we fall into our usual routine of walking in tempo, on the same foot, going to our appointed places in the car.  Still routine within the improvisation.  He makes the same silly jokes that I still laugh at, even through I have either heard them or a variation thereof for close to 40 years, and suddenly routine isn’t mediocrity, it’s comforting.  And the frustration I felt earlier begins to fade away and appreciation for those expected things takes its place.

This is not to say that I won’t always want more adventures.  I blame my military upbringing where we moved every 2 1/2 to 3 years and I continue to feel that restlessness.  The need for change, the need to see and learn something new.  And maybe I need to work on stepping out of the comfort zone again to create adventures rather than waiting for them to happen to me.  Maybe the well isn’t as dry as I sometimes think and maybe I need to step out to fill the well myself instead of waiting for it to rain.