A Love Letter to My Routine

My father has had the same morning routine for as long as I can remember:

• Wake up early
• Measure two scoops of coffee grounds into the pot
• Settle into the leather armchair
• Listen to the morning news

I am my father’s daughter, because I too am a creature of habit. I thrive when things go to plan. But life rarely goes according to plan. I mitigate this by creating small routines. Washing my face with the same cleanser since 2010. Always sleeping on the same side of the bed. These small routines give me strength when things go haywire. It is how I manage the lightspeed pace of modern life. In a modern era where things move a million miles a minute, instilling constants in my day-to-day gives my mind and body the reassurance of stability. This stability acts like a buoy when other areas of my life are less predictable. This way of living impacts how I exercise. I am an avid runner, and once I find a footpath I like, I wear it down until it’s as if the soles of my shoes are touching the Earth’s core. I rarely deviate from my running routes once I’ve established them. The idea of deviating from my well worn paths seems akin to cheating on my longtime hairdresser by getting a haircut from someone else.

I have lived in a handful of different places in my life. When I move to a new place, I start my journey of feeling connected to that place by establishing a local run route. It’s a way of scouting my new territory and getting familiar with my surroundings. It’s a way to notice the small rhythms of a community and the people who create it. It’s the entryway to feeling like I belong in that community.

I have two favorite run routes in my current neighborhood. They’re favorites because I do not need a car to access them. I simply step outside my door and hit the road. Another reason they’re treasured is because there are beautiful views of a waterway and a mountain range. During my runs, I stop and whisper greetings to the water and the jagged peaks. I thank them for their enormity, because they make me and my problems feel small. I have pounded the pavement on these two local run routes for five years. They have offered me endless reassurance and inspiration. Until one day, when I noticed I did not have the motivation to run my beloved routes. I could not figure out why, because I had not experienced any significant shifts in my life. Life had not thrown any mega curveballs. And yet, I no longer looked forward to getting outdoors and moving through my ritualized runs. That’s how I knew I needed to shake things up. My mind and body were signaling that I no longer felt invigorated, which alarmed me because I did not want to spiral downward into a funk.

But how could I achieve a figurative change of scenery without deviating from the literal scenery and routine I needed? I tackled this by not changing where I ran, but how I ran. In the past, I’d bring my phone and earbuds on runs so I could listen to music or a podcast. I ditched my devices and set out with just me, my five senses, and my beat up Hokas. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to achieve with a silent run, but it was the only way I could think to switch things up.

I tested this silent running for a couple weeks. At first, it annoyed me that I could hear my own laborious breath. It made me feel more tired to hear just how heavily I was breathing. I also felt self-conscious of the sound my feet made while smacking the pavement. But over time, these things no longer irked me. I started measuring my breathing and challenged my mind to slow down its incessant chatter. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was connecting my body and mind by connecting to the Earth around me.

After getting into a groove with silent running, it was like I had reconnected with a long lost friend. It didn’t matter how much my body huffed and puffed, because my mind was busy marveling at how much I had changed from the time I first scouted these routes. These trusty routes had bore witness to my personal growth. They watched as I transformed into a better runner and a true community member. I realized I had given myself a gift by retracing the same run routes day after day. It is a gift because it is a sense of place-based identity. I slowly started to re-emerge as the runner who whispered her hellos and thank yous to the water and the jagged peaks. I’d missed them, even though they’d been there all along.

By fully immersing my five senses, I noticed new details about my surroundings. Just when I thought I knew these routes like the back of my hand, they started to surprise me in interesting ways. It was akin to experiencing these well-worn paths for the first time. I noticed the family of racoons that had taken residence high in a tree. They peered down curiously at me as I gazed up at them from the sidewalk. I noticed a chorus of seal barks wafting on the breeze. I imagined a contentious town hall meeting about salmon eating and which boats in the marina they deemed the prettiest. I noticed the slow power of tree roots that had burst through tiny cracks in the pavement. I noticed the silent heroes who kept the Little Free Library shelves full of interesting books. I noticed the curb ramps that had been installed to create a more inclusive neighborhood.

I felt at ease knowing I had fallen back in love with my run routes. And I fully enjoyed the act of moving my body again. But, my insights ran even deeper than this. I started to think more deeply about humanity and community. I observed beautiful things happening right outside my door, and it made the rest of the world seem like a less scary place. I find I get easily swept up in endless news cycles that are centered on doom and gloom. It can be overwhelming to absorb all that information and wonder, what can I do about it? Without intending to, my silent runs taught me the answer to what can I do? starts by tuning into your own neighborhood. Reconnecting with the run routes I’d forged long ago reminded me of my place in the community, and my duty to protect it. I felt inspired to pursue professional and creative endeavors that would serve my fellow community members and the land that brought us together.

Investing in your local community, with acts of love big or small, is the way to make a difference. We are all extensions of our local communities. What we invest in ourselves and those around us roots us in shared belonging. It is what humans have needed since humans have inhabited this Earth. This sense of identity is especially a lifeline in our modern pace of life that is often overwhelming and distanced from what truly matters. Every person gets to decide what truly matters to them. For me, what matters is tracing paths through the familiar using the soles of my feet. It’s being a silent, undistracted observer who notices the little things. It’s listening to my body and mind, and honoring their requests for new inspiration. It is being thankful for the ability to develop a routine with the outdoors woven into it. I hope you find time to slow down and tune in, too– whatever that looks like for you.