How to Be…Routine.

by Lindsay Timmington

I have successfully steamed broccoli, texted, skyped, listened to music, done sun salutations, vacuumed the carpet, washed my clothes, scrubbed the bottom of a burnt pot, plucked my eyebrows and brushed my dog. Ive done all this instead of writing. Cause every time I sit down, even if I pour a glass of wine and place it inches from my right hand (accessibility and ease!) I play the silly little game of write, delete, write, delete, skip that song, sip that wine, write, delete-you see where I’m going.

Which is maybe where Day 6 of yoga_girl #yogaeverydaydamn will come in handy. The thing is, I’ve known all day what I’d be doing for the theme of Day 6: start a new routine-but didn’t know how to write about it or photograph it, and hell-the Rite Aid was out of kitchen timers which was really the creative direction of this whole endeavor and DAMN-this is hard.

30 minutes a day.  That’s my new routine.  I already devote an hour of day to exercise, really the only routine that I rarely deviate from-partially because I hate what the word ‘routine’ connotes: staidness, monotony and predictability-BLECH-and partially because I’ve never had a problem getting behind a physical routine be it a snappy dance number or the miles I clock each day on my run. But when it comes to the other things that routine represents, I typically want to bolt—I like change, love being kept on my toes and hell-that’s one of the reasons I got into theatre—no sooner are you used to one “routine” but it’s over, and you’re off to the next.

But 30 minutes a day—I can, nee! I will—set a kitchen time and sit my ass down at my desk and write.  Every damn day. It’s something I’ve long intended to do,  hell, it’s something I’ve already done for the last six days of this challenge, and yet I’ve never been disciplined enough in the past to make certain that 30 minutes a day were carved out and devoted to writing.  No doubt this is partially because the idea that 30 minutes could pass and I’d have nothing to show for it, nothing but scribbles and ick and documents that would soon be dragged across my desktop to the trash. That terrifies me. Besides that, I tend to be a writer who writes when I have to-when I have to find a writing utensil even if it’s a lip crayon and a place for it to land, even if it’s a napkin- I have to write.  Right now.  I’ve just never been disciplined enough to see what happens if I sit down every day, for at least 30 minutes and just write.

So here we go.  A new routine. Not a symbol of monotony but the disciplined pursuit of creativity. The predictability in my new routine a simple 30 minutes set on the timer and the hope that by the time the “ding” rings out, I’ll be so immersed that I’ll  continue to write until my fingers cramp, the thoughts in my head find a resting place on the page, or the wine runs out. Fingers crossed it’s not the wine.

This bad boy is on its way to me. Thank you Target. And yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I have a timer on my phone, my computer, my iPad, my dog, blahblahblah but I want the real damn, ticking thing to stare me down as I pass my desk.  Tick. Tick. Tick...

This bad boy is on its way to me. Thank you Target. And yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I have a timer on my phone, my computer, my iPad, my dog, blahblahblah but I want the real damn, ticking thing to stare me down as I pass my desk.
Tick. Tick. Tick…

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