In a couple of days, 38 hours to be exact, the whole family and I would be on our way to our much-anticipated holiday in United States for five weeks. My mental state is however, at this present moment divided into half, bisected, even-steven. I am so torn between wanting to go and needing to stay. One side looks forward to some rest and relaxation with the clan whereas the other side soaks me in apprehension, annoyance and heartache. Apprehension because I am having to leave all that I am accustomed to; my regular, my normal, my everyday behind in stasis while I adopt new ones as you do when you land into unfamiliar surroundings. Annoyance because every big and minute detail of my otherwise sedentary life now seem to crop up screaming at me to get done before I go. And heartache because I will not have ‘kemosabe’ by my side for five weeks. Chops licker will be at home taken care of by two lovely people who I am sure will be doting on the mutt so much so that when the time comes when I do return, black mama will be missing them.
These few days of trip preparation has made me realize that human beings are at the very core, creatures of comfort and familiarity. We of the flesh draw comfort from knowing what comes next in our daily routine and even though we find ourselves wish that life is not so conventional, we are at the very depth, bland and monotonous. We draw comfort from the expected and ordinary because it provides us peace and some dominance over our lives. We grow, we learn, and we inspire within the proximity afforded to us by routine. I believe that routine has received a fair amount of ‘bad rap’ in these modern age of the YOLO culture. You do only live once but to foolishly go against the inevitable habitual of life and purposely tempt the unnatural for the sake of flicking the middle finger at life, well, seems pretty dismal to me.
“We all have our routines,” he said softly.”But they must have a purpose and provide an outcome that we can see and take some comfort from, or else they have no use at all. Without that, they are like the endless pacings of a caged animal. If they are not madness itself, then they are a prelude to it.” – John Connolly