In The Habit of Love

Love is a habit.

‘We first make our habits and then our habits make us.’

This saying has been one that has retained its place in my memory for many years.

I can’t tell you why. Possibly because I’m in the habit of remembering quotes and phrases that may possibly come in handy sometime.

Habits can be food for the soul. Bad habits can eat away at the very essence of one’s core.

Daily life is driven by habits.

Some of mine keep me on the straight and narrow.

List making is a skill I acquired probably in my Uni days to keep up with assignment due dates, lecture times and extra curricular activities. This habit rolled over into my teaching career where a ‘to do’ list was essential.  I still make lists; can’t function without them. There is something completely satisfying about checking items off a list. Before bed, I empty my head of the next day’s duties. Each morning I face the ‘pigs might fly’ scenario. I’ll be darned if those squealing pink trotters will grow wings while I’m on a mission. Every item will be checked off before I’ll allow my head to hit the pillow. Only exhaustion will stop me every once in awhile.

There’s one thing that is never on my itemised and ordered agenda.

Love.

The day I need to include a reminder to love is the day I’ll stop making checklists then those pigs better fly on stealth mode.

Old habits are hard to break.

Are new ones easier to make?

Watching the kids I see habits forming. They watch me too.

The blanket that needs to be smoothed and perfectly placed. Toast cut into four triangles. Patterns and routines. Rinse and repeat.

After all we are creatures of habit hoping to create a sense of order and control in an otherwise chaotic existence.

A new habit for me is writing.

I love it. It’s cathartic, rewarding, addictive.

The only part of the habit that is cause for concern is the capacity of my brain. Words become prompts for my tireless brain. Titles vie for attention in my hemispheres. Stories jump around in my grey matter begging to be let out. Some flit in and out in a moment-vanishing like fog, leaving me grasping at tendrils, willing the idea to be front-and-centre once more.

There will never be enough time to share the millions of ideas that float in and around me. The ones I carry, those that I forget and others that are left in the wasteland hoping to someday see the light of day.

To fulfil my habit is not only the desire to write but to read. To immerse myself in all the stories from all parts of the globe. To share, start conversations and relish in the great ones.

Perhaps a new habit is required.

I’ll need some time to create it.

Sometime soon would be perfect.

The new habit I’ll love.