Routines, rituals, and comfort

I had a bit of a hard day today. Not a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day, not by any means, but a bumpy one.

My evening, on the other hand, has been lovely.

Why? There are a few reasons, but most of them boil down to routines, rituals, and comfort.

As I began my drive home this evening, I tuned into the local public radio station. Routine. I stopped for a cold drink, removed the lid, drank deeply, let the ice cubes dissolve in my mouth. Routine.

I took my weekly artist date: browsed in a bookstore, sank into a comfy chair with an armful of books and magazines to peruse. Ritual. I stumbled across a passage that I liked enough to want to remember, and carefully copied it into my journal. Ritual. I chose a new journal to purchase, carefully considering all of the available options before settling on the one that made me happiest. Ritual.

I came home. Home. Comfort.

I cuddled and chatted with my daughter. Comfort. I snuggled with my sweetie. Comfort. I petted the cat. Comfort.

These are the things that bring me back to myself in times of duress. These are the things that help me, ever so gently, to remember that in any situation, at any given time, I remain myself. All that I am, all that I need, is already within reach.


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