The invisible beauty of routines

I have always been criticized for my lack of attachment to material things. It is not difficult for me to let go of something if someone asks me for it, if it gets ruined, or simply if it is stolen. I find it hard to think that something material could be so important that I could not live without it. I do not make any object the center of my existence, no matter how valuable it is.

I have had very particular experiences that corroborate this detachment: I have had very expensive cell phones and laptops that were stolen from me, clothes that were borrowed and never returned, and even once a car was stolen from me that we later recovered stripped, and in none of these instances did I feel like I fell into a pit of suffering and sadness. Of course, you can feel upset by bad luck, but I am the type of person who turns the page and continues with my life.

Perhaps the attachment I can show, beyond what I can feel for my loved ones, is to routine. I find it hard to let go of the daily schedules in which I do things and the way I do them. When I go to work I take the same streets, even though I could take others; I stop at the same corners as if the others were invisible to me or in them I were the invisible one. I visit the same supermarket and go through the same aisles to take the same items: the same butter, the same coffee, the same type of detergent. It is a kind of map that I have carried for many years.

I am sure it would not be a tragedy if I stopped doing some things, but I know it would be difficult and I would miss them a lot. I remember that during Venezuela's economic crisis, when many products were scarce, Venezuelans had to buy whatever was on the shelves, even if they were very poor quality products. I remember missing the taste of my favorite coffee, the taste of my preferred butter, and sighing at the smell of the familiar detergent. But even so, I did not stop drinking coffee, nor eating butter, nor did I stop washing clothes. I learned to enjoy other flavors and other smells, but with that feeling of longing.

I believe that my attachment to routine responds to the security that familiar flavors, familiar places, familiar faces can provide me. Some routines become a refuge, an anchor, an order in our world. It's as if in everything I live, feel, do, taste, I want to feel at home. I love my routines, and in such a changing world, those things I do inhabit me and make me who I am.

All images are from my personal gallery and the text was translated with Google

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