a tendency to think in absolutes
on the false promise of the perfect morning routine & trying to embrace balance
I’ve always thought of myself as a morning person. To me, there’s nothing more appealing than the idea of a slow, quiet, leisurely morning. The muted morning light streaming in through the blinds. The smell of coffee. Soft scrambled eggs and toast. The rest of the day stretching out in front of me, still brimming with possibility.
I can’t help but romanticize it, even though I know it’s a lie. (And everyone loves a big fat lie.) On social media, we’re spoon-fed this narrative about the perfect morning routine, the virtue ascribed to being an early riser. Because people who have their shit together don’t stay in bed past 7 am.
I used to make lists of ways I could improve my morning routine. Little adjustments here and there, each one designed to address some perceived failing, so that every minute was accounted for and fully optimized. My neurosis laid out in the Notes app. Do 15 minutes of yoga every day. While waiting for the coffee to brew, complete the NYT mini-crossword, ideally in under a minute. Read the NYT’s morning briefing. Do my morning pages. I maintained this routine with unwavering devotion. I thought that if I could streamline it so that each task was carried out effortlessly and daily, I could unlock some kind of code to personal fulfillment.
The pandemic, naturally, exacerbated this tendency to think in absolutes, and I clung to my routine to give the days shape, to anchor them in something constant and within my control. On days when the morning felt particularly satisfying and the rest of the day had gone smoothly, I attributed it to my routine. If I could replicate the days when things went well, I could somehow set myself up for success. Except the more dialed in I became, the more obsessive I got about maintaining the ritual, the harder I was on myself when I faltered or when it didn’t bring about the desired results.
Because surprise, surprise, none of it actually improved my life or made me happier. It was just a way for me to maintain some semblance of control to keep from spiraling out. Eventually, the rigidity became suffocating. The tighter my grip, the less control I felt I actually had.
These days, I’m trying to embrace balance. Trying to catch myself when I start thinking in ‘shoulds’ and ‘have-tos’. Now, my mornings are decidedly less regimented, the only constant being the two-kilometer-long walk I take every day on the running path behind my apartment. When I started taking these walks more than a year ago, they felt like a lifeline. I called them my mental health walks. And while they still do feel integral, I know now they’re not the only thing holding me together.
this month on rough age:
Next week, I’ll be writing about what I’ve been eating and cooking lately. No recipe this time, just want to try out something new.
Then in two weeks: horror as therapy, a list of the films that got me through my depresion.
And then on the 24th, another culture round-up of everything I’ve been watching/reading/listening to.
Hope you’ll stick around. And if you’d like to support this newsletter, you can do so on my Patreon page. I plan to start releasing bonus content on there in the coming weeks.
As always, thanks for being here. 🖤
perfectionism. never works but i keep trying.
Not me, just yesterday, writing in Notes app “15 mins morning yoga”. 🙈