Stella Leventoyannis Harvey

Happy New Year!   

I thrive on routine. I think I’ve mentioned that in one or two, or maybe more, blogs. I’m sure I’ve written about routine and discipline so often you’ve wondered about my origins. Is she a robot or a real person? Let me reassure you. I’m no robot. I stray from the rigidity of my life several times a year. So there. Yes, I do. Really, I do. Gee, now I sound like a five year old. Blame it on the anarchy of December.

Usually in the lead up to Christmas I relax my plans. With all the shopping and travelling, and the guests to entertain, there is no time for routine. So rather than resist and worry about what I’m not getting done, I go with the chaos, let it consume me. In fact, I plan for it. I know what you’re thinking. Of course she does.  

I tell myself this is December. There are other things to be done. I can’t fit my routine into everything else that’s expected of me. Relax. Yes, I can. It’s okay. I repeat these words: I’ll get back to my regular life soon. For now, just enjoy.

I tuck away my need to write and exercise every day. I give in to desserts, chocolate, jellybeans, and just about anything sugary. I skip meals. Not hungry, I say, but somehow I always have room for something sweet. Studying and planning and logic go out the window. Sleeping? Well, I’m not a good sleeper anyway. So nothing changes on that front. I keep up with my reading because there is no way I could give that up. But otherwise, I’m rather lazy and laid back.

I’m reckless and free, unchained from my life. The one I’ve created and fashioned into what feels like a prison sometimes. It’s great to take my foot off the brake. Life isn’t meant to be so focused all the time. These are the arguments I repeat to myself. Yes, there’s mayhem (as I define it anyway), but it feels as though I’m calling the shots rather than allowing my routines to dictate. And I like that.

Soon my stomach starts to ache. The syrupy treats seem to sour in my mouth, sit like stones in my gut. I feel sluggish. I’d kill for a run or a long walk. January, I tell myself. It’s coming and I’ll be back to some order soon. I start to plan for it. Not sure I can do anything without a plan.

Questions arise: What day will I go back to my routine? When can I get the house together? How do I get rid of the junk food in the cupboards and fridge?  What else has to be done to find my way back to the predictability of my regular days? The right conditions have to be in place. That’s the planner in me. December is my wild, out of control side. Coming to terms with these contradictory aspects isn’t easy. There is no 12-step program to deal with me.

Nor will making New Year’s resolutions help. I know. I’ve tried this too and decided I’m a goal setter rather than a resolution maker. So I stay the course. I get back to my life as quickly as I can in January, knowing there will be other times I will step off the treadmill (literally and figuratively). And that’s a good thing.

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