I think of my day to day life as moving across a landscape. Every week has a topography, which, while it may shift slowly – or occasionally abruptly – nevertheless gives me a sense of being somewhere. For many – those in 9-5 weekday jobs or in school – the weekend looms large, either as a place to slow down and take a breath, or as a place speed up and shake off the cobwebs of mundane weekday life. For me, Mondays are a landmark. I am post-school and post-job, and it is my weekly piano lesson that is significant. I work on the pieces I am trying to master, and as the week goes by I assess my progress relative to how much time I’ve left until I perform them. A sense of urgency may develop, if I am not making the kind of progress I feel I ought, and that changes the tenor of the weekend.
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The topography of my week has become flatter. My planetary science course is over and so Tuesdays and Thursdays have lost their previous distinctiveness. Now the only event of note (so to speak) is my piano lesson every Monday. That leaves me feeling restless. Towards the end of the summer, the piano lessons will cease for the inter-term period, and I have the sense that I will be living in a sort of eternal present where the days blend into one another with little distinction. I do not find this a pleasant thought.
When I began to think about retiring, I realized I would lose a lot of structure as well as sources of stimulation that work and related professional activities provided. So I did things like start piano lessons, sign up for courses at the U, become involved in the geological society of Minnesota), and develop plans for an ongoing series of hiking trips. The pandemic has disrupted most of this, eliminating much and altering the rest in ways that dilute their value for me.
I’ve been pondering what it is that makes daily/weekly/monthly life satisfying. For me, I think I need a mixture of structure and stimulation, and the question is how to arrange life so that it has that. That is, if there is a continuum between the doldrums where the days blend seamlessly into one another and boredom is the dominant experience, and chaotic rapids where one is constantly dealing with the unexpected and barely managing to stay afloat, much less navigate, how does one adjust one’s location on the continuum. I certainly don’t want to permanently dwell on either end, but I do recognize that brief periods of doldrums can be nice if one is tired and needs to recharge, as can the exhilaration of rapids when one needs a change.
So how does one manage to create a life with the right blend of comfort and stimulation? This is something that, for me, work and/or school has always done a lot to contribute to. However, in their absence, I need to figure out how to construct this for myself. I think this is a challenge that more people are facing due to the pandemic.
I’ve developed a theory – perhaps one that applies only to myself – about how to arrange life so that it is satisfying. My theory is that three things are needed to have a satisfying life: a routine that provides a recurring daily structure, landmarks that help you keep track of where you are in the routine and perhaps provide a sense of progression, and unusual occasional or sporadic events – which for lack of a better word I will call ‘zings’ – that provide variety or surprise or distinctiveness, and that disrupt routines and alter one’s relationship to landmarks.
I find routine pleasant in that provides a sort of scaffolding for one’s day. And I personally like repeating things, at least if I enjoy them. I have favorite books, for example, that I read again and again, because I know I like them, and also that I will see new things in them, or experience them differently. Same thing for running and hiking – I like going back to places I know (not exclusively, but often), and of course the nice thing about the world is that it changes, so you’re always going to see new things as the season progresses. However, if there is nothing but routine, or repetition of familiar things, the days and experiences blur into one another.
Landmarks help me keep track of where I am in the week or the season. Right now I am living in a pretty ‘flat’ topography, except for the ‘peak’ of piano lesson. My piano lesson is significant in that I prepare for it, trying to polish (or sometimes just be able to stumble through) the pieces I am working on. If I do well enough, I graduate from old pieces and move on to new ones, and so that progression is nice. But the point is that I usually know where I am in the week, because I’m peripherally aware of how well various pieces are coming along and how far off the time is when I will play them for my teacher. Courses – at least if they include homework and tests – perform the same sort of role. As do hiking trips – in the sense that I both look forward to them with anticipation, and also (because of my age) need to work to make sure I am in shape for what I plan to do… of course the hiking trips are currently in abeyance.