The Power of Patterns
We all know that dogs love routines. Their bedtime, their walks, their play sessions, and of course most of all their breakfast and dinner. Filling their days with structure truly seems to give them a sense of stability, of happiness, of purpose in life.
But what about people? Sure, routines are crucial in order for most of us to get things done, but do they really contribute to overall happiness? Personally, I feel a bit guilty for not living a varied and unpredictable enough life. I’ve been making an effort to spice up our daily existence with new recipes and short visits to places we’ve never been. It’s sometimes exhausting, but it keeps me from feeling as though I’m turning into a robot.
Though variety is fun and prevents life from getting boring, I firmly believe that deep down, we all crave a certain regularity. Not merely in obvious routines such as meals, work, play, and bed, but in the patterns that we see and hear throughout our lives: The pleasure of listening to a piece of music that’s about to return to its primary chorus or theme, for instance. We know it’s coming; we can predict when it will happen based on the chord progressions that come before it—and yet it is ever so satisfying when the notes resolve into the ones we expect. Or the joy a small child feels in listening to the repetitive cadence of a picture book, often memorizing those repeated parts first and reciting them aloud. Or the wistfulness that wraps around many of us as the leaves turn gold and begin to fall, reminding us that each season has its place (and helping me, personally, in accepting the coming stillness and coldness of winter). Or the contentedness that can arise from the performing of a methodical household task such as vacuuming. I really hate to admit to that last one because vacuuming and I have a particular hatred for eachother—yet there’s no denying that I feel a certain satisfaction in progressing with the machine from one end of the room to the other. The alternative option, other than not cleaning at all (gross!), would be to clean one spot, then dart away to clean a second randomly-chosen area, and so on. This makes no sense and is probably why I hate Rumbas—even though they spare a person from having to do the vacuuming, they waste a lot of energy bumbling around in constantly changing directions, never seeming to hit that one place that needs it most.
If your appreciation of patterns is strong enough, the very thought of chaos in your life—or in the world at large—can make you uneasy. I seem to have a talent for pushing my own buttons in the darkest, loneliest part of the night, when I often find myself dwelling on various vast unsolved problems in the universe (e.g., the concept of time, the nature of dark matter and dark energy, and what lies beyond black holes or the Big Bang). If I don’t want to freak out for hours and end up a zombie the next morning, I know what I have to do. I’ve gotta replace the thoughts of those tumultuous, alarming things I can’t control with ones I can.
Here’s my number one recipe for combating chaos and the discontent it sows: listen to a good audiobook. Lately, I’ve been working my way through Kwame Alexander’s self-read MG and YA stories in verse. By immersing myself in his beautiful phrases, his artful repetition of simple words, and his insightful thoughts that echo and build upon one another, I can decompress. His writing helps me feel as though there’s some sort of order to the madness, some hidden purpose to life, the universe, and everything. And though the plots of his stories are the opposite of boring, the cadence of the words relaxes me enough to make my eyelids heavy. (Note: if you’re serious about wanting to fall asleep, adjust the volume so you have to strain to hear it. Kind of like driving at night, the more you try to focus, the sleepier you’ll feel).
The beauty of falling asleep to patterns is that I wake refreshed, ready to appreciate them all the more. I’m grateful for being able to make use of them in my writing, from the repetition of carefully selected words, to the use of symbols, poetry, recurring character thoughts, consistent voices, and gradual development of backstory and themes. I’m grateful for the rising of the sun, the thinning blanket of mist on the field, the excitement of my dog for his morning adventure in the woods, the baa-ing of the sheep for their breakfast, the patter of leaves dropping to the trail like fat orange raindrops. I’m grateful for science, which in its broadest sense involves the search for patterns to explain natural processes. I’m grateful for my life, from its place in a symmetrically branched ancestral tree to the repeating strands of DNA that make me unique. My place on this earth may be small and insignificant, but it is my own, it is somewhat orderly, and to me, it makes sense. I’ll hold onto it as long as I can.
Happy Tales!
Ahhh....patterns. My ritual two cups of coffee in the wee hours of the morning, when the quiet of the house, the background distant train whistle....sublime. I think our kitty's patterns are to follow the sun around the house, lay, lounge, veg. Yes, yes, I need to expand and when I do I am glad I did. But like any "expand" I "contract" back into my patterns.
Such an interesting column, Wendy. The balance between chaos with the pleasure of the unexpected and consistency with the pleasure of repetition and patterns. A beautiful, poignant, and thought-provoking ending. I love your photos, too!