Routine
When I was living in Tokyo, my landlord’s husband took me to see some Kyudo or Japanese archery. Kenji spoke almost no English and I spoke even less Japanese, so we walked in silence through the park. We passed a couple children on swings and a father teaching his fat diapered 8-year-old how to Sumo wrestle before we came to a wooden stage and a beautifully manicured grass shooting range. I tolerated the pain and sat seiza-style beside Kenji as a young man shot at tiny brown targets.
The archer started with a kneel while looking down, he then stood, looked at the target, placed his feet, looked at the target, kneeled down again, looked at the target, spun right, grasped his bow, looked at the target, secured his hands, spun left, looked at the target, stood, placed his feet, looked at the target, secured his hands, looked at the target, placed an arrow, secured his hands, looked at target, drew, held, held, held, and shot. It was a miss. He then repeated this ritual twice more and missed twice more. It took about three or four minutes to shoot each arrow, which is an eternity when sitting seiza. After the archer finished, I asked if I could hold his bow. He said no.
Our world is saturated in routine. Some, like the archer’s, are a challenge. Others are necessity. Every day, Soulless Hedonist walks the dog in the morning, at lunch and when he gets home from work. Some are simply habit. Every day, unless he has a meeting, Rick, a guy from work, eats at Potbelly’s and gets the same thing every time. And some, we simply just enjoy. Every Wednesday, I read the Onion on the way home from work because I like it (and the online version is blocked at work).
There often is monotony to routine, but there is also extreme comfort. I imagine the archer wants to set his mind at ease by completing his ritual. I imagine if Soulless Hedonist didn’t go home, we have to start worrying about his dog. If Rick broke out of his Potbelly’s lunch, I would suspect something was wrong with him. And there is a beauty to the reliability of a routine. In an unsure world where so much is unpredictable, we take comfort that some things, like the rising sun, we can depend on and will be there every day.
The archer started with a kneel while looking down, he then stood, looked at the target, placed his feet, looked at the target, kneeled down again, looked at the target, spun right, grasped his bow, looked at the target, secured his hands, spun left, looked at the target, stood, placed his feet, looked at the target, secured his hands, looked at the target, placed an arrow, secured his hands, looked at target, drew, held, held, held, and shot. It was a miss. He then repeated this ritual twice more and missed twice more. It took about three or four minutes to shoot each arrow, which is an eternity when sitting seiza. After the archer finished, I asked if I could hold his bow. He said no.
Our world is saturated in routine. Some, like the archer’s, are a challenge. Others are necessity. Every day, Soulless Hedonist walks the dog in the morning, at lunch and when he gets home from work. Some are simply habit. Every day, unless he has a meeting, Rick, a guy from work, eats at Potbelly’s and gets the same thing every time. And some, we simply just enjoy. Every Wednesday, I read the Onion on the way home from work because I like it (and the online version is blocked at work).
There often is monotony to routine, but there is also extreme comfort. I imagine the archer wants to set his mind at ease by completing his ritual. I imagine if Soulless Hedonist didn’t go home, we have to start worrying about his dog. If Rick broke out of his Potbelly’s lunch, I would suspect something was wrong with him. And there is a beauty to the reliability of a routine. In an unsure world where so much is unpredictable, we take comfort that some things, like the rising sun, we can depend on and will be there every day.
posted by American Dilettante at
2:09 PM
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