Rituals, goals, plans and to-do lists have their uses. But they can be restrictive. And we often use them a way of deluding ourselves that we have life under control. Believing that, as long as we adhere to them, Everything Will Be Alright. Now, with everything turned upside down, it's impossible to stick to many of our familiar comforting routines (I'll get to the balsamic in a moment).
I was raised on structures and plans. I didn't realise you could do life without them. My parents were teachers and our house was run with school timetable precision. Take food, for example. Sunday started with cornflakes, then a (5-minute) boiled egg and one slice of toast at exactly 8.30. "Elevenses" was coffee for mum and dad and orange squash for me plus one Rich Tea biscuit each. Lunch was roast. Chicken usually. It was served at 1pm on the dot and carefully portion controlled . If I was a good girl and ate my vegetables, I was allowed exactly 6 smarties afterwards. If not, I sat at the table until I had eaten them. At 6pm we had toasted tea cakes in front of the Sunday serial. In between, there were letters to write to Auntie Polly and Granny. Tennis forehand and backhand shots to practice (the fun bit!). And tasks I had to do to earn my pocket money - like laying the table for breakfast the following morning.
My parents weren't being restrictive. They did all this with love. Saw it as good discipline. And in some senses they were right - those habits have served me well. They've helped me stay fit and well - I exercise almost every day and eat healthy meals and snacks. I don't procrastinate about work. I'm compelled to get things done - which is invaluable when you're self-employed. But all this structure and ritual has also made life rigid. Lacking in spontaneity. It's stopped me from doing things I'd have liked to do because I've had to follow the plan. It's meant I've "got things done" rather than enjoyed the act of doing them.
Before all this Covid stuff started, I'd begun to throw some of my structures and routines out of the window. None of them were obsessive in themselves. I wasn't turning light switches on and off 12 times before I left a room. Or, setting my volume controls at a multiple of 7. Nor did I clean the bathroom 3 times a day. But some of them were very restricting and, frankly, pretty bonkers. For example, over the years I'd developed a series of complicated Excel spreadsheets with weekly, quarterly and annual goals. Some of which I achieved and some of which I didn't. It was stressful when I didn't. And very time consuming to manage. I so loved to cross things off my daily to-do list that I'd add things that I'd never forget because they were a natural part of my daily routine - like going running. And even things that I'd already done but had forgotten to write down. Getting rid of this stuff was hard. I thought I'd find life even more stressful without all my spreadsheets and lists. Now I'm down to one A4 size weekly reminder sheet that ensures I do the things I need to do and don't forget anything vital.
But I have by no means got rid of all my rituals and routines. Grocery shopping has become a hot topic with the corona virus. And my food habits are one of my greatest obsessions. Two weeks ago, just before Sainsbury's stopped delivering to anyone but the elderly and vulnerable, a whole day's worth of time slots opened up on their website. I immediately started putting in an order. I was sweating as I did it. Punching keys madly. Ordering things like Ryvita, which I haven't eaten since the early 80s (and anyway tastes like cardboard with a sesame seed topping). Supposing the site crashed. Supposing my order wouldn't go through. Supposing I couldn't get the balsamic vinegar I have on the cheese salad I eat at 12 noon every day! I reached checkout. One of those "Contact your bank" messages appeared. My heart rate went through the roof. I called the bank's call centre. "Due to the Covid-19 crisis we have been experiencing extremely high call volumes..." I had 40 minutes before I lost my delivery slot. My blood pressure went up another level. I got through. But to the wrong department. I was put on hold. Another astronomic rise in heart rate. Finally it got sorted. The delivery confirmation dropped into my in-box (complete with 3 bottles of balsamic). I breathed a sigh of relief and reached for a bottle of Rioja (now that I had another 6 on order). This extreme reaction didn't happen because I thought I would starve. But because I could see all my carefully thought-out eating structures were under threat.
Since this madness began, I've had to fight the temptation to start new routines. Filling my diary with virtual get-togethers, for example. Making lists of tasks (like a long overdue clear out the office, which I will probably never do) and allocating them to a specific day. And as fear soars, I discover more I could add - the ones other people are creating to try to keep themselves safe and that are posted all over social media. Like washing the grocery shopping. Quarantining cardboard-covered deliveries for 72 hours. Asking sales assistants to drop change into ziplock bags and keeping them zip-locked. Stripping naked as you step through the front door and immediately putting all outdoor wear in the washing machine (using disposable gloves, of course).
I'm not saying having routines and rituals is a bad thing. But I want to use this topsy-turviness as an opportunity to let go of some of the old routines. And those I keep, I want to feel OK about not following. So that, in the event of a worldwide balsamic vinegar shortage, I can get by without a meltdown.