Making the cut

(If I had a dollar for every time I've written about habits and routines...yet here I go again.)

I’ve been thinking about the way spaces open up when we make the initiating effort, much like an incision. My son cut his finger at work and it wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but he had a hard time keeping it closed so it could heal the way it should. I think some of my creative life is like that—things have to be cut out or cut open. The body will want to heal up the fissure, close the gap; the mind will want to lapse back to status quo; the schedule I carve out will want to close around itself and seal my good intentions back inside, so that urgent things can be attended to.

This metaphor falls short because of course we want our literal cuts and incisions to heal, and we’d like for them to heal back to their original state. We use the glue and staples and stitches, the bindings, because we want to keep infection out and close the skin so the miracle of repair can occur. Some cuts heal and look just the same as before, but others don’t fully close the gap. The skin doesn’t seal up because either too much was cut away, or the wound wasn’t held together properly, and now the scar protrudes. Your body is different because of the wound that scarred.

We have to make cuts and let things heal in a new way sometimes—removing and making room—and that’s the kind of space I’m thinking about.

Still Life with Coffee Pot, Vincent van Gogh

It seems like I don’t have any real routines these days except my morning coffee. It doesn’t matter what kind of night I had, whether I slept or didn’t; no matter what time I roll out of bed in the morning; no matter how sick or well I am; I am having my black coffee as soon as possible after waking¹. This is a routine that takes time. Our regular pot almost always has freshly made coffee when I get up, because our son leaves for work at 5 a.m. and he brews his coffee while he fries his eggs. He has his routines, too. I could fill my cup immediately, but I have my specific espresso roast, my aeropress, and my beloved black kettle with its elegant long-necked spout. I make my americano with four shots of espresso and hot water to the top of my favorite mug, and all's right with the world for those few moments.

I think the habits I’d like to maintain would account for about four hours of each day, at a minimum, and that’s hard to work into a life full of the unexpected, even if you get up in the dark. But what are the real barriers to change, to making my desired habits become second nature non-negotiables, like my morning coffee?

First and most obvious: time. My coffee routine only actually takes about seven minutes, from putting the kettle on to topping off the espresso with hot water. And it’s a routine that can have substitutes—if I’m on vacation or have to leave the house in a sprint, I have more options for coffee than Solomon had for wives.

Can my preferred habits have substitutes that take less time? If I want the habit of writing, will one good line on a sticky note be enough when I can’t get to my desk for an hour of deep work? For the habit of exercise, will a fifteen minute walk count for something when I can’t go for the long hike? Will a set of body weight squats work when I can’t get to the gym? Does reading a page work when a chapter takes too long? A protein shake instead of a sit down meal?

I’ll stop there. I’ve written enough to realize I want to go to my journal and map out those four perfect hours spent on my preferred habits and make substitutes for each one, like the Starbucks drive-through version of my perfect morning coffee. I won’t belabor it here because you have your own plans and habits to work through, and all I really wanted to say was that things need to be cut away or cut open, sometimes.

The initiating effort is the hardest, I think. It has to be a sharp cut, and has to go deep enough. You can make gradual changes and maybe that is best in certain seasons, but I have made so many small adjustments and still keep creeping back to the urgent things, instead of tending to the necessary habits I want to cultivate. I am prone to ruts but I never seem to just fall into a good one. A good groove takes daily discipline, even once the new habits become second nature, but a good, sharp cut can be a great way to begin the discipline.

But hey. It’s a Monday. I’m over the flu, thank the Lord. The birds are singing before the sun is even up this morning, and I am back to my beloved coffee after missing it yesterday. This isn’t just another bit of writing about writing, though that is the habit I tend to let go of first. It’s about anything you want to do regularly, faithfully. It’s about being consistent in our move towards wholeness and integrity; the upward call of Christ. And it’s about falling off track and brushing yourself off, checking your wounds, and jumping on again.

I know what cut needs to be made and maybe I’ll write an update after awhile, but I am interested in your ideas about getting back on track. What works for you?

1. I wrote these words on a Saturday morning, and ironically I came down with the stomach flu that night. So let me slightly amend to say that if I have the flu I will not have coffee for awhile. Instead, I will have a headache and question my addiction.