PANDEMIC DISRUPTS DAILY ROUTINE,

“Routine is a ground to stand on, a wall to retreat to; we cannot draw on our boots without bracing ourselves against it.” — Henry David Thoreau

Like most people, I’m relatively predictable, my days flowing into a natural rhythm that I rarely change or think about much: gym, work, family time. But now COVID-19 has upended that.

There’s still work — thank God! — but the mile markers of my quotidian trek have disappeared. No gym before dawn, which means no socializing with pals. And in the evenings, no physical visits to friends or family, not even a short walk to the neighbors’ house for a friendly chat or plant exchange.

When our sheltering-inplace began, more than a month ago, I was lost. Tuesday was no different than Saturday, and Thursday looked a lot like Sunday. I was recovering from six days of high fever, chills and aches, and I remained in a fog, so it didn’t help that I had few events to mark the passage of time. I desperately needed daily ritual.

Now, some claim that taken to an extreme routine can invite complacency. Some consider routine boring, a buzzkiller, the bane of creativity. Others call it the haven of small minds and unimaginative thinking.

Not me. I’m a disciple, a woman who believes we need structure to be free, parameters to create. Routine allows for inspiration, for improvisation. It’s like a frame around an empty canvas, containing all manner of possibilities without dictating the palette.

So by the second week of this new normal, I knew I had to initiate some kind of regimen, as much for my financial health as for my mental well-being. Many friends and family members had already established work-from-home schedules, dictated by Zoom meetings, office deadlines and forced homeschooling.

One of my daughters-inlaw, for instance, dresses the two oldest in their school uniforms every weekday. Their hair is pulled back, breakfast eaten, and laptops turned on — all in time for the clangclanging of the imaginary school bell. Mom then hits her own graduate study books and my son holes himself up in his home office, where, in truth, he’s been long before dawn. So far that semblance of normalcy is working, though the 14-month-old, who totters around the playroom, has been labeled “The Most Distracting Co-worker Ever.” Probably the most distracting classmate too.

My neighbors, who are retired but do a lot of socializing, traveling and volunteering, found their calendars suddenly empty. At first this proved disconcerting, but they adjusted. He now works on the yard. She purges closets and organizes cabinets. Though not a tech fan, she also has managed to reintroduce exercise to her day, via online classes.

According to a friend who knows (and counsels others) about such things, the key to keeping sane in times like these is to take control of the blank slate. Think of this stay-of-home period as less punishment and more opportunity, less loss and more dispensation.

Thus inspired, I began to make lists. I love lists. I love them because they offer comfort and organize my racing thoughts. I love them because they make me feel that order exists in a wickedly random world.

The first list I made was really a timetable, with allotted chunks for exercise — gym now replaced by an hour-long sunrise walk — social connections, family duty and household maintenance. I then inventoried all the projects I’ve long been meaning to do and prioritized those. Finally, I cataloged home projects for The Hubby, the lucky man that he is. And then slowly, almost imperceptibly, I settled into this new routine.

It’s not perfect, but so far it has been good enough. Sure, I grieve for the unfettered ways of January, but I no longer complain (or at least not as much) about monotony. How could I, knowing that these empty hours have proven to be the muchneeded contrast to my otherwise frenetic life?

(Ana Veciana-Suarez writes about family and social issues. Email her at avecianasuarez@gmail.com or visit her website anavecianasuarez.com. Follow @AnaVeciana.)