simplicity through structure || rise and shine

I make my bed (almost) every morning. 

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It isn't written on my to-do list and I don't wake up early to be sure that I'll have time. 

Sometimes I wonder why it means so much to me, particularly when the rest of my space demands more attention. My stubborn refusal to triage pays homage to my need for simplicity through structure. The daily routine has become a cozy respite, a reminder that no matter what else the day may bring, I have already tended to me, cultivating a kind of self-kindness. 

Perhaps it is in anticipation of evening and the simplest pleasure of turning down the quilt. Or perhaps it is a gentle reminder to myself that once my coffee is brewed, the day has begun, no climbing back in bed allowed.

Perhaps it is my way of marking a new day - 

How do you measure, measure a year? 

In daylight, in sunsets,

in midnights, in cups of coffee.

-Rent

 

simplicity through structure || discipline

Discipline turns intention into action. 

Jess Lively borrows Steven Covey's idea of three big rocks. I resisted this idea for a while. Three tasks didn't feel like enough - my to-do list is long! 

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I'm learning that there is a difference between a to-do list and a should-do list. That's where the discipline comes in. By committing to three big rocks, the tasks can be sifted and sorted. 

Three tasks today and three tasks tomorrow and three more tasks the day after next will create a momentum sustained by discipline. Structure without action is hollow.

simplicity through structure || moonlight

I seek simplicity in structure - a way to carve meaning into moments so that nothing is wasted.

Tonight I walked out of church, an evening service of song and prayer. Evening had pulled its quilt over us while we were inside, turning the night dark and still. I realized that there already is so much structure around me. Night, day. Rest, work. 

Maybe I complicate structure, knowing that life is hard so simplicity must be, too. 

Maybe it doesn't need to be. 

these are a few of my favorite things

Shirley Temple curls. Borrowed dress (thanks, sis!). Windy wedding. Laughter and love and lots of dancing. Coming home to clean sheets.

simplicity through structure || a moment from today's walk

There is simplicity in structure, a steadfastness. I don't need to anticipate all possibilities and consider all options. Instead of wondering where to roam, structure allows me invest in exploring right where I am.

Rebecca Faires describes it as "the boundary gives freedom."

simplicity through structure || time

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. 

-Annie Dilliard

When I was looking for a new apartment a few years ago, my litmus test included dishwasher, driveway, and washing machine. Simple then meant automatic, a hands-free approach to daily chores. 

Now, my next home must have space for chickens. Instead of fast-forwarding, I yearn to slow down for the country pace of hard work. 

I want to be a morning person.

To know that my day depends on starting to work now.

Grace Bonney, in an episode of her podcast After the Jump, describes this as "breaking the seal" - that the act of starting is almost always the most difficult part. Despite my intention to wake up before the sun and write, I convince myself that I don't know where to start. There is simplicity in structuring my time. Instead of wrestling with the decision to start, I am already at my desk because it's time to write. As Anne Lamott writes in Bird by Bird, "I don't think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid you won't be good enough at it" (page 170). 

Structure simplifies. The task is to write, to write steadily for a period of time. Time boundaries afford a sense of purpose. No one but me can hold me accountable - there are no hungry chickens waiting for me if I simply don't feel like working some mornings. 

The simplicity of structure will hold me accountable, and I must accept the truth that I am enough - I mustn't let me down.

31 days of simplicity through structure

Washing dishes. Folding laundry. Figuring out health insurance and remembering to floss. Being a grown-up sometimes feels like busy work, rote practice to ensure that I have the hang of it. In elementary school, "mad minute" drills induced sweaty palms and a racing heart. There wasn't time to show my work, neat columns of numbers. There was no delight in the doing, simply an overwhelming sense to finish one problem so that I could move on to the next. 

As I go through my days now, I am reminded of that "hurry up, move on" feeling. I have work to do, papers to write, all while maintaining my adulthood by writing rent checks and making dinner for myself. I'm treading water instead of swimming, and I'm tired of that. 

There is so much that I want to accomplish - yet until now, the ideas and intentions are overshadowed by expectations. A stack of Sunday Times remains unread, as I haven't had a chance to read them on my front porch with coffee, homemade. I have saved them until I am able to savor them... one day. That which is meant to bring delight has now become an obligation, reminding me of the life that isn't quite mine.  

I  delay the hard work, the digging in and creating, waiting until all the smaller tasks are crossed off, creating space for the larger project. I'm realizing that it's not exactly space that I need, but structure.  There is a difference between busy and full. I crave the pace of purpose, fueled by intention instead of fear.

Today marks the start. For the next thirty days I will be chronicling my progress toward simplicity through structure with Myquillan Smith's October challenge.