Fallton Havenstonne

We know routines are important, but it’s hard to stick by them. Routines can be time-based, or they can be habit-based. For example, waking up at 7 a.m. each day is time-based, but brushing our teeth every morning is habit-based.

Routines can be hard to stick by if unexpected variables occur. For example, if exercising at 4 p.m. is a routine, it might be hard to stick by it if we’re not feeling well. Or if something came up at work and we have to stay a little late, that 4 p.m. schedule would have to be pushed to 5 p.m. But what about all the other routines that came after the exercise? Would those have to pushed back as well?

Routines create consistency in our day, which are important. We want to have a pattern that produces consistent results and outcomes. When we wake up at a certain time and leave at a certain time, the outcome of arriving at work early or on time is consistent. If we didn’t have this routine, we’d show up early one day, late the next, and these two outcomes would vary day to day.

Even if we follow routines, there are things that occur that are outside of our control. There could be heavy traffic due to construction or an accident. In the winter, it could snow, delaying our trip. These are exceptions, not the rule, however. The routines keep us on schedule–on time.

So here, I return to my point that sticking by routines is the hardest thing about them. We consider routines as good if they keep us on schedule and keep us productive. But there are times when not following the routine can led to surprising–even amazing–results.

For example, if I set an hour for myself to write, but I’m inspired to write more than an hour, the extra time that I wrote could be the best piece of writing I’ve ever done. If I had simply followed my routine, those inspirational pages of writing wouldn’t have existed.

Art, creativity, and inspiration seem to be independent of time–of schedules. They require us to go beyond the routine to bring them to life. There is almost a battle with the routine in creating art, though they can go hand and hand if the routine sets a time to create art.

This is where I struggle with routines–those moments of inspiration and insight that led to amazing writing and ideas. When those moments happen, I become self-aware of what’s going on and let them flow out of me. But when all else is equal, I stick by the routines.

We know that organization is important, but the question is how to keep the organization from unraveling.

To be organized is to have our things in their proper place, to have a space that is functional and uncluttered. It means being able to find what we need without having to look in three or four different places. It can look like having things in sections, folders, binders, and categories so that they don’t get mixed up with anything else.

But the biggest issue I find with organization is staying organized. When I begin taking stuff out of folders and files, the papers get moved around, and it’s easy for them to get mixed up with other things. Not only that, the continuity of work leaves little time to sort them and put them back in their proper place, making the disorganization even worse.

No matter what organization system I’ve used, it only works so long as things are returned to their proper place. The needed time to do so is crucial in being organized and staying organized.

Even if the workspace is clear, the work itself amasses papers and files that begin to stack up. Things get lost in the shuffle. Even if everything is labeled and we know where they go, it doesn’t matter unless they’re put away.

Making time to organize is just as important as being organized. Finding a system that works saves us a lot of frustration and time, but it can all unravel if we don’t spend the time to organize as well.

When it is sunset, most of us are awake to see it. Unlike the sunrise, which can only be seen if we wake up early enough, the sunset can happen while we’re driving home, exercising, walking outside, or just gazing out the window.

The only thing we need to do is pay attention to it. Gaze at it. Take notice of its effect on us as it changes our mindset for the rest of the day. We start to think about dinner, and all the things that must take place before calling it a day and going to sleep. And on the weekend, the sunset shifts our thinking to nightly events (i.e. going to a concert or to the movies).

One of the most wondrous things is to see the sunset during a drive home. The experience is like watching a landscape disappearing. When it happens, it’s as if the waning light is hiding the roads, buildings, and road signs that were once clearly visible during the day. Soon, they are enveloped by the sunset’s rays.

When the sun is setting, the sky burns with an array of colors, permeating the landscape with red and orange hues that seem to spread out like wings. For just a few brief moments, we get a chance to see the brilliance of nature’s aesthetic, and each day, it’s never exactly the same.

The lights of buildings begin to shine through windows, and lamp posts and traffic lights dot the streets as the night falls. But they’re no match for the brilliance of the sunset, which paint the last image of the day.

The sun never ceases to rise. The sun doesn’t rise in a scientific sense, but in relation to our experience of it. In fact, it rises continuously as the earth rotates, shining upon the earth from one part of the world to the next.

As the sun rises, the light shines dimly across the horizon, casting a soft glow that sweeps away the darkness. And while it rises, the light permeates the landscape like a wave, spreading across towns and cities in succession.

When we miss the sunrise, it’s like waking up to a day that’s started without us. The sunlight has already completed its full radiance, and we’re just catching up with a morning that’s moved ahead.

But each day there is a sunrise, and there is another chance to catch it. When they’re captured in photographs, they don’t look the same as they do in person. The sheer scope of the colors and the transition from low light to brightness is an experience that seems other worldly.

We’re accustomed to the daylight of the afternoon, or the darkness of the night, since those are constants that stay with us for hours. But the sunrise is a momentary phenomenon, one that begins the day with a whispery shimmer that blossoms to full radiance.

The sun goes down, and the night takes over. The lampposts come on, lighting up the city and the stores. People go out to a restaurant, or get some groceries to cook at home. Dinner time is here, and everyone looks forward to some great food.

With the workday over, it’s time to switch gears. It’s time to fill the remaining hours with food, conversation, music, art, and then to end it with silence. For some, it’s a time to work on projects and hobbies, and for others, it’s a time to play games, sports, or exercise.

The evening calls us to reflect on our day, to meditate on our successes and shortcomings. As the night falls, some of us prepare for an early sleep, while others stay awake to catch a show on TV, a sports game, or finish a book or watch a movie.

And when it’s time to go to sleep, we close our eyes and slip away into a new dream. And in the dream, we travel through scenes of reimagined memories and thoughts and the voices of the heart.

The day is in full swing by the time the afternoon starts. The sun is up and we’re active and busy with the tasks for the day.

For some, the afternoon might begin with lunch, and for others, it’s a race to finish a mountain of work. It might be the busiest time of the day if their is a deadline ahead, or it might be the slowest if the workday is winding down.

When the workday ends, it’s a race to drive home–to beat the rush hour traffic. We look forward to our time of rest, to not think about the stresses of work.

The afternoon can be filled with appointments or meetings. Or it can be filled with opportunities to create and to make something new.

On the weekends, the afternoon is when everything happens: birthday parties, barbecues, picnics, you name it. It’s a time to go outside and relax in the sun. It’s a good time to do yard work and to get things done around the home. It’s a good time to enjoy the weather, a time to enjoy life.

Before the morning begins, a dream is coming to an end. We wake up and a vestige of that reality lingers in our mind. We hardly recall it while we’re awake, but we know we lived in it and that it was real.

The day starts off slow. We want to go back to sleep, but the morning light burns through our eyelids. Waking up in the morning is never easy. Shower. Dress. Eat. Drink coffee. Go to work . . .

Rather than feeling motivated, it weighs on us with all the things we need to do.

We know it will have its trials, but every day has them. It doesn’t matter what happened yesterday. We have a full day to make things right, or at least, improve upon yesterday.

The morning brings new opportunities, a new set of experiences. Sometimes the morning crescendos with us hurrying, then settles down once work begins. There’s a lot to do in the morning, but there’s a whole day ahead of us.

Or any flowers you like . . . which could be added to the phrase.

Perhaps the most important part of that phrase is the word “stop”, since the point is to stop what we’re doing to get some fresh air–keep the stress of the situation from wearing us down.

Of course, we can use artificial scents that can be plugged into the wall (such as the smell of roses) if we want to smell roses all the time. To smell a rose in terms of what the quote implies, one would most likely have to go outside to a garden or an area with flowers and plants.

Even when we’re outside, we might miss the roses because we’re so caught up with what we’re doing that we don’t notice them. Not only roses, but the greenery, insects, sky, weather, and the people around mesh to a blur as we focus on what we’re occupied with.

The root of the phrase is about taking a step back from the microcosm of our world to the macrocosm of the world around us. Roses are something that are around us that have a particular scent which is welcoming. To stop and smell the roses is an act of outward awareness, of being cognizant of our environment.

On a grander scale, we step outside of the maze and confusion of our thoughts and become cognizant of the beauty around us. When we become aware of it, the world seems a lot less confusing and stressful. We get perspective, and realize that perhaps the situation at hand isn’t worth all the attention we’re giving it.

There’s something fascinating about seeing rocks and water in a riverbed, bank, pier or stream. Even waterfalls bring a rush of excitement and serenity as the water flows down from the cliff and crashes into the stream. It’s like something magical is happening, yet it is the most natural thing.

We can meditate on rocks and water, ponder the unpredictable movements of the stream, the glassy reflection, the rippling sound that hurdles through the air. It can make us wonder its origin or the life that live in the stream.

As water flows between the rocks during a rapid, it gives the current a sense of determination, purpose and will. It’s almost as if the water is racing toward the end of the river where it might join an ocean or some other stream. Meanwhile, the fishes and other organisms that live in the water use it like a highway to make it to its next destination–its next home.

When the water is calm and settled, there is a peace to it that is kind of like standing in the middle of a forest and looking straight up into the sky. At that moment, you can see the clouds as they slowly glide across the sky as if the earth were standing still. In the water, one can gaze into it and see fishes and frogs swimming between the rocks, sticks and plants as if they simply passing by forks in the road.

And when we skip rocks across water, it bounces in a way that seems almost natural–as if the rock wants to glide upward and fly away. Everywhere we see rocks and water, it’s as if they’re inseparable, and go hand and hand. Doesn’t it seem unnatural to see a body of water without a rock in it?

A body of water can be a natural phenomenon–one that took thousands or millions of years to form. In other cases, it happened by design via engineering and construction (i.e. a pool or a dam). Regardless of how the body of water was created, the interaction between water and rocks capture our imagination, and inspire us to reflect on nature and how beautiful and harmonious it is.