I miss routines. I miss going to the gym early in the morning. I miss walking to the bus stop. I miss riding the train. I miss having somewhere to be. I miss coming home at the end of the day.
I try to create new routines. We walk the dogs in the morning. Sometimes we walk them at lunch. Sometimes they’re asleep so we don’t. I do a virtual cycle class on Wednesdays and Saturdays, but not if the trainer forgot to send the video link. I take a walk when I’m finished with work every day, but not if it’s raining, or it’s too hot, or I’m just tired.
When I walk around my neighborhood, I try to find new things I haven’t seen before, but when you live somewhere almost 20 years, those are few and far between. I keep walking and trying to trace new routes. After a few weeks they start to repeat, like tracing over the same pattern on a piece of paper until it wears a groove and your pencil slides back into it without trying.
My neighborhood changes, but not that fast. I change my path, but there are only so many intersections. I take new pictures, but some of them are the same, just a different time or different light. None of it feels normal. I miss routines.