A Facebook friend of mine sent me a private message the other evening at around seven o'clock. It was a long message, requiring from me a rather detailed response. I wrote back that same evening just to tell her that I would write her a proper response the following day, as "I have to shut down my computer now, per my self-imposed schedule." The next morning, I found a response from her, asking me to tell her, if I were willing, why I have a self-imposed schedule. I thought it an interesting question.
I have noticed in the past few years that I feel bit discombobulated if my daily routine is disrupted. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I've become a slave to routine -- but on further reflection, I believe rather that my routine is my freedom, and anything that disrupts it infringes on that freedom. I realize this may seem completely upside-down to most people. But, to paraphrase a well-worn adage, one's man's prison is another man's freedom. Let me try to explain.
Most of my readers know that I worked in opera for many years, most of them at Houston Grand Opera. Now, I don't know how other companies operate, but at HGO the schedule for any given day during production (i. e., the rehearsal period and performance run of a show) is determined only the day before: every afternoon, the following day's schedule and assignments is printed and distributed. This means that, during production, one is unable to make plans outside the opera house more than a half-day in advance. (Doctor's appointments and such are the exception; one fills out a release form to be approved by the administration.) Furthermore, one is basically "on call" -- extra rehearsals, time changes, and coachings often come up with little warning during production periods.
The first ten or so years, I was perfectly fine with this scheduling policy. Opera was my whole life; I had no friends outside the business, no steady love life to speak of, and I considered anything other than my work to be an unwelcome distraction. Only in my last few years in Houston did I feel suffocated by the capriciousness and unpredictability of the production schedule. This had little to do with my reborn faith and monastic vocation, though I was frustrated that I couldn't attend Mass as often as I liked. No, I felt that my creative capacity, which I knew extended beyond opera, was being stifled by the demands of my work. Quite simply, there were other things I wanted to do, that I wanted to do since childhood.
Monastic life taught me the value of routine and the freedom that can be derived from it if used correctly, in the right spirit. The horarium, with the Divine Office as its skeleton, is strictly adhered to but never suffocating. When the bell calls you to chapel to pray the Office, you must stop immediately whatever you are doing and obey "the voice of God." This isn't in the least frustrating or maddening -- because you stop out of love. That's what I meant by "the right spirit." Everything -- whether it be prayer, study, meditation, cooking, laundering, gardening -- is done for love of God and for his glory. And it is this love that gives you freedom. It frees you from selfish ambition and the pressure that it bears; it frees you from being dissatisfied with the results of your labors because it also teaches you that the means is of equal importance as the end, and that effort is its own reward. I wish I had learned this while I was at HGO. I think it would have made those last years easier.
Paradoxically, I found my creativity thrived within the confines of the horarium. Because I was learning to let go of ambition and success, my poetic muse of old reawakened, I learned basic bookbinding, and I also rediscovered a small talent for drawing and composing. These gifts were still there, lying dormant for so many years, and I was grateful that God gave me the chance finally to use them, but also that the horarium kept me from becoming bound to them.
With my latest calling as co-caregiver for my father came the necessity to impose some semblance of a routine upon myself, if I was to remain reliant on prayer for strength and patience. Though my father could sometimes be unpredictable as to when he'd wake up in the morning, I found I was fairly safe if I set my alarm at 6.30 for praying the Office of Readings and Lauds. If Dad got up before I started, I'd get his breakfast and settle him at the table, then start the Office. If I heard Dad get up after I started, I heeded St Vincent de Paul's advice and made the getting of Dad's breakfast my prayer for the morning. The rest of the day, unless Dad had a doctor's appointment, easily accommodated the other hours of the Office, plus praying the rosary. I made myself take my evening shower, and go to bed, at the same time every day. Routine, and having more or less set times for prayer and meditation, kept me sane. If I didn't have those things, I'd have become a slave once more to caprice and unpredictability.
Now that my father has entered eternal life, and it's just me and my mother at home, I continue to keep my routine and to enjoy the sense of peace and freedom it gives me. I shut down my computer no later than 7pm, because I know I'm perfectly capable of playing with it till the wee hours, and if I allowed myself to do that, I'd never do anything else -- in the same way that working at the opera allowed me so little time to do anything else.
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