Everything catches up with you eventually. You get a few days of blissful ease, of ignoring your ps and qs, but eventually you fall off the wagon if you don't keep holding on. In the light of spring, however, falling feels more like a jolt from a strange dream than a crushing defeat of the body. You dust yourself off, begin to sprint, catch up with the horse and get back up on it.
You were raised to believe that routine would kill you, that anything reliable, predictable, would drown your lungs and tie you down. How long it took to learn that some routines can come with you where you go, that reliable is a state you can create within yourself.
How long it took you to learn
that even freedom is a habit.
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