Routines and Rituals and Writing About Them
By: Gabriel Sandler
Tags: Travel, Reflections, Madagascar, Volunteering, Peace Corps

My little green friend I found

The header photo has nothing to do with this post. I was just excited to rescue a chameleon.

I’ve been thinking a lot about routines and rituals. What mine are, the difference between them, why they matter.

Most days start with my French press. I buy fresh coffee grounds from a neighbor, and every morning put a generous scoop into the Pyrex glass, add hot water, and wait seven and a half minutes to drink it. While the coffee brews I wash my face, feed the cat, and put my solar lamps in the window to capture the first hours of morning light.

Usually a podcast plays in the background of all this. Recently it’s been “American Scandal,” but I’ve cycled through “Reply All,” “Rough Translation,” “Future Perfect,” “Ear Hustle,” and select episodes of “The Daily” and “The Moth.” I binged “The Habitat,” a one season special about NASA subjects living in a dome on an isolated Hawaiian island to simulate a future habitat for Mars.

I have teaching routines. The warm-up exercise goes on the board, a quiet song plays in the background, everyone says “good morning teacher.” I take attendance and fill out logs with my lesson and who showed up for it. A bell signals the end of the class period, but it’s actually a repurposed air-raid alarm that’s painful to stand underneath. Every week I replace my chalk, and most days I buy a few samosas from the librarians.

Peace Corps has routines. Send a text when leaving site. Complete a reporting document for all activities throughout service. Call these hours for the doctor, and these hours for supervisors. Fill out this form for vacation, this form for reimbursement. Go here for this training, and there for that training. Look out for the monthly newsletter.

I have market routines. I go to the same places for bread, potatoes, carrots, bell peppers, basil, eggs, green onions, meat, bug spray, detergent, toilet paper. I cried after my first market run over a year ago, sleep deprived and certain that I got overcharged for everything, dreading the cooking to follow. Now shopping takes 15 minutes, and the one dish I cook really well only requires two forks, a knife, a peeler, and a spatula.

In my house, I have routines that support other routines. I charge my Bluetooth speaker after class so the next class can have music too. After I take a bucket shower, soak my vegetables, or top off my water filter, all the buckets have to be refilled for tomorrow’s shower, tomorrow’s vegetables, tomorrow’s drinking water. Every two days I clean out Coco’s litter box, so all this happens without a noxious smell in the air.

I’ve been lazy before, leaving my solar lamps hanging inside, waiting to fill buckets until the morning, guessing my speaker has enough battery life for later. These small procrastinations feel harmless but can cascade into total disruption. The city’s electric grid goes down, the water gets cut, and it’ll rain. Suddenly I’m in the dark, using my reserve water to manually flush my toilet, planning to tell disappointed students that we’ll listen to extra songs next week.

Most of my routines don’t take much effort but save me a lot of frustration. These habits add order to my disorderly life.

But I have rituals too. They’re simple and critical, maintenance for the soul.

Every evening I journal by solar light, logging events and feelings, ruminating and celebrating and looking back to last week, last month, last year. I fill my journal with incidental souvenirs: concert tickets, beer bottle labels, name tags, letters, all secured by double-sided tape, all representing something bigger, worth remembering.

I’ve talked about making chocolate on Tuesdays more than once. It’s on the schedule, one of the routines, but important beyond that. I love the ringing of the big wooden spoon against the pot as I stir cacao beans, watching them blacken, crack, and smoke. I love peeling off the shells to reveal the red, gold, and brown underneath, making small talk with my friends as our fingers get covered in ash. I love the rhythm, effort, and thud of the mortar and pestle, chocolate smell rising, the mixture darkening as we add sugar and honey. I love spreading the chocolate over a tray, carefully cutting it into squares. I love when the women confirm we’ll make it again next week, and how they re-confirm it every time I walk by.

I write down quotes from every book I read. When I finish a story, I pick one quote to sharpie on the wall. I ask visiting Peace Corps Volunteers to sign my table and have my region mates add a quote of their own.

When I go to the beach, I drop my bag at the same shady spot, wave to the same oystermen, joke with the same kids selling shell necklaces, and dive into the ocean for that same feeling of rest and release.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my routines and rituals because I’ve been out of them. Travel, visitors, challenges, mistakes, successes, change. A mixed bag that filled up rapidly, leaving me spinning at the end of 2019.

2020 starts a decade, giving that “fresh start” mentality an even bigger time period to think about. This year, I’m bringing back good habits and looking for good new ones. Steadying myself and trying to step forward. Coffee to start my day, journaling to end it, preparing for whatever happens in between.

Stay tuned, my mom is visiting me in March.

The contents of this website are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. government or the Peace Corps.