The other day, my husband asked me where I go when I take my walks or runs in the morning. I told him my usual neighborhood routes, and then he asked if I ever went through another neighborhood that sits right along my path.
No, I haven’t been through there, I replied. I had walked past it countless times, but I had never actually turned into it. A couple of mornings later, when I had a bit more time to explore, I checked it out.
He was right. Big, wide streets. Huge, gorgeous trees. Quiet. Perfect for walking or running…and owl sightings. (P.S. Have I told you my ponytail has been attacked by an owl twice now?)
It struck me that something could be right there, just a slight turn from a route I walk all the time, and I had never thought to go that way.
I am, apparently, a creature of habit!
Of course, there is a reason we become creatures of habit.
Imagine having to reconsider every single thing we do all day long. What should I eat for breakfast? Which way should I drive to work? When should I exercise? Where should I put my keys? How should I load the dishwasher?
We would be exhausted before 9 am.
Habits save us from having to make thousands of tiny decisions. There is real value in well-worn paths.
I talk about this with nutrition clients all the time. You don’t necessarily need seven completely different dinners every week. Maybe you have a grain-and-green bowl you like, and you change up the sauce, vegetables, grain or protein. The framework stays the same while the ingredients move around.
Familiarity can be incredibly supportive.
But lately I’ve been thinking about the other side of it.
What happens when we occasionally interrupt the familiar?
On a walk, instead of looking mostly at the sidewalk or the street ahead of me, what happens if I spend a few minutes looking up at the sky?
Instead of throwing the ball to my dog with my right arm, what does it feel like to throw it with my left?
Instead of walking past the same street I’ve passed a hundred times, what happens if I turn down it?
This is one of the things I love about Feldenkrais, which I wrote more about here. The practice invites us to explore movement differently, not necessarily because the way we’ve been moving is wrong, but because there may be other possibilities we haven’t discovered yet.
Rather than forcing the body into some supposedly correct pattern, we get curious. We try something slightly different. We notice what happens. The nervous system gets new information.
And I’ve been wondering if the same thing applies far beyond movement.
