Do the Boring, Ordinary, Right-There Things

or, embrace the Took side as much (if not more) than the Baggins

Open Window. Ligachevo (1947), by Konstantin Yuon #

I love me a good old-fashioned deep think. Sometime around this time of year, I do what I can to hole away for a few hours somewhere (sometimes overnight at a guesthouse; more often a few hours at a coffee shop) to reflect, pray, and plan ahead for the rest of the calendar year. I revisit my Rule of Life, occasionally make some tweaks to it, and generally remind myself what matters most in life.

It’s a hard time of year to do this, as both a parent of school-age kids and as a teacher, yet the season always calls me to contemplation, for both my birthday (next week) and the start of a school year, unofficially but aptly known as the “second new year.” I don’t know about you, but the whole newly-sharpened-bouquet-of-pencils season demands a desire for some fresh starts.

Yesterday I went to a friend’s nearby guesthouse and enjoyed this 24-hour-long early birthday gift from Kyle. Typically I show up to these reflection sessions armed with an agenda—or at least a few specific questions that need answering—but this time was a bit more ….vague. I knew I needed something, but I wasn’t sure what. It’s been quite a year for our clan, with many, many changes and transitions, and to be honest, I’m ending this summer season more depleted than usual. But I still wasn’t sure what, exactly, I needed.

I was tempted to get work done (my plate overfloweth at the moment, yet again). I was expecting to scribble away in my journal, brain dumping all my haphazard thoughts about the seventeen moving parts in my life right now. I’d already enjoyed a particularly hard morning workout, followed by Adoration and Mass, then a quick pit stop at the grocery store before hightailing it straight to the guesthouse, still rather sweaty and gross from the gym.

But before showering and whipping out my journal to exorcise all my pressing questions, I slapped on my swimsuit, put in my earbuds, hit play on my audiobook, and splashed into the backyard pool. …And proceeded to stay there for most of the afternoon.

I finished my audiobook, lounging in a floatie with a sparkling water in hand, and enjoyed the longest veg session in ages that I can remember. Instead of brainstorming and working, I floated in a quiet backyard pool, my mind delightfully wandering the streets of St. Crispian’s and Stonecrop Manor.

By the time I showered and toweled off for the rest of my late afternoon and evening, the questions jabbing me weren’t so sharp. I plated my simple dinner, opened my journal, and watched the Texas sunset as I asked God what He had for me. I was now ready to hear.

His answer was clear and gracious. It was this: Just do the thing in front of you. You know what to do.

I was surprised, but I also wasn’t. It’s what I’ve been hearing all year, frankly.

There’s psychological and scientific evidence that those who succeed best in achieving their physical goals (weight loss, muscle gain, what have you) are the folks who repeat the same things again and again—the same breakfast every morning, the same 3-5 dinners, the same workouts, the same general routines to their days. Boring and unsexy, yet effective.

Those who stop seeking novelty as a means of escaping boredom, and instead embrace the ordinary rhythms that come with a proven track record are the ones who ultimately find the satisfaction they’re looking for. They also don’t wait to feel like doing something before taking action. They just …do the same right-there thing they know to do.

This has been true with my current physical goals, for sure. Why wouldn’t it be any different in other parts of my life?

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For continued connection with God, sit in my green chair every morning with my cup of coffee and watch the sun rise from the living room window as I flip my Bible to the day’s lectionary reading. Read. Then read a few pages out of my current devotional or spiritual non-fiction. Then pray.

Then walk the dog before the heat of the day sets in.

Come home, pour that second cup, assign the day’s chores to whichever kids are still living at home, take the evening’s meat out to thaw, and start work. Write before email and Slack. Definitely write before Substack or X. Create before consuming.

Then take a late morning break with break-fasting—pour the third (and final) caffeinated cup, splash in some heavy cream this time, and cook the bacon and eggs. …Sometimes go positively wild and do sausage instead.

Rinse and repeat with all the many moving parts in my life. Teaching: just do the work I know to do. Weight training: stick to my current plan because it’s working. Date nights: weekly at the same local, tried-and-true favorite cafés and diners. Bedtime: the routine I know so well I can do it in my (sometimes near-literal) sleep.

Novelty has its place, yes. But as I edge closer to my next birthday, my last one in my forties (how?!), novelty holds less and less appeal. Twenty years ago, the thought of an unremarkable life was a fate worse than death. But now, as I continue to grow up, I’m more drawn to delighting in the unexpected only here and there—while traveling, for rare milestones and holidays, in painting my bookshelves a fun green—and savoring life’s repeated ordinariness the rest of the time. A morning walk, a good piece of meat for dinner, a well-curated playlist on in the background while I chat with my kids about their days. In bed by 9:30. …There’s very little else I want or need in life right now.

Still a little Baggins, a little Took, yes—but perhaps skewing a bit more Baggins for the measured daily delights, and only occasionally whipping out the Took side for the rare moments that call for it.

I left my friend’s guesthouse ready to re-enter regular life and tackle my never-ending to-do list, grateful for the short time away, and grateful to my good Maker for reminding me what He’s already been gently telling me all year.

Just… Do the thing in front of you. You know what to do.