I’m not usually one for routine. In fact, I’m not usually one for anything in that department, really; rules, guidelines, limits – all constraining things of that ilk. I’ve been breaking them so long that they tend to keep their distance nowadays.. But, slowly and slyly, under the delicate threshold of perception, a certain routine has been growing and ripening itself these last few weeks in New Zealand, and upon much reflection (and reprogramming of years long aversions and dispositions) it appears the fruits are delicious..
Here, it goes something like this.
6.30 am. Awaken. Acknowledge the passing of your deep and restful slumber and shift enough to glance out the back window of the camper. If a grey sky greets you, lay your eyes to rest again and reclaim the fading dream. If a vague tendril of colour is lit on the belly of some nearfar cloud, put forth your intentions to a sleepy conscience, grant a wholesome hello to the new day and prepare your tools for the coming shoot.
9.00 am. Convene. Greet your fellows as they slip from their tent, cold, dewy and distressed and ask them how their sleep was.
9.15 am. Eat. Break fast on a bowl of Hubbard’s assorted flavours of muesli, or a scrambled egg sandwich, muse collectively over the standard of said breakfast relative to previous renditions and configure the wants for the day. Ok, so here’s where travel (which is to say constant movement) contests the matter of routine, and it’s true, it can’t be helped, every location offers a new lease of activity, a new palette of colour to paint the day with. But still, the palette shows up, every morning, awaiting instruction, and by 10 o’clock, the possibilities are sketched and the day is begun.
10.30 am. Eh, sack the timescale. In the period between late morning and late afternoon, the day turns out in all its painted colours and we spend our time indulging in every shade of contentment afforded by an unrestrained mind in an unhinged land.
Or simply reflecting,
Yes, the order and the particulars change, but the glorious freedom of selection stays the same! And in such a routine of exploration and enjoyment, the most taxing quandary imaginable is only deciding which of the activities to focus on.. Lucky life eh!?
Even our conversation has taken on a certain routinised aspect to it. Morning almost always offers the more intellectual garb of discussion, with Tom musing over the latest undertones of John Steinbeck, James chowing down our throats with last nights ‘Dan Carlin’ morsels of insight, and all our respectable attempts to keep satiating Nates healthy new appetite for language and vocabulary (which today as it happens included the word satiate). By noon though, the muster is lingering, by 2 it’s overstaying its welcome and by 5 its done and gone. Nates lost all sight of dilligence and reputability and is now relying on ‘Scaaaape’ ‘she’ll be alright’ and ‘what dya thinka that’ to take care of all his needs.
The others come out no better. James and I will be succumbing merrily to our inner nameless spazoids, and Tom will be fancifying all sentence structure in a bid to shroud his every moment in an intellectual grandeur. Huh? Don’t say anything.
Which is why, by late afternoon, the dynamics of the day are forced to shift and more subdued activities make their way into the fold.
Everyday, around this mark, some miscellaneous item is lost, seemingly interminably, panicked over and then found again in some obscure corner of the van. Whether it’s 5 months of photo and film gone with the sd card case, credit cards or socks, someone is always bound to fret and pant and allow emotion free reign in their transient period of trauma. This is never fun. But see, it is expected now – the routine is helpful in this regard.
~ Thanks a lot for getting this far, I’ll see you in part 2 on Thursday morning!
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