Routine is a quiet force in our lives, often overlooked but deeply ingrained in our sense of stability and happiness. While modern self-improvement icons like Tim Ferriss emphasize the benefits of structured habits—journaling, morning meditations, and scheduled deep work—this understanding of routine is hardly new. If anything, it has been a part of human nature for centuries, evolving through cultural traditions, religious rituals, and personal habits passed down through generations.
For me, the awareness of routine started early, shaped by the everyday lives of my family in India. I grew up in a joint family, where the rhythm of daily life was predictable, comforting, and, in hindsight, deeply formative. My grandfather, for instance, had a sing-song checklist he would recite before stepping out of the house. It was a simple melody, yet it served an important purpose: ensuring he had his keys, his glasses, his handkerchief, his money—and his dentures. It was a humorous yet effective way to keep track of what he needed. But more than that, it was his way of centering himself before beginning the day.
These small routines were about efficiency and grounding - and about knowing what comes next when so much else in life remains uncertain.
The Psychological Comfort of Routine
Human beings are wired for predictability. Studies in behavioral science show that routines reduce stress and increase a sense of control. When we know what to expect, our brains don’t have to waste energy constantly recalibrating. The predictability of a morning cup of tea, a daily 7 AM walk, or a structured bedtime routine allows us to focus on more complex, creative, and meaningful aspects of our lives.
Looking back, I realize that routine was woven into the very fabric of my family life. Every evening before dinner, we gathered at the table for a short prayer. Though we weren’t particularly religious, this moment of pause became an unspoken tradition. It wasn’t the prayer itself that mattered; it was the consistency, the shared moment of stillness before the meal, the quiet acknowledgment of time spent together. Even now, decades later, I catch myself thinking about it.
In our household, dinner was sacred—served at exactly 7:30 every night. I was jokingly called ‘Cinderella’ because no matter what I was doing, I was expected to be at the table. At the time, I resented it. I wanted just a few more minutes outside, one more game, one last conversation with friends. But those structured meals, which once felt rigid, are now among my most treasured memories. They weren’t just about food; they were about connection, routine, and the comforting certainty of knowing that no matter what else happened in the day, this moment remained unchanged.
It’s easy to overlook these small, everyday rituals, but they shape who we are. They build a sense of belonging—not just within a family, but within ourselves. And as much as we think we carve our own paths, we often find ourselves returning to these rhythms, unconsciously recreating them in our own lives, drawn to the comfort of what once made us feel at home.
Routine as a Cultural and Generational Inheritance
One of the most fascinating things about routine is how effortlessly it weaves itself through generations, often unnoticed until we stop to reflect. My grandmother had her own rituals—deeply tied to her devotion—that shaped the rhythm of her days. Each morning, she would bathe and dress a small Krishna figurine, sing to him, offer him food, and later, put him to sleep at night. To her, this was an act of worship, but beyond that, it was a structured practice that brought comfort, purpose, and a sense of order to her world.
Even those who don’t consider themselves religious follow similar ritualistic patterns. Lighting a candle at dusk, going for a morning run, reading in the same cozy chair every evening—these small, repeated acts become a part of who we are, providing a familiar rhythm to our days.
As I observe my own life today, I see these echoes of structured habits continuing. My husband starts his mornings with a cold plunge, not because he enjoys the shock of icy water, but because it resets him for the day. I document my outfits each morning, ensuring my wardrobe choices are streamlined, making my mornings feel more orderly. Even my dog has a routine—she expects her first meal at 5:40 AM, and her world wouldn’t feel right if that didn’t happen.
One would agree that there’s a natural pull toward spontaneity, a resistance to predictability, yet routine acts as an invisible framework, keeping us anchored. Every morning, right after his shower, my father would chant—a quiet, steady rhythm that filled our home, signaling the start of the day. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but in hindsight, I realize how much harmony it brought, how that simple practice set the tone for the morning. We may believe we are forging our own paths, but so often, we find ourselves unconsciously preserving the routines of those before us, passing them along without even realizing it.
The Rituals That Sustain Us
Tim Ferriss often speaks about the power of daily journaling, emphasizing that even a few minutes of structured reflection can reshape how we approach life. While his approach is modern, the philosophy behind it is ancient. Across cultures and generations, ritualistic behaviors—whether in the form of everyday prayer, writing, movement, or structured daily tasks—have always offered humans a sense of peace.
Routine is certainly about productivity and efficiency. It’s also about creating a rhythm to life that provides comfort, familiarity, and joy. Whether it’s my grandfather’s morning song, a childhood dinner prayer, or a daily journaling habit, these small actions accumulate into something much larger—a sense of stability, a source of happiness, and a quiet, steady reassurance that no matter how chaotic the world outside may be, some things remain beautifully predictable.
And in that predictability, we find peace.