Invisible Structures

How daily routines give us a sense of normalcy and then some

It’s 9:37 a.m., and the kettle is going off. Its high, shrill whistle shrieks across the courtyard, like an infant in protest. In what feels like five minutes, but is really only a few seconds, someone has turned off the heat (possibly running from another room, having forgotten they were making tea). I can tell the time by this insistent whistle: It must be about 9:40 a.m., I think. It’s a reliable, punctual sound.

The classical music is less insistent. It plays every weekday after the morning news until just before 11 a.m. Sometimes I can hear it from our flat, but most of the time I can only hear it when I’m in the courtyard. It feels like the soundtrack to a European film I’m suddenly a part of – the gentle notes spilling out of someone’s tilted-open window (I imagine it’s the one with the lace curtains, on the second floor) as I stand under the old chestnut tree, unlocking my bike.

The guide dog, a black poodle who lives in the back building, says hello when she’s not on duty. The Dalmatian with the bright orange collar and springy tail takes the stairs by himself for his morning walk, while his owner leisurely follows behind him. The black and white cat spies on the rest of us from an east-facing window, curious but disinterested.

We adopt routines for various reasons. For me, a good routine is something I can trust and lean against for support. It has to be flexible, sure, but the illusion of predictability, of regular tasks at regular times, is comforting to me. When we first moved to Berlin, we had no routine. We were managing jet lag and spatial orientation. The world felt strange and gooey while our concept of time was scrambled, not aligned with our internal clocks. Our hunger and tiredness were out of sync with the outside world. We had to adjust.

We spent the first two weeks in vacation mode. We toured around the city, ate a lot of pastry, and tried to get a sense of where we were. At the same time, we were working on finding M. a school, and getting E.’s paperwork ready for Kita. It was a transition period, and like all transition periods, there were challenges, big emotions, and no set schedules (other than the parental trifecta of bath-dinner-bed). But thanks to the cosiness of our flat, we slept really well. This helped a lot.

Once school started, our routine became more established. Elementary classes begin at 8:00 a.m., so M. and I are out the door by 7:35. Since we don’t have a car, we rely on our bicycles to get around (I imagine a romantic post coming up, “Ode to the Two-Wheeler”, perhaps). We have to dress and time our day differently to accommodate for this mode of transportation. Rainy days are especially tricky. E. doesn’t ride a bike yet, so he travels in a kid’s seat on the back of Jake’s bike. And in case you’re wondering if he minds not having his own bike like the other kids, please be informed that he prefers being chauffeured around.

We’re very much in the flow of other school-aged families. Steady streams of children on bikes and scooters travel at set times to school and back home again. As we unlock our bikes, we say “Guten Morgen!” to a mom and her son who live in our building and are doing the same thing. We follow each other down our street before splitting up at the traffic lights. We see the same families on our familiar route every morning – walking, scooting, cycling, climbing out of cars. We’re all in it together.

We’ve also fallen into the wider rhythm of Berlin. Cycling is very much a part of this, as is stopping by the Spielplatz (playground) after school and having coffee and cake in the afternoon. We visit the markets on the weekend, of which there are many. Our local farmers market is a staple on Saturday, and especially important for buying fresh flowers and crisp apples, but we’ve also been to the antique markets and bicycle markets.

My own Berlin routine has taken time to develop. At the beginning, I heard a constant nagging to “be productive”, to “make the most of the time”, and to “soak it all in.” Not surprisingly, none of these thoughts were helpful; in fact, they made it more difficult for me to enjoy myself and to complete my work. In response to these imagined pressures, I’ve been following my intuition more. When I hear that intrusive, “you should really be doing x”, I try to sit with what feels good as opposed to what feels useful or obligatory. (Does this make sense? It’s a work in progress; I may report back later).

But the not-so-secret benefit to a routine is the way it can hold us in times of need. Recently, M. has been having some tough days at school. Part of the difficulty has to do with the language, but there’s also been some bullying from a student in her class. We’ve addressed it and spoken with the teachers, but it’s still hard. Last week, just before pickup time, M. and her teacher phoned me from school. M. was beside herself. I raced over on my bike, and after she calmed down, she said, “Mama, can we go to the little bakery on the way home? Like we usually do?”

“Of course we can.”

She appeared steadied by this plan. She put on her helmet, and headed down the street. At the bakery, she ordered a ham sandwich and ate half of it before getting on her bike again.

When we got back to our flat, she said, “I like being home.”

And then, without missing a beat, and in her typical pragmatic tone, she added, “well, I’m going to have to go back to school tomorrow.”

And then she went about her afternoon as usual: playing, watching some TV, and waiting for E. to come home.