Never Stop Moving.

It is with amusement that I at times look back upon my youth and scrutinize the way I used to live. Not just the things I did and the way I acted, but also the daily routines that filled my every day - or rather - the lack of those.

Moving into my first own apartment, the sense of freedom I experienced when I was twenty one was very welcomed, but also overwhelming. I was not used to be so completely in charge of my days and recall that initially, I did everything I enjoyed and very little of that I did not.  Such as cleaning the place and a multitude of chores that I found boring or tedious.
My life then was completely devoid of routines, except for those absolutely vital ones. Such as getting up every morning at the same time, waiting for the buss at the same buss stop and going to work and from work at a given hour. The rest was undetermined, unplanned and spontaneous, as I found no need in having a structured week, or even a day. A year comprised an eternity and the future felt exciting and distant and received very little of my contemplation.

I am not exactly certain when it happened, but along the way somewhere, as I aged and matured, routines sneaked up on me. Perhaps it was the realization of the fact, that planning meant getting things done. It meant using the time I had wisely, giving me a certain sense of control over it.
Or perhaps it was when I realized that I yearned to control it and in that same sense to control my life.

The issue of having control became a dominating one when I became a young adult. I have often viewed this as the result of my childhood and the fact, that my parents had the heart of gypsies and the soul of constant travelers. We children were uprooted numerous times, the final relocation being my family's emigration to the west when I was in my early teens. This move at such a sensitive age most certainly affected my formative years, instigating in me a endless search for home and stability that surfaced first later in my adulthood.

As I found myself facing the troubles of life,  my need for control and structure and my need to belong became the only constant in my days.
Today thus I relish in routines and dislike stress. I seek and demand tranquility and crave that of those around me. The few moments of stress that occur are anticipated and controlled by me, or at least controlled by me as much as it is possible.

However, somewhere deep inside I feel a new realization has been taking place as of lately. As much as I love my routines and security, the idea of living the way I do until the end of my days fills me with a endless sense of terror. The idea of having no more surprises come my way is not one I view fondly. It is as if I have began reverting to my younger self, trying to find that spark of infinite joy over the uncertainty in the future ahead of me, even though it has been cut by half since I last time felt this way in the past.

I assume it is in my genes, however much I try to ignore it or fight it. My parents, who are and have always been an endless source of inspiration to me, still keep on moving. They have not settled down yet and I do not think they ever will.
In return they have kept a young mind and soul and warmth of the heart, radiating energy and joy.

If there is anything they have ever taught me it is to never stop moving.
In the abstract sense and the literally one as well.
Perhaps therein lies the secret to the art of staying forever young.