Cycles. Or not.

The changing seasons. Phases of the moon. Planting and harvesting. Holy days. Feasts. Another lap around the sun. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Humanity has always been tied to cycles. And when some of them became irrelevant (only few of us are farmers anymore) we invented new cycles. 

Cycles can be reassuring. Cycles can anchor us—in time and space, in society, in families, in personal habits. Cycles can create a bit of certainty amid uncertain conditions. Cycles can be good.

But that doesn’t work for some of us. Cycles can also become stultifying. 

“Every year, at this time,” they say, “we do _____________. Because it’s what we’ve always done. It’s tradition.”

“But,” I reply, “that means we can’t do a number of other things at that time that would be equally or more enjoyable.”

There are full time RVers and van dwellers who move in cycles, going to the same spots the same time each year, meeting with the same friends, often having the same conversations. It works for them.

As for me, I might go back to a few favorite places two, three times, but then I start wondering about alternatives. “What if I went there instead of here? What if I came here at a different season? What if I zigged instead of zagged?”

I understand doing what you enjoy over and over. It’s just that what I enjoy is variety. So I keep seeking it over and over.