You've Seen Me Before Now Make My Usual
Hey there, you! Yeah, you. Don't pretend you don't know me. I've seen you around, haven't I? Maybe it was at the grocery store, you know, wrestling with that rogue shopping cart. Or perhaps that time at the park, attempting to recreate that viral yoga pose and… well, let’s just say the squirrels were more impressed with your commitment than your flexibility. Either way, we’ve crossed paths. It’s that familiar nod, that little flicker of recognition.
And that brings me to my point, doesn't it? You've seen me. You've probably even judged me a little. We all do it, right? It’s human nature. But now that you’ve had your first look, your initial assessment, I’ve got a proposition for you. A proposition that’s as simple as it is profound. It’s time for the sequel. It’s time to make it my usual.
Think about it. We've moved past the awkward first introduction. No more pretending to be someone you’re not. The masks are off, darling. We’re in the comfortable phase now. The phase where you can roll your eyes at my questionable fashion choices without me taking it personally. The phase where I can spill my coffee on myself for the third time this week and you’ll just sigh and hand me a napkin, probably with a knowing smile. Because, let's be honest, that’s me. That’s my brand.
And what is my brand, you ask? It's a delightful blend of chaos and caffeine. It’s the sound of a thousand half-finished projects vying for my attention. It's the constant, nagging feeling that I've forgotten something important, probably my keys. It’s the unwavering belief that a good playlist can solve most of life's minor (and sometimes major) inconveniences. Sound familiar? Maybe not to you, but it’s definitely me.
So, when I say “make it my usual,” what am I actually asking? I’m asking you to embrace the predictability of my quirks. I’m asking you to anticipate the coffee stains. I’m asking you to be ready for the dramatic pronouncements about the perfect temperature for my tea. Because that’s where the magic happens, isn't it? It’s in the repetition. It’s in the comfort of knowing what to expect.
Think about your own “usuals.” That one coffee order you get every single time, no matter how many fancy new drinks pop up on the menu. That favorite worn-out hoodie that’s seen better days but is still your go-to for a lazy Sunday. That particular way you sing along to a song, slightly off-key but with all the passion in the world. Those are your anchors. Those are the things that make you, you. And for me, my usual is a carefully curated, yet utterly unintentional, symphony of everyday eccentricities.
And you, my friend, are now a part of that symphony. You’ve witnessed the overture. You’ve seen the first few notes. Now, it’s time to settle in for the main performance. No surprises. Well, maybe a few delightful surprises, because where’s the fun in absolute predictability? But largely, you know what’s coming. And that’s a good thing. It’s a comforting thing. It’s a thing that says, “We’re friends now. We’ve established a baseline of mild absurdity.”
Consider the alternative. Imagine a world where I’m constantly reinventing myself. One day I’m a minimalist zen master, the next I’m a glitter-bomb-throwing rave enthusiast. It would be exhausting! For both of us, frankly. You’d never know if you were walking into a silent meditation retreat or a mosh pit. And who has the energy for that kind of emotional whiplash? Not me, that’s for sure.
So, I’m here, in my familiar shade of slightly-too-loud. My hair might be doing that thing it does. My sentences might still tumble out in a glorious, unedited rush. There might be a smudge of ink on my cheek from that pen I was just… holding. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s exactly how it should be.
You see, in a world that’s constantly pushing us to be something new, something better, something more, there’s a quiet rebellion in simply being. In owning your established patterns. In saying, “This is me. Take it or leave it, but know that this is the operating system.” And I’m hoping you’ll choose to take it.
What does “making it my usual” practically look like? Well, for starters, it means I'm going to continue to show up with a slightly frazzled energy. You can expect me to have at least three half-read books lying around at all times. And that tendency to get wildly enthusiastic about a new hobby for approximately three weeks before moving on to the next shiny object? Yeah, that’s going to be a recurring theme.
It also means I’ll probably still be the person who says “Oh, that’s a great idea!” to myself, at full volume, while staring blankly into the middle distance. Don’t worry about it. It’s just my brain working at its usual, slightly manic pace. And if you see me talking to my plants? Well, they’re excellent listeners, and sometimes they offer surprisingly insightful advice. You should try it.
My usual also involves a certain level of spontaneous enthusiasm that can be, let’s just say, infectious. If I suddenly decide we need to bake a cake at 10 PM, don't be surprised. If I spontaneously suggest a road trip to the nearest town that sells artisanal pickles, just pack a bag. It’s all part of the experience. The wonderfully predictable, yet always surprising, experience of being me.
And the best part? You’re no longer an observer. You’re a participant. You’ve earned your stripes. You’ve seen the bloopers. You’ve navigated the occasional existential crisis fueled by lukewarm coffee. You’ve passed the introductory course. You’re now officially part of the “usual.”
So, when you see me again, don’t just nod. Don’t just offer a polite smile. Go ahead, lean in. Make yourself comfortable. Because this is my usual. And I’m glad you’re here to witness it. Maybe even join in. Who knows, you might discover your own delightful usual in the process.
Think about it from my perspective. It’s a relief, in a way. To know that the initial “what is this person?” phase is over. It’s like finally finding that comfortable pair of shoes. They might have a few scuffs, a little worn around the edges, but they fit. They know where you’re going. And more importantly, they know where you’ve been.
I’m not asking you to change me. Who would I be then? I’d be a stranger. And I’ve got enough strangers in my life, thank you very much. I’m asking you to embrace the familiar. To find the charm in the recurring. To understand that sometimes, the most exciting thing is knowing what’s coming next, even if it’s just another perfectly imperfect moment.
So next time you see me, whether it’s at the aforementioned grocery store or perhaps attempting to parallel park with the grace of a startled flamingo, don't be a stranger. Offer a knowing wink. A little chuckle. Because you get it. You’ve seen me before. And now, you’re ready to make it my usual.
It’s a beautiful thing, really. This shared understanding. This unspoken agreement. It’s the foundation of all good friendships, isn't it? The acceptance of each other’s… well, their usual. And mine, as you’ve probably gathered, is a work in progress. A never-ending, slightly messy, absolutely glorious work in progress.
And the beauty of a usual? It leaves room for the unexpected, doesn't it? It’s not a rigid box. It’s more like a comfy armchair. You know the shape, you know the texture, but there’s always a little space for a spontaneous guest, a new book, or a sudden urge to reorganize the entire bookshelf.
So, consider this your official invitation. An invitation to settle in. To recognize the pattern. To enjoy the predictable rhythm. Because you’ve seen me before, and now, it’s time to make it my usual. And trust me, it’s going to be a wild, wonderful ride. Just like always. Cheers to that!