What Does My Music Library Say About Me?

A Rebuttal to the Personality Link

William Sundwick

Ever since I can remember, I’ve liked listening to music. My childhood was spent with a father who was a failed violinist in his youth. (He became an engineer.) But, while he never played for me, he was totally dedicated to the classical, mostly 19^th century, orchestral catalogue. He took off from Paganini and didn’t stop until Heifetz. Listening to music was very serious business to him. It was clearly emotional. I inherited the emotional content, if not the literature.

For me, dramatic always trumped soothing. Heavy was generally better than light. I adored Beethoven -- a love shared with my dad. Schumann, Berlioz, Brahms all get honorable mention. I liked the Russians, too – along with my mother – father not so much (no violinists).

Something happened to me culturally, however, when I got to high school, and obtained a driver’s license. With a little help from my friends, I discovered top 40 radio in the car. It became a social thing. My previous group of friends, intellectually precocious New York Jews, with holocaust survivor parents, had aided and abetted my classical predilections up to that point -- although none of us ever played an instrument. Driving around listening to radio in the car became a liberating experience. Independence at last!

Social acceptance changed tone in college. There, the driving force seemed to be “what’s new.” And, then, what would come next. Thus, the avant-garde invaded my mind, with musical, artistic, and theatrical dimensions. Grafted onto that avant-garde sensibility was social awareness of a different world – an underclass world of black people. Blues and avant-garde jazz were, in my mind as a college student, part of the same “movement.” I had already gained an appreciation for the left from my New York Jewish friends in high school – college gave me the chance to integrate all that into an aesthetic that would become my own.

I still listened to classical music in college but replaced the 19^th century romantics with baroque and more 20th century artists. I liked Shostakovich and Prokofiev symphonies.

After college, it became clear that the future lay with rock music. It was symbolic of the age, and drew from a fabulous, beautiful history of the great migration from the South to the industrial Midwest. Urban blues became my music. As it transmogrified into Chicago Blues or British Blues, it seemed to be part of an evolving tradition. A working-class artform.

I, too, became a worker. I may have been an intellectual worker, but a worker, nonetheless. Adding to that, I was slow to develop intimate relationships – adolescent “sturm und drang” didn’t disappear from my psyche until my late marriage at 35. By that time, I was dedicated to Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. The revolution was still coming – in the future.

If there is anything at all to the psychological studies which claim to correlate musical tastes with personality, I might confess being a “systemizer” more than an “empathizer” – like my engineer father. This does tend to support the basic genres of music I like best. I prefer complex melodies and rhythms, and intense music.

One parameter for musical taste which is clearly bogus in my case is age. I’m still discovering new musical genres at age 71. I have only recently become a fan of heavy metal and punk/post-punk. It says something to me which is as valid now as it was when I was 20 or 25. I’ve never rejected my roots. Sadly, I never participated in creating music. But I still appreciate it.

Today the only time I listen intently to music is at the gym. This means I associate my music library with biofeedback (cardio) and may even use it for “productivity enhancement” (makes me pedal harder). This is a departure from my youthful serious listening, although that listening mode is still imprinted in my emotional affect. I still like sad songs (blues), especially when linked to social alienation and emancipation. I continue associating avant-garde with class struggle, opposing the mainstream.

When music stays “underground,” it is better than when it is commercially successful. I’ve never liked “soothing” or “easy listening” music of the pop world. I reject overly sentimental music, as it cheapens my own emotions. And, I steadfastly reject music with a conservative social message. Commercial Nashville usually epitomizes that -- although I still enjoy some Rolling Stones anthems like “Ruby Tuesday” or “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” (both examples of Keith Richards lapsing into extolling market capitalism’s virtue).

Blues is good. The purity and depth of its sentiment is real. It’s mostly about struggle, as I see it. The world of rock, whether blues-based or more experimental (like heavy metal), strikes me as great when it features virtuoso musicians – vocalists, guitar players, drummers, especially. Harmonica and tenor sax can often give an extra treat to the ear, as well. They contribute a plaintive tone to a song.

But the beat must remain predominant. Even in experimental electronic forms, there must be an underlying regular, repetitive beat. Sometimes the beat gets lost but is heroically rediscovered in the denouement. Zeppelin were masters of this, especially “In My Time of Dying” and “Dazed and Confused”. “Noise rock,”  like Sonic Youth, has tried the same approach – the beat must be at the heart of the song, even if lost in the middle.

Rock anthems continue to have an appeal to me. They seem to be hymns, crying “we shall overcome someday.”  Often, they take the form of a personal story, but sometimes they preach. The underlying emotion is hopefulness, with a dash of triumphalism – arrived at mostly through resistance to malevolent forces. Two of my favorite anthems are from the Rolling Stones: “Gimme Shelter” and “Midnight Rambler.” The former is the preaching style, the latter more bluesy.

The singer-songwriter folk tradition also contributes much to my music library. But always a folk-rock beat and instrumental backup is added. Mumford and Sons made a big impression on me when they entered the scene about ten years ago. Banjo replaces lead guitar on their first two albums, but it’s unmistakably folk rock.

The main reason I can’t buy the link between personality and musical tastes is that my tastes are way too varied to be pigeonholed. Why would I want to define who I am, anyway? Different studies have come up with different dimensions of personality and music – there is an “extroversion” scale where the most outgoing folks like the music I like, but the introverted folks also like some of the music I like. The “neuroticism” dimension in different studies concludes that people who rank high in neuroticism like totally opposite kinds of music. Go figure.

I think it’s not about musical genres, but more the socio-cultural tradition you live in that determines your musical taste. Mine has been developing for 71 years. There’s quite a history behind it. If I share it with nobody else, I don’t care.

Where Did It Come From?

How Delta Blues Morphed into All the Music I Like

William Sundwick

What is the music I like? I call it “blues-something” or “something-blues” – roots music critics and historians have many names for many variations of blues. But, since the Music I Like is artistic expression, I’m wary of any taxonomy of styles or “schools.” Artists are entitled to mix and match different styles as they see fit.

Most historians agree on the definition of blues as a style of folk music that was common in the Mississippi Delta in the early 20^th century. It emphasized rhythm and simple lyrics revolving around economic and romantic difficulties, sometimes with magical (mystical, voodoo) intimations. Its primary vehicles were homemade percussion instruments, harmonica, and slide guitar – and an emotive vocalist.

The first recordings of this music date from the 1920s. But, there’s no reason to think that its origins don’t go back much further.  Alan and John Lomax, ethnomusicologists at the Library of Congress in the 1930s, embarked on field trips to record much of the music of the Delta Blues tradition.  They used primitive magnetic recording techniques with a hand lathe to press wax cylinders or discs. No electricity required, because there wasn’t any in rural Mississippi then. The music was thus preserved -- and distributed both in the U.S. and Britain -- even if not commercially recorded. 

Also, the music, at this time, was always performed by non-white artists. They were poor black sharecroppers, usually illiterate, and their songs weren’t written down. They learned guitar chords by demonstration and practice. Without the Lomax efforts, few songs would have been recorded.

My own fascination with the genre began in high school, when I decided to let my musical taste make my stand in the civil rights era. I abandoned the classical repertory imposed by my parents – since I clearly was not going to be a musician myself (my father, a failed violinist turned engineer, insisted that I, too, could never make it). The primitive alternative called. These artists had nothing, nobody recognized their talent, they were shunned by white society. And, the social milieu of Flint, Michigan made me pathologically averse to white country music. Those “hillbillys” were the real dregs in 1960s Flint, it seemed. Whatever musical tastes I carried away to college would certainly NOT be theirs! The cultural disconnect was just too great.

In college, I soon discovered that there was a fascinating blues tradition that had bubbled up from the South, making its way during the “Great Migration” into my part of the country.  It was analogous to my own family’s migration, in the opposite direction, from the mining and logging country of the Keweenaw Peninsula to the industrial heartland further south in Michigan. But, they were first generation immigrants from Swedish-speaking Finland, not descendants of slaves.

The Great Migration from the rural South to Chicago and Detroit was driven both by economic and cultural hardship – the black sharecropper was a refugee, not too different from the escaped slave of a few generations earlier. It continued into the 1940s, and WWII. Blacks began to make up a significant portion of the home-front industrial and service workforce in these cities.

They brought their music with them, intact. They performed it in clubs. But, few artists found recording contracts, despite high demand for live performances in both cities. The business side of “Rhythm and Blues” was not very well developed, though. Radio air play (and “payola”) was still in the future – and would find white rock-and-roll or “doo-wop” artists first, when it did arrive.

Friendly record labels and radio stations did exist, however, in selected markets. There was Billboard’s “R&B hits” list, just like there was the “Hot 100” (distilled to “Top 40”).  Two of the larger early labels were Chess Records and Okeh Records. They had already taken chances on some delta blues artists in Memphis, and had a presence in Chicago, as well.

It’s fair to say that there are three distinct generations in the lineage of this music. The first was R&B transplanted from rural Mississippi to Chicago and Detroit (mostly Chicago – only John Lee Hooker is recognizable from Detroit blues in this period). It showed little influence from any other musical styles outside that folk foundation.

The second generation did show some eclectic influences, depending on where it was performed. Most notable was British Blues, this generation’s archetype. It borrowed from delta blues, but there was also something vitally different emerging on the other side of the Pond in the early ‘60s. It was an urban, industrial, white blues -- without that peculiar American country flavor. A second generation also reached California, epitomized by a fusion of rock-and-roll with more back-to-the-roots folk blues. The second generation put blues rock into the mainstream.

As rock became more sophisticated, there arose a countervailing desire to simplify and “get back to the basics.” Blues was waiting. The beat, the emotional power of the lyrics, and those guitar riffs got our juices flowing. We wanted more of that, less of the fancy stuff. The third generation took off. It was a revival of traditional blues. In this more diverse time, however, blues had to compete with roots music in the country/folk vein. Lineage is genealogy, after all. As the gene pool has more inputs, the original markings often are obscured.

My iTunes library includes examples from each of the three generations of blues (or “bluesy” rock): 

•     From the first generation there is John Lee Hooker, B.B. King, Little Walter, Howlin’ Wolf, and Willie Dixon. Hooker and King had the longest performing and recording careers of any first-generation blues musician. They were both known as guitar players. The slide guitar was their weapon of choice well. Little Walter and Howlin’ Wolf made the harmonica their centerpiece, although Howlin’ Wolf also impressed audiences with his imposing physical presence and voice. He literally howled like a wolf in some of his most famous pieces, covered by many blues rock bands over the years. Little Walter is the only artist inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame specifically as a harmonica player. Willie Dixon was a bass player, but had an impressive body of songs, covered by multiple blues and blues rock artists. All but Hooker and King were associated primarily with Chicago.       
•     Second generation blues came from both Britain and California. Good examples are early Rolling Stones, Yardbirds, and Cream. On our own Left Coast, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and maybe Creedence Clearwater Revival, carried on the tradition. Although CCR’s background makes them seem more like third generation revival – arriving early. Bob Dylan must be mentioned here, as well. He uniquely in cracked the New York folk scene in Greenwich Village with roots blues music. It was difficult on the East Coast, because of competition from other established pop forms. His audience was ready when he discovered blues, then rock.
•     George Thorogood and Jack White are examples of third generation blues. They both consGciously brought delta blues and boogie into the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. Thorogood with his band, The Destroyers, combines traditional blues/boogie with original songs done in that style. Early in his career he was based in Washington, D.C., often performing in Georgetown opposite the Nighthawks, at places like The Cellar Door. Jack White, a native Detroiter, discovered blues in elementary school. He started an upholstering business before beginning his music career with his wife Meg, forming The White Stripes. They divorced before White Stripes reached its peak popularity in the early aughts -- calling themselves siblings for PR purposes. White now lives in Nashville. He sits on the board of the Library of Congress National Recording Preservation Foundation, where he is a fervent proponent of following the Lomaxes in the 1930s. His work with the PBS series, American Epic, speaks to his interest in roots music, especially recording apparatuses. 

A fourth generation of blues artists can be imagined, begat by the children of millennials waxing nostalgic for their childhood exposure to the heavy metal and alternative rock of their parents. Those styles aren’t entirely devoid of blues roots. And, there might even be a folk revival, reflecting synergy of African-American and white country roots. One candidate is the British group Mumford and Sons. They feature an interesting mix of R&B, folk, and Gospel in many of their numbers.

Our affinity for the Music We Like seems to be driven mostly by nostalgia for our respective youths. Hence, age becomes the main predictor of one’s musical tastes. But, cultural affiliation also plays an important secondary role, some would say equal role.

If we remember first generation blues, it might be because of performers of great longevity, like John Lee Hooker, or B.B. King. If we are either slightly younger or were just focused on Top 40 songs in the sixties, we’re likely drawn to second generation blues. Gen-Xers may have fond memories of the third-generation blues revival associated with their youth.

My millennial offspring only know the blues form from me (youngest had never heard of John Lee Hooker until I told him about this post). I’ve succeeded in exposing them to early Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, and Cream. I’m not sure it has supplanted their own youthful experiences with hip hop and techno/electronic music, though. My oldest knows Jack White but thinks he’s “over-rated.”

Hmmm. Perhaps they’re missing the proper cultural affiliation?

Celebrating Banality: Why Those Daily Routines Have So Much Power

William Sundwick

Excitement vs. Routine

We all love exciting new experiences. The faster heart beat of the unexpected thrill, or the shot of feel-good dopamine or serotonin neurotransmitters into the brain, are what many of us associate with a life lived "on the edge." Much popular literature, art, and music consider the excitement of danger and unanticipated adventure to be a great virtue.The appeal of newness can reasonably be associated with feelings of optimism, hopefulness. Novelty is undeniably an attractive prospect for many.

But, what about routine? We all engage in daily rituals, or some banal activities, to which we pay little heed, in our imaginations. Why do we continue to practice such ordinary, repetitive, processes in our lives? Indeed, we often conclude that life may amount to nothing more than replacing one pattern of banal activity with another, on and on, throughout our short time on this planet.

The facts are that daily routines contribute much to our psychological, and physical, well-being. They generate comfort and security, predictability -- necessary prerequisites to develop skills, mastery, in life. Just as a corporation seeks predictability in the economy, to enable growth, so, too, do we individuals need that security for us to grow. Routines reinforce our "being present" in reality, as opposed to anxiously contemplating the future, or drowning in regrets about the past. Meditation is often reduced to the most fundamental routine: breathing in, breathing out. Continued practice of routines is what enables mastery of any skill, hence from childhood on, we need routines in order to keep our world functioning. Schools and workplaces emphasize routine for exactly that reason -- mastery.

There exists an interesting circular interaction between "exciting" experiences and banal routines, throughout our lives. On the one hand, moments of excitement can create energy needed later for stamina in maintaining daily routines: those neurotransmitters, and the psychological lift they produce. But, simultaneously, the very repetitiveness of the daily routines frees up creative energy, which can be used to induce further excitement. Not much energy is expended by the banal, unless you let your mind wander to an uncertain future, or become paralyzed by regrets for past mistakes. Hence, a reservoir can be built up, ready for release when the opportunity arises.

Patterns

In addition to the binary system of "excitement" vs. "routine," we also possess a mechanism for controlling the pace and scheduling of routines. Complex lives, those which need variegated scheduling, depending on lots of contingencies, will require another behavioral tool ... "patterns."

Patterns of behavior are really layers of routines. Depending on their sophistication, they may mitigate uncontrolled variability ("uncertainty") with varying effectiveness. While daily routines are governed by clocks ... actual clocks ticking off hours, minutes, seconds; or, lifetime clocks related to aging and stages of life; or, quotidian biological clocks with alarms signaling hunger, tension, lethargy, sleep deprivation, etc. Behavior patterns will trigger the routine when certain combinations of circumstances occur, perhaps not following a predictable clock; but, instead, following the completion of a previous routine, as a precondition. Some of these patterns have no apparent cause, but are totally arbitrary: e.g., I raise the venetian blinds on the clear story windows in my family room on alternating days of the week, depending on when my cleaning ladies are scheduled to come, so that on the day they clean, the blinds are lowered with only slats open. This routine has no purpose other than an alternating diurnal pattern, I could just as easily make sure that the blinds were lowered just before the cleaning crew arrives, and not worry about the other times! Perhaps the behavior pattern helps me remember which week they are due to clean (alternating weeks), but surely I could come up with a less bizarre reminder!

When multiple routines compete for the same space, other contingencies must determine which routine will be followed. I take late evening showers, if I intend to go outside afterwards (usually to unplug my Chevy Volt from the outlet in the driveway, so that my wife doesn't have to do it before she goes to work next morning), I will get dressed, else I will get in my pajamas after my shower! The operative contingency here is whether I plugged the car into the electrical outlet early enough in the evening so that it will be fully charged by the time I finish my shower; which, in turn, may depend on how much battery range was left on the car when my wife or I last returned it to our driveway that day. One can imagine far more complex combinations for many of the decisions they make regarding which routine to activate, and when. Since the logical flow chart for all these behavior patterns could become very elaborate, most of us rely on our own internal circuitry, and memory, to pull up the correct behavior for the contingency at hand. As long as the patterns and routines further our progress toward a goal, we should be okay. But, what about that goal? Where does it come from? ... Whose goal is it, anyway?

Goals

Some goals are low risk projects. We have ready access to the routines, and patterns, that we know can let us reach those goals easily. Little energy is invested in achieving those simple goals. If we have food in the house, and minimal food preparation skills, we will eat. If we find we are dozing off on the sofa, and the clock shows an appropriate hour, we go to bed. If we have an established home exercise routine, and the time and tools to execute it, we will do so. Other goals, however, are more difficult to achieve. Sometimes, it's because the goal is unclear ... why do I have a pattern for opening those venetian blinds, anyway? Sometimes, the skill set needed to achieve the goal is not yet mastered, we may have to learn new routines, or maybe we have lost the skills needed, during the course of our life. We may have simply forgotten the routine  ...  where are light bulbs in this store, again?

Even a routine as silly as opening and lowering those blinds on alternating days, when you break it down to its origins, has the goal of reminding me when the cleaning ladies are coming ... and, keeping track of which day of the week I'm in, as bonus! Some goals are related to maintaining good health, like meals, sleep and exercise. Some goals are selected to foster creativity, like frequency of posts to Warp & Woof blog. And, some patterns of daily routines are invented for the purpose of building structure in life. In these cases, the routines came first, the goals that the routines facilitate only take shape after the routine is established -- does this explain the venetian blinds?

When goals are selected by others for you, your behavior patterns may be ad hoc. Deadlines and priorities may be imposed which determine how the patterns are structured. Which should I do first today, if I know I have to be at a meeting in Alexandria by 7:00? Should I go to the gym, shower, then take a walk? Or, should I start writing my blog post first, then go to gym, and leave the walk optional, as time permits?  Any combination of routines may be possible, inclusion or not, based on priorities or deadlines. Constraints imposed by others tend to govern some people's behavior more than others ... and, at some stages of life more than others (not so much in retirement!).

Banality

There is an annoying lack of authority on the subject of the banality of daily routines. Most everybody agrees that daily routines are good for you. They seem to be responsible for all the positive direction in our lives. The disagreement arises in assigning relative value to different routines. It seems everybody has an agenda, something to sell. Which routines are labeled "good" versus "bad" depends on that agenda. I am left with the conclusion that it is the very banality of the routine which generates its value. Banality has multiple definitions, too. One definition focuses on the "ordinariness" of the banal, Another definition, based on its Old French origins, is "common to all."

If we focus on the banal as being the "ordinary" or "unexceptional", we are confronted by the fact that what's ordinary to one person may be very extraordinary to another. Think about routines for somebody with a disability, versus the able. Perhaps the routines that seem most ordinary are precisely those which we should be most thankful we can call banal! On the other hand, if we accept the definition "common to all," we are now entering the realm of lowest common denominators. Is it fair to say that these routines are at the heart of what makes us human? None of us can survive without them, much like the case of meditation exercises.

Banality, as ordinary, obvious, or uneventful, is often associated with "boring."  Yet, our shared experience in life supports the concept that very interesting, and creative, people can lead lives filled with banal routines. It may even be the banality that spurs their creativity. Conversely, how many boring people seemingly have "exciting" lives, free from such banality? Of course, the dark side of banality is seen in the excessively compulsive person, who can't seem to control the banality of their daily life (like people who have patterns of raising and lowering venetian blinds, which seemingly cannot be altered!).

Yet, there is a school of art, music, and literature which celebrates the banality of daily life. Andy Warhol comes to mind, and more recently, Jeff Koons. Pop culture, in general, is often thought to be a celebration of the banal, and Bob Dylan receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature last year seems to confirm this view.  Last year's indie film "Paterson" has been billed as a celebration of the banal, whose main character is a New Jersey bus driver with no formal education, who becomes a poet. Some even place pornography in the category of banal art. Clearly, then, the banal has its place in the arts. Consequently, it should not be denigrated in our personal lives, and it certainly does not have to be seen as "boring!"

On a personal level, it is impossible to ignore the banal nature of my daily life. It has become even more apparent over the last two years, since I retired from a 42-year career in an office environment at the Library of Congress. Although, clearly, that long career was, itself, a monument to banality. I contend that this mass accumulation of banal activity consuming my entire adult life has been the raw material for sparks of creative energy. And, these sparks have been igniting on a regular basis, all through my life, without my noticing! I haven't noticed mostly because I've been so conditioned to demean the role of the banal.

My Banal Life

These days, routine definitely trumps adventure. Virtually every weekday, I get out of bed, get dressed, unplug my Volt from the outdoor electrical source, retrieve the newspaper from the front yard, kiss my wife goodbye as she leaves for work on Capitol Hill, eat a breakfast consisting of some bakery bread, banana, coffee, and orange juice with my prescription drugs, vitamins, baby aspirin.

This routine only varies by the occasional substitution of Post Great Grains cereal for the bread, and possible elimination of the outdoor unplugging of the car (if I had already done it the night before). The entire routine lasts from about 7:30 - 8:00 until around 9:00. I eat slowly while checking email, recording estimated calories in my Fitbit app (both for breakfast and previous evening's snack), and maybe begin the secondary routine of following my Facebook news feeds and friends' posts.

After making the bed -- and, on Monday or Tuesday, starting my laundry -- the Facebook routine typically fills my morning until it's time for a "second breakfast" sometime after 10:00. This morning snack will consist of Yoplait yogurt (various flavors) and either cereal or bread, with more coffee.

There could be interruptions caused by a need to respond to an email, but this is often the time when I plan the rest of my day ... which routines, and in what order? Wild variations sometimes follow these activities: today I drove to Alexandria, to reconfigure the prison videoconferencing equipment at my church, some days I go to Planet Fitness next, for my standard 40-minute cardio-heavy workout routine, other days, if the weather is nice, I use this block of time for a walk around the neighborhood, and listen to one of several podcasts to which I subscribe.

Whenever I choose to walk around the neighborhood, I will follow one of eight possible routes, some of them can be varied by incorporating portions of another route. On bad weather days, I have been known to get my required steps (Fitbit tells me I should get 10,000 per day) by going to the gym and simply walking on a treadmill while reading a book. Some days, like today, interruptions to my usual routines cause me to jettison the steps ... an example of ad hoc variance of routines.

Lunch consists of a sandwich with cold cuts and one slice of cheese, pickles or cantaloupe, and iced tea or non-alcoholic beer. Every weekday, afternoons will consist of either the gym workout plus shower, the walk, or both. Lunchtime is always between 1:00 and 2:00. Recently, a new routine has been added two days a week, before dinner. At 5:00, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I am now expected to pick up my toddler grandson at his family day care provider and play with him at his house until one of his parents returns from work. This is fun, and reminds me of how important routines are -- little Owen gets a written report from his day care center each day which looks EXACTLY LIKE MY DAY! Except, he fills time in the afternoon with a nap ... I don't.

When wife returns from work, around 6:00 or 6:30, sudden retooling for excitement and unpredictability takes over! No telling what may happen next! Dinner typically is not planned until this point, beyond some speculation which may have occurred the previous evening. Now is her time to do all those wonderful routines that I had the whole day to do. I will either spend time with dinner prep during the next two hours, or not, in which case, my creative impulses can either start, or continue where I left off earlier in the day. This very moment is such a time during just such an evening.

Weekends have different routines, since they generally involve my wife as well. Breakfasts for me are the same as during the week, and I have to try harder to squeeze in those health/fitness routines, since it is over the weekend that we go places and do things! Errands must be run, occasionally we must go out to eat, or a movie, or even something more exciting, like theater. Sundays typically include some portion of the day at church, and these days, some Saturdays also include church activities (like this week). Generally, weekends are a struggle to preserve my precious routines of the weekdays, they contain more unpredictable activity, more people interrupting the automatic repetition of my solitary behavior patterns of the week. For this reason, I find creative production more difficult on weekends.

Evenings, both weekday and weekend, have one very dear routine ... interrupted only when there are extreme late nights out, such that we just collapse when getting home. My wife and I always indulge ourselves in watching recorded, or streaming, television in the late evening hours. This ritual never begins prior to 11:30, often not until after midnight. It consists of me closing my browser on my office computer, thus shutting down Facebook for the night, making a snack ... which includes an alcoholic nightcap (beer, wine, or a mixed drink from my Calabrese bartenders' guide), getting into my pajamas, and selecting which of our favorite series to watch tonight! There is a long list of possiblities ... the two of us watch lots of TV, just not when it's broadcast.

It's clear that I am pursuing goals with my banal routines, but many of those goals are never quite realized. It seems that the behavior continues until I feel the goal has been reached, then I may change the routine. Some goals, of course, by their nature, are lifelong motivations: good health, wisdom, and the like. But, others could be achievable, if only we had enough time! Alas, things always seem to interfere with our spending sufficient time "practicing" our routines. And, we are told we are all mortal, anyway.

Hence, we may have to abandon some goals as impractical. This is the sort of thing that causes deep sadness at times, indulging that phenomenon of spending much time reminiscing (regretting) the past, with no payoff except depression. In my life, four lost goals stand out, two due to impracticality, and two because they were successfully achieved, but the associated routines are equally missed for all four: 1) piano, not practical at my age and state of mind, or small muscle coordination; 2) child rearing -- grandchild rearing is not the same, since I won't see the actual results; 3) meetings, that's right, I miss the balm of listening and reporting group endeavors, but I'll call this one successful achievement of the goal, as I may rediscover the goal, social in nature, who knows?; 4) projects, those big, long-term, endeavors which I was responsible for executing, whether alone, or with help from others -- the skills exercised, when successfully applied, always made me feel good. Note that all four of these missed routines, and associated behavior patterns, characterized earlier stages of my life (except piano, which I now concede, I began too late in life).

For the future, it appears that it's necessary to plan our banality.  My future plans include a basement remodeling project, transitioning off the Board of Deacons at my church, perhaps some level of political activism, and grandchild rearing (whatever that entails). All will likely involve new routines, which will need to be practiced, and the complexity of my life won't diminish so much as to obviate patterns of behavior, which will still be needed to facilitate the practicing. Inasmuch as some existing routines will have to be replaced, I will have to prioritize the new over the old, if my new goals are to be achieved ... in my lifetime. I can't contemplate just yet the costs of leaving unfinished goals behind, perhaps it's inevitable that there will be some. I was compelled to leave a record of ongoing activities and projects when I retired from the Library of Congress (it was 2015, after passage of the Federal Records Act). This blog post doesn't count as such a record of my life goals!

Your Banal Life

If my reader is burdened by too many goals being imposed on you by others, try some engineering design of your daily routines. Invent new patterns of behavior, tweak the existing patterns. Don't be afraid to let the banality of tasks release some pent-up creative energy which can be directed elsewhere. If you feel imprisoned by your compulsiveness, try a rational evaluation of how effective your familiar routines really are. Are they the best possible vehicles for achieving your stated goals? Sometimes, you may have to forcibly break a routine (a "bad habit"), even if you remain fuzzy about what its replacement routine looks like. If you are "self-actualized" already in your banality, then congratulations! That means your routines and patterns of behavior are well-suited to meeting your life needs. Keep it up!

But, whatever adjustments you make to your daily routines, remember not to pass up opportunities for excitement, even if the end result might only contribute to your life's banality. That banality enables future excitement!