Most weeks, we run.
From home to work to home to dance class to grocery store to a whole assortment of miscellaneous errands.
We run without thinking.
We run within our small community, rarely venturing more than ten miles away from home. Never venturing over the bridge to the wealth of culture, sights, and fun in ‘the city.’
I tell people that I live in Washington DC. It sounds cooler than saying I live in Virginia.
But the truth is, I work in Washington DC. I do not live there.
And it’s a darn shame.
But yesterday, M and I both had the day off from work. In the morning, we sold our house.
(Yes, it’s official. We’re still living here for the next two weeks, but it’s not ours anymore. We are officially sellers. And renters. We keep joking about that renting part. Someone suggested we throw a keg party. But, ya know, I do want to get our security deposit back.)
In the afternoon, we ran a few errands. But we also stopped to have lunch. We reminisced as we packed old cards and photos.
And in that relaxation, we stopped running.
And when we stopped running… well, the possibilities seemed endless.
Last night, we broke our pizza night routine and dined out at a new-to-us restaurant a bit further from home.
And this morning, we skipped dance class and ventured into the city for the National Cathedral’s Flower Mart.
I don’t normally like to skip dance class. Routines are important and, more importantly, Baby loves dance class.
But she also loves flowers.
And festivals. And watching other people dance.
Apparently this routine-breaking is contagious. Because Baby… well she caught the bug. All morning, she traveled around on Daddy’s shoulders. A method of transportation she has traditionally hated. But this weekend? It’s the way to travel.
For date night tonight (a rare moment out to celebrate our anniversary) we’re headed back into the city. And who knows, maybe we’ll be back again in the morning.
Go break your routine. Do it. You know you want to.
You’ll be glad you did.