Routine. The very word sounds like something your grandmother would scold you about: “Eat at the same time every day, go to bed early, and don’t forget your scarf.” I used to roll my eyes at this. I wanted chaos, glamour, late nights that blurred into mornings, jet lag as a personality trait. Discipline? That was for monks and middle managers.

Fast forward to me now: voluntarily in bed by 10 pm, alarm at 5:30 am, counting almonds like a prisoner of my own nutrition tracker, and still daring to call this “freedom.”

Turns out, the most radical thing you can do in a city that never shuts up is… live like a slightly neurotic monk.

Here is the irony: people say they hate routine because it is repetitive. But what is actually more repetitive than chaos? Waking up tired every day. Chasing deadlines like a hamster on a Peloton. Eating whatever is around and wondering why you feel like a crash-test dummy by 4 pm.

Routine isn’t a prison — it is scaffolding. It is what stops the glamorous chaos of “no plan, no rules” from turning into existential collapse.

And let me tell you: I have tried both.

Without routine, I spiral — sugar for breakfast, anxiety for lunch, insomnia for dinner. With routine? I become boring but weirdly powerful. Like a Marvel superhero whose only gift is saying no to afterparties and yes to whole food protein.

Of course, science backs me up. Studies on circadian rhythms show our brains love predictability. Regular sleep and meals don’t just make you “healthy” — they literally stabilise mood and sharpen cognition. Dopamine pathways reward repetition. Your brain is like a toddler: it throws tantrums without naps and snacks.

So when you think you are “too free-spirited” for structure, what you are actually saying is: “I enjoy acting like an overtired two-year-old.”

Here is the real philosophical kicker: routine isn’t just about survival — it is about meaning. Discipline creates time for the things that actually matter. Reading. Cycling. Learning how to cook (badly). Staring at a tree for twenty minutes without feeling guilty.

In a world where everything screams for our attention, having a routine is the closest thing to reclaiming free will. You get to choose what fills your day, instead of letting push notifications and bottomless brunches do it for you.

Routine isn’t boring. Routine is resistance. It is how you tell the world: I am not available for your chaos today. I am busy keeping myself sane.

So yes, routine is repetitive. But so is brushing your teeth. So is breathing. Repetition isn’t the enemy — it is the point.

And the older I get, the more I realise: the real rebels aren’t the ones out until 4 am. They are the ones asleep by 10 pm, up at dawn, calm, rested, ready. Boring on the surface, unshakeable underneath.

Which, if you think about it, is kind of badass.