I recently found a list tucked between the pages of an old journal, dated January 2020. I remembered writing it. A small group of friends and I had gathered in a busy coffee shop to discuss our goals for the year ahead and how we'd execute them — we called our little gathering "The Goals Gals.

" We were excited at the prospect of becoming new versions of ourselves. You know what happened after that. Our well-thought-out routines went out the window as the pandemic turned our lives upside down.

My January 2020 list, for example, called for me to start the day with a shower and a carefully selected outfit, part of a plan to foster confidence and creativity . Instead, I began rolling out of bed literal minutes before I had to open my laptop to tune into Zooms full of quickly overused jokes. The days felt the same, but in an out-of-control, waiting-for-the-worst way, not in a healthy routine way.

Since then, I've become a routine cynic: a nonbeliever, a nonroutiner . At first, it felt good — no more pressure to channel efficiency and productivity like a superpower. But then the daily anarchy started to sour.

Instead of embracing spontaneity and valuing change, I was tired of starting from scratch every day. My craving for routine isn't unique; humans are creatures of habit, after all. We all adhere to rituals and traditions, from the basic to the elaborate, whether we're conscious of them.

Our collective attraction to routines is exemplified by the rise of the "that girl" aest.