Jonathan Dodd‘s latest column. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
The other day I noticed myself emptying teabags from a box. Or rather, I knew I was doing it (I’m not that mad yet!), but I noticed the way I was doing it. The teabags we buy happen to be square, and they’re joined together in twos in the box.
I never thought about that before. Why were they joined together? Was it because other people actually use two at a time? Was it because the manufacturer didn’t trust their teabags to brew a tasty and flavoursome brew without help? Were they too lazy (or lacked the machinery) to separate them at the factory?
The process of deboxing the teabags
I decided that they were probably easier to pack and stack in their little sealed foil bags, and that it wasn’t anything more interesting than that. But I noticed that I was taking a lot of pleasure from the process of deboxing the teabags themselves.
We have a rather nice tin in the shape of an elephant, or rather with a design of an elephant around it. There’s a satisfyingly close-fitting top, and a plastic seal inside. When the teabags run short, I like to fill up. I always take out the remaining teabags, and empty out the dust that accumulates at the bottom of the tin and then I take one of these stacks of Siamese-twinned teabags in both hands and carefully separate them, rather like cracking the spine of a book when you want it to lie flat.
A cardboard box and a couple of sticks
I could feel the tearing of each little perforation joining each teabag as I exerted gentle pressure from the top down, and gradually the two piles separated in a very satisfying way. Once they were single, I stuffed each pile into the tin and put the older teabags in last before replacing the top and putting the tin back on the shelf. It was actually rather pleasant, and I enjoyed it very much.
I know. It doesn’t seem to take much to make me happy. Just give me a cardboard box and a couple of sticks and I’ll be happy for hours. But I realized that there are a lot of things that I take pleasure from during my day, and I bet you do too.
Keys, wallet, phone. Pat, pat, pat
Most of them are entirely benevolent, such as choosing the right music for my alarm, quietly gentle to start with, and then a little more vigorous, like any good song introduction. Some could become invested with more meaning than they need, and begin to OCD. I watch those. And some are not necessarily dangerous, but nonetheless they’re probably not good for me.
These little habits are also little rituals. I always put my keys and wallet down in the same place, which is an entirely good thing, otherwise I’d never know where they were. I also check every time I leave the house. Keys, wallet, phone. Pat, pat, pat. Sometimes they may be superstitious, and sometimes they may be habits that we don’t seem to know how to stop.
The soundtrack of my childhood
I remember when I was a child I picked up a habit of picking my nails. Most people with this sort of habit bite their nails, but I picked them. This involved sawing at any piece of nail on any of my fingers with my thumb nails, getting under them, and pulling and sawing away until the ragged piece of nail was pulled right off. It’s possibly more painful and definitely more unsightly than biting them.
I picked my nails until I was in my thirties. The soundtrack of my childhood was a constant refrain from my mother – ‘Stop picking your nails!’ I tried to explain that I didn’t want to, and I actually wanted to stop, but it just sort of happened, all the time, and I only noticed I was doing it when it hurt or when she told me to stop. It was very pleasant, I have to admit, a sort of skill. To make things worse, I also picked my toenails, and left the detritus all over the place. Sometimes I would actually bite my toenails too.
My very first Swiss Army penknife
Amazingly, in my thirties, after numerous attempts to stop this filthy habit. I was always told it was filthy, but I never understood why, because it involved doing more or less what our cats did, washing themselves with their saliva, and I was always told that they were very clean animals. Probably they were referring to finding ragged parings all over the place.
What saved me was a piece of technology. I was given my very first Swiss Army penknife. It was red, and went everywhere with me, snug in my pocket. I was so proud of it, and so delighted with it as an object, that I would get it out and use it as often as possible. I found myself noticing ragged edges on my nails, and instead of picking away at them, I pulled out my penknife, snapped open the tiny scissors, and trimmed the offending edges instead. Brilliant.
A gentleman always carried a handkerchief and a stout penknife
I’m delighted to say that I haven’t sawed at a nail since. The Swiss Army penknives have been superseded by tiny Leatherman penknives. The scissors on the Swiss ones were rather flimsy, and kept breaking. So I now check that I always have my penknife with me at all times. There used to be a time when a gentleman always carried a handkerchief and a stout penknife in his capacious pockets, and sadly those days have gone, but I like to think I’m keeping up some sort of tradition here.
I’m remembering as I write some of my other little habits. For some reason I always used to count steps. Everything had to start with the left foot, for some reason, and I would count as I walked, or climbed the stairs. I thought I had stopped, but I still do count stairs, going up and coming down. Wherever I am I always know how many stairs there are in each flight. I’m sure I have many other habits that I’m not even aware of, and people who know me could provide a much longer list than I could.
The cinema is my church
One of my most annoying habits, at least to others, is my wish to get to the cinema in good time before the lights go down. The people I’m with are invariably annoyed with the adverts and trailers that precede the film, but the cinema is my church, and all this is part of the build-up of the anticipation before the magic moment when the film starts.
Unfortunately even I am becoming so irritated with the length of time these adverts go on, and on, and there’s no need any more to get there early because all the seats are allocated nowadays. That’s another habit that I’m about to lose.
I’ve decided I should notice and celebrate all my small habits, and to extract and enjoy the pleasure they bring me. And when I find any that don’t give me any pleasure, I shall try to find something else that’s more fun, to replace them.
So I’ll probably make a habit of monitoring my habits. Unless that’s a little too OCD?
If you have been, thank you for reading this. I hope it becomes a habit.
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