Wearing and living the habit

The last time I saw a nun, it was below freezing in Washington, D.C.

She was walking with a young woman through a train station. Her face was kind, her glasses misty with the sudden warmth of entering a crowded train car. She wore bright yellow thermals that poked out underneath her dark habit, held together with hand-sewn patches.

“What’s that lady wearing, Mommy?” I heard a kid say, toeing his sister with his rain boot.

“She’s a nun, honey. She works for the church. It’s called a habit. She covers her hair and legs all the time,” an oddly calm mother replied.

That moment spurred me to think about what the word really means, habit. Normally, you’d think of the word as this staid, square, calcified verb. It’s the kind of word that irons its jeans and has inherited specific characteristics, like its Latin roots: “condition, demeanor.”

But habits - especially good ones, including the kind worn by kind old nuns in train stations - are made, not inherited. The kindest definition, is found in its active version: “to dwell, inhabit,” from the old French version. Its meaning implies that it’s something that can be filled with furniture, transformable, paintable, not some fate given to you by the mysterious hands of nature.

So why think about habits?
Everyday habits are important. They’re a great way to figure out someone’s priorities. Every new friend is an exploration of another human’s habits. Do they eat breakfast? Exercise? Shower?

There are always exceptions - and chaos - but patterns are intentional.

“I don’t have time,” some may say of reading, learning new skills or writing blog posts.

But habits are made. They are furnished, carefully. Every rug (and life) choice is a mindful, intentional choice, no matter how natural or easy.

What are some helpful habits that you’ve learned?