I’m thinking this morning of routines and the comfort they provide. Filling the pot with water, checking email while it boils, starting this blog as it steeps.

Reach up to open the cabinet above the stove, grab the two boxes (my tea is a blend of decaf choices), warm the pot, pour boiling water over the tea bags, cover the pot with a tea cozy, then wait for the first cup to be strong enough to drink.

Routine motions become muscle memory. They transcend fatigue and despair. They are not flights of fancy, not the spark to light the fire. They are the 99 percent perspiration to the 1 percent inspiration. They are the engines of progress.