Used to it

It really is amazing what we can just “get used to.” Practices that feel downright ridiculous to us at first quickly become just another part of our daily routine.

I bought an iron that straightens my wet hair as it dries it. At first this kind of felt like a bad idea; every time I used it my bathroom would fill with steam and the smell of burnt popcorn. But after a while I stopped worrying about it, and as I explained to my concerned roommate, I’ve actually come to like the sizzling sound it makes as it slides through my hair.

“I like the sound too,” she pointed out. “But I can get it other ways. Like by throwing ham on the grill. Or by setting off fireworks.”

The CD player in my car cannot read burned CDs unless I perform a ritual of switching it back and forth between CD mode and radio mode for a period of time that lasts about 20 minutes, on average. I usually don’t bother with this unless I am taking a long road trip or have a new burned CD I am particularly excited about. The last time I drove home, I finally tricked my car into playing my new mix after an hour of this game. When I finally got it working, I got a phone call from my friend in California who I had not heard from in six months. But I knew that if I turned my CD off to talk to her, I’d be back at square one when I turned it on again. So I obviously let her call go straight to voicemail.

While studying abroad, there was a two-week period when my dorm’s dining hall served nothing but ham. (I use the term “ham” very loosely). This “ham” was not particularly compatible with my stomach, but it was literally my only dining option. Every afternoon I would force it down, then go to the bathroom and hang my head over the toilet and wait for it to come back up again. In retrospect, it’s a little concerning how soon this stopped bothering me.

At a restaurant where I used to work, one of the new servers commented to me in amazement about all the potential lawsuits floating around our workplace because of the verbal sexual harassment the servers used with each other in regular conversation. When I thought about it, I realized he was totally right, but I explained to him that by now we had all gotten so used to addressing each other and being addressed with filthy, degrading language that we had stopped thinking of it as sexual harassment long ago.

Be cautious as you let yourself fall into routines, whether you’re working around a broken appliance you’re too lazy to have fixed or allowing yourself to become so used to sexual harassment that you “just don’t notice it anymore.” Remember that the things that seem crazy to you today will feel totally normal by tomorrow.