Daily writing prompt

What do you love now, that you hated when you were younger?

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At first, I wanted to give a simple answer. Something like vegetables, naps or sensible shoes. But I don’t want to lie to you. I still don’t love vegetables enough to make them the star of the story, naps are wonderful but dangerous, and I refuse to emotionally surrender to sensible shoes. That feels like the beginning of the end.

The real answer is probably routine.

Younger me would have hated that answer. Routine sounded boring. Routine sounded like the thing adults invented because they had forgotten how to have fun. Get up at the same time. Go to the same place. Do the same things. Come home. Repeat. That sounded less like a life and more like a prison sentence with a mortgage.

But somewhere along the way, I realized I need routine. I don’t always like admitting that because it makes me sound like one of those responsible adults I used to distrust. But it’s true. Routine helps me function. It keeps the wheels from flying off. It gives structure to the day before the day starts making its own unreasonable demands.

That doesn’t mean I love silence. Quiet is nice in theory. After a day of middle school, quiet can feel like a gift from heaven wrapped in noise-canceling headphones. But when I’m working, I usually need some kind of background noise. Music. A game on TV. Something. Total silence makes me too aware of the fact that I’m supposed to be productive, and that is a dangerous amount of pressure.

Discipline is another one. I still don’t love being disciplined. Nobody wakes up and says, “You know what would make this day better? Accountability.” But I understand the need for it now. I see it in my classroom every day. Students who think preparation is optional eventually discover that consequences are not. And, unfortunately, the same rule applies to adults. There is no magic study genie in high school, college, work, marriage, writing or life. What we practice usually becomes what we become.

I also understand deadlines better now. I wouldn’t say I love pressure, exactly. That would be like saying I love dental work because clean teeth are nice. But when a deadline gets close, something in me does shift. I get mission-driven. The wandering stops. The excuses get quieter. The target gets clearer. I may not enjoy the pressure, but I can’t deny that it sometimes gets me moving.

And then there is the boring life.

When you’re young, boring sounds awful. You want fun. Adventure. Excitement. Stories worth telling. You don’t dream of one day saying, “You know what would be amazing tonight? Nothing.” But age has a way of redefining luxury. A quiet evening at home can start to feel like winning the lottery. No crisis. No emergency. No unexpected drama. The dogs are calm. The house is peaceful. There’s something decent on TV. Maybe there’s a good pour nearby. That’s not boring. That’s blessed.

Now, I’m not ready to fully accept aging. I may technically be getting older, but I intend to go kicking and screaming. I still reject the idea that I am becoming one of the old people. I don’t even like old people, which is becoming increasingly inconvenient. But I will admit this much: getting older has taught me to appreciate things younger me would have mocked.

Routine. Discipline. A quiet evening. A boring life.

I didn’t hate those things because they were bad. I hated them because I didn’t understand what they protected.

Now I do.

And if that makes me boring, fine.

But I’ll be boring at home, with background noise, a comfortable chair and maybe a glass of bourbon.

There are worse ways to grow up.

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Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.