Regimentation, I have perhaps belatedly learned from personal experience, has its appeal. My boarding school upbringing was part of a strict system or pattern – basically a combination of academic and social routine, detailed daily physical exercise, military battalions and the Church of England. These Stoic expressions were naturally designed to manipulate the membership physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. Though there were occasional academic pursuits which afforded conspicuous mental stimulation and development, most were primarily ceremonial, formula and memorization. Apart from that operative condemnation however the general spirit of the endeavours was worthy, the most wholesome of which was nothing more grand than the seven o’clock alarm which awoke the Upper and Lower School every morning.
There were always those who grudgingly dragged themselves from the lair to the showers – as well as those who were first to perform their ablutions with their own compelling habits – but either way it was no test of adeptness or intellect. It was then as now no more dignified than just getting out of bed and getting on with it! It is one of those things which in life affords incalculable profit while appearing to be but a seed in the ground. Sowing the seed is a key aspect of the regimental system. It is the esprit de corps, the fundamental tactical building block.
As the initial purification exercise exemplifies, getting out of bed and dressed for the day is just the opening line; but it is a practice which is the sine qua non for subsequent advancement.
At old age I have advanced to an era when thankfully my daily agenda is guided almost entirely by my own ambition or lack of it. It most certainly pleases me that I no longer have to pore over legal documents or principles in order to complete my daily performance and earn a living. But I haven’t removed that unremarkable imperative about getting up and at it. It is a prescription without which either nothing or very little is accomplished. The instruction in this partially intuitive process is reflected once again in the unwitting observation, “Where does the time go!“. The question is a bland reflection of one’s own scope of adventure. The measure of accomplishment is the history of manoeuvre. I am willing to rely upon the strength of the ingredients to ensure useful production; but it ain’t going nowhere if you don’t get up and at it!