A Force of Habit

The other day I was in my apartment (effectively) alone. Scott (my brother and roommate) was either out or asleep, I don't recall which. I slipped into the restroom, closed the door, and locked it.

I stopped for a moment, bemused. There was really no reason to lock the door: I had no fear of intrusion from my brother, and it's not as if I expected villains or scoundrels to come barging in and head for the restroom. It was simply the force of habit that made me lock the door. The long ages of repeating the same series of motions (open the door, step in, grab the knob with my left hand, turn slightly, pull the door closed, turn the lock) had hardwired something that wasn't quite a muscle memory and wasn't quite conditioning. I don't perform the same motion on other doors, so it's not something my arm does of its own accord. I have never been rewarded for it, nor have I been punished for not locking the door, so it can't be conditioning.

The action just follows seamlessly, as if the most logical sequence in the world were "close bathroom door, lock bathroom door," an unquestionable truth that would be foolish to stand against.

It's funny how solidly we can work our habits into our selves. We sit down in the car and reach for the seat belt. We intend to turn and activate the turn signal (some of us). We feel like sneezing and cover our mouths. We take the wizz and wash our hands, even though, at least for the male set, we might not have touched anything warranting hand-washing (ladies: it's relatively easy to urinate in urinals without particularly directing the stream). Take out food, shut the fridge; come home, check the mail; stand up, push the chair in. All of these little routines that build up into an unconscious set of undirected actions.

It is appropriate that it is called a "force" of habit. How little we can do to stop it! We are forced, indeed! But, there's something more. Habit, I think, is also a societal force, binding us together in little ways that make life in the herd all the easier. Habit is the gravity of society.

When these actions become automatic, they are not forgotten when they are important, even if normally they don't matter and sometimes they seem silly. Locking the bathroom door prevents embarrassment and a possible argument (why didn't you knock?). Buckling your seat belt reduces the cost to all parties should there be a major accident. Covering our mouths when we sneeze and washing out hands in the restroom prevent the spread of germs. Shutting the fridge prevents waste, checking the mail ensures a rapid response to urgent mailings, pushing in your chair prevents people from tripping on it or simply being annoyed.

Small things, certainly, but they add up. The turn signal thing, for instance, is blindingly noticeable to me, being, as I am, not psychic. If you waver about and finally slide into my lane an inch in front of my car without warning me, I might get a little ticked off. If you slow to turn without signalling, you might get rear-ended by an inattentive driver, which wastes both parties time and money. Yet, it's not something we should have to think about every time we turn: driving is complicated enough without a monologue saying, "Okay, now I should move this lever up, because I'm turning left." That's why new drivers are so bad: lack of habits.

Habits are important, then. Like so much in life, they're a little absurd, but necessary, and a little irrational, but perfectly reasonable. The human animal turns out to be like that a lot.

By my hand,
~Michael Akerman