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The other day, my oldest son and I did something that, in hindsight, probably disrupted the entire ecosystem of our church.
First, let me set the stage.
I rarely go to Sunday Mass. If I can choose, I'm a Saturday evening person. It's become a tradition I genuinely enjoy with my mom and her dear friend. We go, we catch up afterward, and it's become just as much about spending time together as it is about the service itself.
Second -- and this may be the bigger miracle -- my teenage son willingly came with me on a random Sunday that wasn't Christmas, Easter or accompanied by the phrase, "Your grandmother would really appreciate it."
Before anyone decides to throw religious shade my way, save your energy. My faith is exactly that -- mine. I believe what I believe, I practice it in the way that feels authentic to me, and I have no desire to convince anyone else to do the same. What I do enjoy is listening to the newer priests at this parish. Their messages are thoughtful, practical and often leave me with something to chew on long after the final hymn. Add in time with my mom, and it's an easy yes.
Now, back to our accidental offense. We arrived almost 20 minutes early.
If you've never shown up to church that early, let me tell you -- it becomes people-watching at an Olympic level. We found an open pew and sat down. Completely innocent. Or so we thought. As people slowly filed into church, I started noticing the looks. Not dirty looks. More like…confused looks. The kind that quietly say, "We've never seen them here before." Or "Well…someone's in our spot."
After careful observation -- which, yes, I had 20 full minutes to conduct -- I narrowed it down to about two or three possible families. Each one walked in, glanced toward us for just a split second longer than normal, recalculated their route and found another pew.
Nobody said a word. Nobody complained. But I could almost feel the tiny ripple we had created. My son and I had become the anomaly that morning. The unexpected variable. The wrinkle in an otherwise perfectly predictable Sunday.
And it got me thinking. We're all creatures of habit. Far more than we probably realize. We park in the same section of the parking lot. Order the same coffee. Buy the same toothpaste. Walk the same path through the grocery store. Sit in the same chair at home. Choose the same treadmill at the gym.
Some families even have unofficial assigned seats around the dinner table that no one ever agreed upon -- they just…happened.
Honestly, it makes you wonder why seat assignments exist anywhere. Left to our own devices, most of us naturally migrate back to wherever we've always sat.
Comfort is a powerful thing. Predictability gives our brains a chance to relax. There are enough unknowns in life that finding familiarity wherever we can almost feels comforting. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Until there is. Because sometimes those routines become so automatic that even the smallest interruption feels enormous.
Someone parks in "your" parking space. Your favorite coffee shop changes the menu. The grocery store rearranges the aisles. Your spouse loads the dishwasher differently than you do. Or two unsuspecting people sit in "your" pew.
Suddenly, your entire system feels just a little off. Isn't that fascinating? Not because the change itself is significant -- but because our reaction often is. I laugh because I'm no different.
For someone who loves trying new restaurants, traveling to new places and encouraging people to step outside their comfort zones, I also find myself ordering the same meal, shopping at the same stores, following the same morning routine, and yes … probably sitting in the same places more often than I realize.
Apparently, I enjoy adventure … as long as it fits neatly inside a familiar schedule.
Maybe that's just part of being human. But I also wonder what we're missing because we're so attached to our routines.
What conversations don't happen because we always sit beside the same people? What opportunities pass us by because we always take the same route? What experiences never unfold because comfort quietly wins the argument?
Routine isn't the enemy. In many ways, it's healthy, keeping us grounded and building consistency. It helps us accomplish things without having to make hundreds of tiny decisions every day. But every once in a while, maybe it's worth sitting in a different pew. Taking a different road. Ordering something you've never tried. You never know what perspective might be waiting on the other side of a tiny disruption.
As for my son and me?
I'm still not entirely sure whose seats we borrowed that Sunday. But whoever you are … thank you.
You unintentionally reminded me that sometimes the smallest changes reveal the biggest truths about ourselves. And next Sunday? Well … I have a feeling everyone found their seats just fine.
Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.