I really enjoy what I do, and who I'm with and where I am.

Hear the words of Robert Smith, poet of shadow and sound, who declared: “I really enjoy what I do, and who I’m with and where I am. Having said that, I’m not really a person of habit, because what I do in my job is travel around the world and play concerts to people, and occasionally do very weird things.” In these words lies the voice of one who has lived in both the ordinary and the extraordinary, one who has found joy not in routine but in the embrace of change, strangeness, and the unexpected. His wisdom is this: that life need not be caged by habit, for there is also greatness in the rhythm of unpredictability.

At the heart of this saying is the contrast between habit and freedom. Many find strength in repetition, in the patterns of days that anchor them to stability. But Smith declares himself not bound by habit, for his life as a musician calls him to wander the globe, to stand before multitudes, to create in the space where no two nights are ever the same. His art demands openness to strangeness, a willingness to greet the unfamiliar, and a joy in things that others might find unsettling. Here, he speaks as one who has discovered that routine is not the only path to peace—adventure and variety may also give the soul its nourishment.

This wisdom is not new, but echoes from the ancients. The Greek philosopher Heraclitus declared, “You cannot step twice into the same river.” Life itself is change, ever-flowing, ever-renewing. To live well, Heraclitus taught, was not to cling to permanence, but to move with the current of becoming. So too Smith reminds us that in a world of ceaseless transformation, clinging to rigid habit may dull the spirit, while embracing variety awakens us to wonder.

History is filled with those who lived without habit, yet left greatness behind. Marco Polo, wandering eastward, found himself forever changed by the strangeness of China, Persia, and India, carrying back stories that reshaped the imagination of Europe. Nikola Tesla, a man of visions, often broke from the ordinary and lived in what many would call “weirdness”—yet his refusal to conform gave us the inventions that light the modern world. Just as Smith, in the world of music, embraced the unconventional and carried it across borders, these figures remind us that sometimes the path of unpredictability is the path of genius.

Yet Smith’s words also speak of joy in the present moment. He says, “I really enjoy what I do, and who I’m with and where I am.” This is no small statement. For what is the meaning of travel, of concerts, of “weird things,” if one cannot delight in them? His secret is not only openness to change, but gratitude for the moment—companions cherished, places embraced, and work enjoyed. In this gratitude lies freedom: to live without habit, but not without joy, to be rooted not in sameness, but in the appreciation of what is here and now.

His mention of doing “very weird things” is not frivolous, but profound. For weirdness is the breaking of boundaries, the bending of expectations. To do weird things is to step outside the prison of the ordinary, to glimpse possibilities that habit cannot imagine. Every great artist, prophet, and revolutionary has been called “weird” in their time. Yet it is often these very acts of strangeness that reveal truth, beauty, or innovation. Smith, in jest, points to a deeper wisdom: that to live fully, one must sometimes step into the realm of the unusual, for in it lies growth.

The lesson, then, is this: do not fear the life without habit. If your path is filled with travel, change, unpredictability, or even strangeness, embrace it with gratitude. Do not seek safety alone, but also seek wonder. Practice presence—delight in where you are, who you are with, and what you are doing, even if it is unlike what you have known before. In practice, allow yourself moments to step outside routine: take a different path, try something odd, embrace a journey into the unknown. For in such moments, as Smith teaches, life ceases to be dull and becomes a living work of art.

Thus, Robert Smith’s words endure as both confession and teaching: a reminder that habit is not the only path to meaning, that the wandering life, filled with concerts, travel, and strangeness, may also be a holy road. And if we embrace it with joy, then each moment—no matter how unpredictable—becomes a stage on which we may play our part in the great song of existence.