Our Rituals Will Save Us
Breaking Routine for Meaning
I have been hiding from you, readers. I had hoped that I could drop mental health strategies like small loot packages and run away unseen. However, no one trusts an envelope with no return address on it. I sense that you can smell my fear as a writer - the length, the persuasion, the bending over backward to ensure that you know I am well-intentioned when I could just show you. This article will be an estrangement from my usual work - but all the same core parts. I have a short message: we need rituals again. I will also have practical suggestions to help integrate that message into your life. This time, though, I will trust you in the way I hope you trust me.
The scales in my life have tipped recently - in the last few years. My upbringing often felt like scaping car windshields in the early morning freeze, a strangely delicate action that must be brought about with assured force. I was constantly disoriented and desperately trying to understand what everything around me meant: the dysfunction in my home (alcohol included!), the distance in my family (whole branches trimmed), and being an “outlier” in many regards. I had not yet figured out what reading on a college level at 8 years old would mean for me, despite being restrained from skipping grades because I needed the socialization, according to some experts and parrotted by my parents.
The thing that left me most untethered, however, was being explicitly told that I would be a first-generation agnostic child. This was one of many new cycles I was meant to start. My mother and her mother immigrated to the United States, and neither of my parents graduated high school. In many ways, I was brought into the world to be a clean slate for my bloodline. An accident that my parents were determined to make intentional every day since I was born. Since both of my parents were deeply harmed by their faith, they told me that I could have any holy text that I requested, but they would not intentionally hand down anything to me for blind acceptance.
With a library card, an exceptional reading level, and nothing but time while my parents were busy with adult problems - the doors of knowledge were wide open for me. The doors to faith, however, were padlocked shut - and I wouldn’t learn to pick locks until I was 23. Being keenly aware that I was lacking something that other children had left me uneasy and desperate for a place in the world. In elementary school, I helped classmates study their holy texts for performances. In middle school, I fasted with a close friend and peer for Ramadan because I did not want him to be alone in the library for a month every year. In high school, I wrote poems that were aggressively agnostic and heavy-handed with metaphors. I was a spectator in a world of potential meaning, cuckolded by routine and other people’s experiences. I studied subcultures because I did not have one.
I tell you this - in confidence - to make a point. I am a living experiment of the difference between routine and ritual. Routines and habits are without heart, without culture. You do things because you must or because they are functional - you eat breakfast, you check your email, and when you get home, you lay out your clothes. But where are your rituals? Where is the meaning? We prescribe meaning to social media - lurking and looking for subtext. We layer ideas on our romantic partners that they have no idea about. Speculation is a hobby for many of us, but it’s usually an endless slideshow of fear. We leak this speculative fear into our personal relationships, posts, and prospective future because we haven’t mastered the art of being human yet - deliberately scribing meaning into our daily lives. We have no control over our narratives. This leads to paranoia, anxiety, rumination, and often, self-destruction.
As a child, I was a voracious reader. Usually, it was non-fiction as I thought, surely, our meaning was in our sciences. I obsessed over meteorology, biology, historical figures, and engineering - all before puberty. Then, it was math, physics, and the scientific method. I had been told that knowledge was power - and because I was often powerless in my life, I craved a weapon that would prosper against hopelessness - and I fought tooth and nail. But, a weapon you do not trust cannot be wielded properly. You must know your opponent and the craft of the fight. I did not believe anything could save me, so I remained in peril.
Finally, the first bit of movement for me was when I leaned into the arts. Art is the production and reflection of culture. This was my first voyage into being active in a cultural process, and as much as I love writing, it was not enough. Without faith in my life (in anything), art was pathologically vicarious. Who was I making art for if I believed the world would end? Would I have no legacy and no joy for the remainder of my short life? What did any of it mean? It was formal, it was structured, it was productive - it was routine.
Let’s skip to the happy ending. With enough pressure, the light switch finally budged, and something inside me said, “Let there be light!” We can call that voice, the relief that followed, anything we want. For the first time in my life, nearly 3 decades in, I felt things might be okay - more specifically, I believed I could make them okay. How I got there, in full, is enough for a memoirist’s lifetime; this substack is a collection of the main points - the replicable, the hard lessons without the bumps and bruises.
Our dominant culture, American culture, does not reward rituals. They are, by definition, built with the meaning you put into them. With our sacred ideas, symbols, and actions, we build a narrative we can believe in. In my circles, I see people who only have rituals on holidays that they half believe in - including hearing people complain about seeing family for the holidays. The magic is gone. For those with rituals, most have a foundation from which they pull for this - astrology, religion, “girlhood,” sobriety guidance (AA), and even politics. Some people do not even recognize what they are worshipping - but the things that have your attention are part of your narratives. Our routines keep us moving and paying our bills, but our rituals should feed our souls.
I caution you against the accidental meaning that we conjure through knowledge - the whispers of “we’re doomed,” “it's hopeless,” and “what’s the point?” We lose the magic in adulthood, and that may be unavoidable. The facts, evidence, and experiences stack up and create a monster that keeps us in bed and deterred. Although no one-shot will smother those voices - we can deliberately create a new voice - a narrative or ritual that can fight against the weapons of knowledge. Everyone will start somewhere different. I don’t know your life or what will fit into it, but I know that you have room for new meaning. We all do.
Here are some brief ideas on new rituals or traditions to start for yourself.
1. Write some poetry, especially if you’re bad at it. My old creative writing teacher used to say that you had to “write crap to get past crap.” If you’ve got a bunch of crap stored up, get it out! If you do this regularly, you will find new metaphors in your life. That garbage can on your street might have something beautiful to it if you let it.
2. Friend Confessional. We don’t do accountability well as a culture, and vulnerability is in a drought. Pick one of your closest friends - and start a weekly “confessional.” Once a week: text, call, zoom, or facetime, and tell them the things you did this week that you shouldn’t have (for whatever reason!) Were you late to a meeting because you were getting coffee? Did you make a snide remark to someone that you could’ve held your tongue about it? Tell them and have them give you a way to make up for it.
3. Gratitude statements. Daily or weekly, have a regular time to write down (or say out loud) what you are grateful for. These statements are insightful, and look into what you appreciate and what actually gets in your way. When you find yourself grateful for some time by yourself, maybe it’s time to look around at who you spend your time with. When you’re grateful for a well-made sandwich, make more of them for lunch. Gratitude is a light against the shadows of shame.
4. USpy. This is a personal favorite, but it takes a group of people. Start a group chat with a handful of your friends or acquaintances. Each week, text a prompt to the group, usually including color, shape, or both. Take pictures that match the prompt during your week and send them in the group chat. It’s a great way to connect to your friends and the world around you. The prompts can get super creative, like “something where it does not belong” or “triplets.” You can even keep score if your friends are competitive. This activity helps you refresh a world around you that has fallen into the mundanity of routine. A “mindfulness” life hack, so to speak.
5. Pocket Pause. Pick a small object that you can imbue with meaning or that already has it. Think of a small tchotchke, a rock, or any small trinket you kept but don’t have a use for. Keep it with you - on your desk, in your bag, or in your pocket. Set a phrase, affirmation, or mantra with the item. Something like, “I am capable and present,” or “I can handle this” - whatever you feel like you need to hear more. Then, whenever you encounter the item, like touching it in your pocket, pulling it out of your bag, or seeing it on your desk - take a deep breath and repeat your mantra. Accidental meditation.
Whatever you do, all you need is 1) a purpose, 2) an object, a statement, or a behavior, and 3) a timeframe. You can focus on gratitude, strength, the memory of a loved one, or even marking a transition in your day. Then, you do your “ceremony,” whether lighting a candle, writing something down, speaking out loud - or just reflecting. This can be for a specific time, at a specific time each year, or during a specific milestone. Add a little magic and meaning back into your life. Not radical, just refreshed.
