Routines, Rites, and Rituals

I write every morning. Well, okay, not Every morning, but nearly. My husband is my witness. Well, okay, not nearly every morning, but nearly every day. Why does it matter that I tell you exactly how often I write? Because it is one of my routines. My writing routine is a way for me to burn off the dross from my creative gold and to get my thoughts and ideas in a semblance of order. Writing helps me to remember. Despite the jokes about memory getting worse as we get older, I have always had a hard time remembering flashes of insight or ideas that merit further play. By writing thoughts down, I get to keep them to look at for a while longer. Writing is my witness. I can see on the page what I am unwilling to look at if it just floats through my day out there.

This routine of writing daily (or very nearly so) has become a source of stability in my rapidly evolving life. I have written through growth spurts and through stuck spots that felt like year-months. In the pen, page, or word processor, I have come to find a reliable spot where I can rest my whizzing gears and idle meaningfully.

Others bicycle, or run, or bake. The what of the routine isn’t as important as having the routine. When we move, if we can’t find our old routine, we’ll find a new one to replace it. Why not be deliberate about that? Why not embrace our routines and choose them mindfully so that they provide us with what we need?

In my teen years, I looked down on habits, routines, and rituals. They struck me as silliness, voodoo, and a way to stay stuck. They can certainly become that. In my utter contempt for rites of passage, I skipped my high school graduation ceremony. However, it felt like a cupboard door was left open to have exited high school and made no mark of the event on my psyche. Not until I graduated from college (and went to the graduation) did I feel like I finally finished school. Since then, I have let go of my haughty estimation of the value of primitive behaviors... I hope.

Now I am working on deliberately developing my own rites and rituals. I have thought of most transitions and changes in my life as good/bad. Now, I want to think of them as simply transitions and changes, to mark them, to give nod to the what-was, and greet the what’s-coming. In fact, I can see developing a ritual for just about anything. Books now are packed with ideas. I seek to find what seems authentic to my experiences. I want to be sure to allow the changes that are passing through my life some recognition. If my arthritis gets painful to the point that I can no longer knit or crochet, I will want to have a letting-go ritual with yarns and who-knows-what so that I can kiss this love goodbye and find a way to visit the old friend in the following days. That feels kind to my self and respectful of a craft I have loved.

The changes that time brings to our bodies has become increasingly apparent in me. I am knocking on that mid-life door that is so feared by many in our society. My body chemistry is changing. As I pondered this a few days ago, I realized that I wanted a ritual to celebrate the letting go of the fullness of youth and to mark the embracing of full maturity. I am aging... will I flip the switch to bummer or choose party? Just the idea of celebrating the changes made me excited about them. I love a party! I thought about a full moon something. Maybe drumming. Then I decided that the new moon made more sense in its darker presence, largely unseen, but full of potential for light. That evening a friend invited me to a drumming circle. Surrounded by the stirred air, thick with the scent of sage and joy, one woman commented during our talk time that it was wonderful to drum on a new moon night... and I knew then that if I am willing to move through each change with an open heart, the world will celebrate with me.