Returning to ritual
I’ve noticed ritual seeping back into the discussion on psychological wellbeing. It feels part of a bigger set of ideas that are calling us to anchor our wellbeing practices in our felt experience of humanity, rather than to ‘bio hack’ (whatever that means) and ‘master’ our bodies. Ritual holds a special fascination for me, as a behavioural practice that seems to carry the implicit duality of human nature. On the one hand, it can invite a sense of awe, deep connection to others and to ourselves, and sometimes, an experience of transcendence. On the other hand, ritual feels deeply instinctual and reminds us of that fact that we are animals, like any other, and we are anchored and calmed by predictable and repetitive action. Ritual invites us to slow down and be fully present to our actions and to the symbolic meaning they can hold.
When we make space for ritual in our lives, we are making space for embedded self-care. This is a concept we’ll explore further below, but for now, just trust me: caring for yourself by honouring your instinctual nature trumps ‘bio hacking’ any day of the week.
What is ritual?
Humans have engaged in ritualistic behaviour and collective rituals in some form for as long as we have existed. There is even evidence that our cousin, the Neanderthals, also engaged in ritual – suggesting that the genesis of ritual behaviour goes even further back than Homo Sapiens (Neilson et al., 2020). There are some theories that our human language abilities actually developed out of ritual (i.e. repetitive and symbolic action), aided significantly by music. Ritualistic behaviour and collective ritual continue to be a culturally and temporally ubiquitous feature of human society. Meaning, every group of people, at every point in human history, across every culture have engaged in ritual. It is as close to an innate behaviour as we can get.
But what is ritual? In the social sciences, ritual is primarily defined as a ‘symbolic action’, performed in a specific way, repetitively. A symbolic action is, predictably, an action that symbolises something else (for example, blowing out candles on a birthday cake to symbolise ‘making a wish’). Contrast this with an ‘instrumental action’, which is an action that has meaning and function in and of itself (for example, blowing out a candle to put out the light). Rituals mean something; they are set apart from the mundane even if the behaviour itself is mundane.
The word ritual was initially used only in religious contexts to describe very specific actions that had spiritual symbolism – the word ‘ritual’ comes directly from “The Roman Ritual” in 1614, which was a book of religious rites. The religious origin of ‘ritual’ also gives us its connotation with repetitive behaviours; religious rituals were repetitive in nature, and their power often lay in performing the same action in exactly the same way, repeatedly. Repetition is a core element the power ascribed to ritual. By the 1800s ritual had an expanded usage and had come to also include secular symbolic and repetitive action.
Currently, ritual can be thought of as the process of transforming ordinary actions and behaviours into symbolic expressions of meaning, and this meaning is reinforced with each repetition (Hobson et al., 2017). Think about goodnight rituals with kids. What might have begun as a silly, off-the-cuff comment or joke now needs to be said in the exact same way every night because what it means is “I love you, you are safe here”. It’s no wonder that when we start to feel unmoored in life we cling very tightly to our silly little rituals because they represent predictability, safety, and even an anchoring to a particular version of ourselves.
So where has ritual gone? Despite our apparent drive as human beings to participate in behaviour that symbolises something, there doesn’t seem to be a huge amount of space for ritual in modern Western society. Over the last several hundred years, the value placed on ritual and the opportunities for collective and individual ritual have slowly been eroded. Why?
To answer that question, we need to explore the evolution of our relationship to ritual as a society.
Ritual as a casualty of the Protestant Reformation
Before we dive into all things Reformation (it’s relevant, I promise!), it is important to note the impact of technological advancement and climate on ritualistic behaviour. Historically, a key function of collective ritual has been to mark seasonal change and to facilitate a transition in behaviour. For example, Samhain marking the first seasonal day of winter in the Celtic north. But as technology has improved we have become increasingly divorced from the many seasonal cycles that previously punctuated people’s lives. Most of us don’t need to gather wood to burn prior to winter anymore, because we have central heating. And so the ritualistic, repetitive behaviours that used to define daily living and mark seasonal change are now somewhat redundant. We may still engage in them, but the meaning carries less weight. So far so straightforward.
But that explanation can only account for so much. A far more impactful factor in the erosion of ritual is our socio-political context, and specifically, the sequelae of the Protestant Reformation. In a nutshell, the Protestant Reformation is generally considered to have kicked off when Martin Luther nailed a document of protest (hence the name) to the door of the Catholic church in Wittenberg, Germany, in 1517. This document was essentially a list of grievances and disagreements with the practices and beliefs of the Catholic church. Huge mic drop moment for Martin Luther. This triggered an ideological split in the practice of Christianity in Europe.
Now, I’m not a religious scholar, but it seems that the key ideological difference between the Protestants and the Catholics was that the Protestants didn’t believe in the mystical or symbolic elements of Christianity (for example, the idea of the eucharist: bread and wine representing the body and blood of Christ), and they emphasised this through a defining mantra: sola scriptura (‘only scripture’). This meant that the Protestants only believed in what was directly written in biblical text, rather than what certain special people said was implied or symbolised. As part of this change, elaborate ritualistic practices, which were facilitated by said special people, were seen as unnecessary to have a direct spiritual relationship with God. For Protestants, the focus of their spiritual lives was orthodoxy (i.e. having the correct belief), rather than orthopraxis (i.e. engaging in symbolic behavioural practices, in the correct way). By way of contrast, Catholicism still heavily centres orthopraxis. For example, confession, the eucharist, lighting prayer candles, etc.
Before we go too hard on Protestantism though, we need to acknowledge that these ‘protests’ and subsequent ideological changes came about because of rampant corruption in the Catholic Church, which clergy justified through symbolic interpretation of biblical canon (“only we know how to interpret this”). If you’re interested, look up the selling of ‘indulgences’ as a great example of this.
Nonetheless, the devaluing of orthopraxis and the focus on sola scriptura meant that Protestant societies moved away from a symbolic understanding of spirituality and into spiritual pragmatism and literalism, some Protestant denominations more so than others. Engaging in a behaviour that might have an additional meaning, beyond its literal, instrumental function, was even associated with the devil and feared (witch trials, anyone?).
This worldview hugely impacted the lens of European academics over the last several hundred years and led to a Protestant reimagining of history. Specifically, the (false) idea that religion evolved linearly and hierarchically, with ‘early’ or ‘primitive’ spiritual practices involving a greater level of ritual, and ‘later’ or ‘more evolved’ religions being more cerebral and cognitive. The theory behind this was that ‘lower’ religions engaged with ritual because they hadn’t yet developed a full understanding of a reasoned spiritual doctrine, and reason and logic were lauded as the ultimate condition that a human could strive for. Ritualistic practices were seen as silly superstitions at best, and heretical devil practice at worst. This view fit very nicely within the existing moral and evolutionary justification for colonisation and patriarchy, so all of those white European men could sleep soundly, thank goodness!
Here we also start to see the cementing of a false dichotomy that presents women and non-white folk as more childlike, emotional, unreasonable, superstitious (think: old wives tales), and naturally more susceptible to the chaotic influence of the devil, and white men as more logical, rational, and cerebral. The legacy of these ideas, and the implicit hierarchy carried through them, is still very much with us today, even in highly secular countries like Australia. Understanding where these ideas come from is important, as it helps us to see them for what they are – just some convenient theories on the nature of humanity that a group of white men came up with a long time ago, rather than an objective truth.
In the name of balance, it's important that we thank the Protestant Reformation for the things that it did well. Namely, establishing the right to universal access to information. It achieved this by championing the idea that everyone should get to read the Bible, not just a select few who then imparted the rules. Also, logic, pragmatism, and reason are important values and certainly have a place in a thriving society and within a thriving inner world. But any system that circles and then draws a big red line through an innate aspect of the human experience is probably not great for us long term. Interestingly, some academics argue that the Protestant focus on reason, order, logic, and pragmatism (as opposed to symbolism, mysticism, and ritual practice) is partially responsible for its own demise, as many previously Protestant countries are now largely secular, following the scientific revolution (with the USA being a strange outlier in this trend).
So why is any of this relevant to how we engage with ritual today?
This historical background provides important context, because the core tenants of Protestantism are still very much with us today. One of the ways that we see this legacy is in the prizing of logic, reason, and cerebral understanding over felt experience. It’s important that we look at this framing critically and identify where it is constricting us, both as a society and as individuals.
One ‘constriction point’ I’ve noticed is in the ridiculing and dismissal of anything that ‘doesn’t make sense’. Our society doesn’t offer a space to engage in a behaviour just because it feels good; behaviours need to have a purpose, and importantly, a purpose that is logically linked to the action itself. As I explore this topic it is not lost on me that engagement in ‘ritualistic behaviour’ is part of the DSM criteria for Autism. Is one of the reasons we find process-orientated repetitive actions and those who engage in them so deeply ‘dysfunctional’ part of the intellectual legacy of the reformation? I also wonder if the intensity of social rejection of these behaviours is a reaction to our own collective sense of loss and yearning for those very same behaviours (“if I can’t have it no one can!”).
This discussion would not be complete without an acknowledgement of the ongoing misogynistic and racist rhetoric around symbolic spirituality that comes from this worldview. The post-Protestant model of thinking provides a very clear runway for people to ridicule, belittle, and otherwise assert social dominance over practices or behaviours they don’t yet understand, and this is typically directed at women and non-white folk; people historically classified as illogical, emotional, irrational, child-like. When I was single I would often ask men on first dates what their astrological sign was. Not because I particularly cared about their answer, but because I cared about how they answered. Knowing that astrology tends to be a woman-dominated hobby, did they go straight for ridicule, dismissiveness, and a patronising, ‘oh how silly you are’? Or were they open to the idea that it’s OK for people to engage in a practice without ‘proof’, just because it feels good, because it’s anchoring and creates a sense of meaning? Could they accept that meaning can come after the action – we don’t always have to know ‘why’ we do something? Or were they still bound to a system of thought that started long before they were born and was deeply embedded in a religious doctrine that they probably didn’t ascribe to? To be fair, that framing usually didn’t go down great.
How can ritual support our mental wellbeing?
Now that we are across the ‘why’ of the erosion of ritual, it is important to think about what we lose when we don’t make space for ritual practice. Framed another way, how can ritual support our mental wellbeing, both as an individual and as part of a collective? Here are three functions of ritual.
⚓️ Ritual as an anchor
Repetitive, meaningful action is a way to anchor us and help us to feel held within a system. During periods of emotional upheaval, rituals of daily activity can feel to me like literal gravity, binding me to my place on this earth when I feel disconnected and at risk of floating away. Routines, that at another time are just the functions of daily life, take on a ritualistic quality during times of distress or overwhelm, as I subconsciously imbue them with the power to anchor me to the earth and to myself. Consistent with this, there are a number of studies demonstrating the function of family ritual as an emotional regulator for teens, with teens whose families particulate in regular ‘anchoring’ type rituals demonstrating fewer mental health challenges compared to teens without these kinds of family rituals. (See Portes et al., 2022 for review).
There is a Zen Buddhist mantra that fits well with this concept: chop wood, carry water. It evokes the steady calm and grounding associated with engaging in repetitive action, particularly action that focuses on carrying out the processes of daily life, where the meaning is in the repetition rather than the action being highly symbolic in itself. Because it is in the repetition that we find care, nurturance, and predictability. My version of chop wood, carry water? Go for a walk, drink tea. Or, make pasta, light candles. Or, make the bed, do yoga. These are individual anchoring rituals, but we can also have collective versions. For me they include Sunday night ramen night. First person to bed fills up the water glasses. Winner packs up (a board game ritual). I find that committing to these simple behavioural practices, and engaging them in the same sequence, at the same specific times, is profoundly soothing and creates a sense of predictability and safety, and something tangible to hold onto. The ritualistic performance of these actions creates a meaning beyond each action’s literal purpose.
This is a great example of ritual as an act of embedded self-care. Over at The Neurodivergent Woman Podcast we had an episode with Dr Megan Anna Neff on self-care, and we talked about this concept at length (you can check out the key take homes on the blog here). Briefly, self-care is often framed as a treat, a band aid, something you add to your life when you’re not coping. But part of the magic of ritual is in the repetition – engaging in a practice that we do over and over and over again. Something that is embedded into our life, rather than an optional luxury. This opens a bigger conversation about the way in which we structure our lives under our current capitalistic system, which tends to be focused on ‘product’ rather than ‘process’. Julia Cameron talks about this in her seminal work, The Artist’s Way. She says, “product feeds the ego, process feeds the soul”. Meaning that when the purpose of an action is to produce something, the ‘something’ that gets produced is typically for our ego. But when the purpose of the action is the action itself, the process, then this behaviour nourishes our soul.
And not to make this whole post a take-down of Protestantism, but we can trace the focus on ‘product’ back to the ‘Protestant work ethic’ – the idea that working hard to achieve something was one of the best ways you could demonstrate your piety to God, especially if the work was hard, laborious, you didn’t enjoy it, and you had to ignore your body’s wants or needs. We see this show up in our current secular society in the moralisation of ‘working hard’, being ‘busy’, and of ‘sacrifice’. Same idea, different clothes.
Ritual that focuses on repetitive, grounding behaviours gets us back to this idea of process over product. We do because the doing itself feels good. This kind of ritual behaviour works so well because it connects us to a space outside of metacognitive thought – the obsessive thinking about thinking that we all do. This kind of ritual says, “just do”.
💭 Reflecting on ritual as an anchor
A good place to start is to reflect on the routines or rituals you already gravitate to in times of stress. What feels comforting and meaningful in its repetition? Are there any of these behaviours that you could work towards embedding into your daily life?
After engaging in these kinds of repetitive rituals, I often find that meaning floats in on its own days or sometimes weeks later. Common themes that present themselves to me are comfort and safety from keeping promises to myself, and (this may sound odd) a tangible sense of my humanness – I am a person whose body feels good after moving, who enjoys having a tidy room, who relishes delicious cooking, who eats ramen on Sunday nights with my husband. As someone prone to being swallowed by oceanic depths of feeling, this kind of thinking can feel like a ladder out, reminding me that it doesn’t always have to be that serious! Are there any themes or insights that come up for you around repetitive, ritualistic actions?
Some days are days for tending. For pottering. For caretaking, of yourself, your space, your spirit, your loved ones. And ritualistic actions can be like the thread that binds those kinds of days together. What are some ritualistic behaviours or routines that feel like ‘tending’ to you? It can be helpful to make a menu of these rituals that you can refer to when you need them.
🎢 Ritual as a transitionary activity
Rituals have always appeared at transition points in life and identity development. This remains one of the main places we continue to see ritual in our current society. When they show up at a crossroad, rituals serve to mark the transition and to facilitate the cognitive, emotional, and psychological ‘switching’ that needs to take place across big and small transition moments. This can include big life and community events, like births, deaths, seasonal changes, marriage, changing jobs, divorce, break ups, moves. And it can include small transitions, like getting home after work, getting into bed, waking up, going from daytime to nighttime.
The challenge with any kind of transition is that it requires self-switching. Sometimes that’s on a large scale and involves huge shifts to our identity, and sometimes that’s on a smaller scale and requires a smaller shift in the version of ourselves we are presenting or activating. Engaging in these frequent shifts, whilst attempting to hold onto a consistent sense of self internally, can feel highly fracturing. Where ritual can help is by providing a bridge of embodied action between these different selves, making the journey smoother and less cognitively exhausting. Ritual does this by giving us a process to follow and to step through during transitions – a time when our internal sense of self, identity, or normality can feel unstable. For example, the Jewish practice of sitting shiva after the death of a relative. Or on a much smaller scale, jumping in the shower and changing into comfy clothes as soon as you get home from work.
In this way, rituals can be thought of as the glue that binds a coherent sense of self together, across macro and micro transitions. We can zoom out and see this same function at a society-wide level, where collective rituals maintain a collective identity and coherent sense of how a society functions and what it believes.
I think the reason some transitions are so hard is because we don’t have a socially approved ritual to accompany them, to ‘hold’ us as we navigate a change in self or circumstance. Break ups (romantic or platonic) are a great example of this. What do we do to mark the change in self-concept that comes with the ending of a deep connection? All that comes to mind for me is getting a haircut and getting drunk. There’s nothing particularly wrong with these two behaviours, and they fulfill the definition of ritual in that they symbolise something more than the behaviour itself and they are enacted repetitively at a particular point in life, but c’mon. I think if there were more rituals we could embed into certain life transitions, the shift would feel easier.
Allowing space for ritual at transitionary moments also validates and creates a container for the emotions that can accompany transitions (‘this matters and here is where you can put that emotion’), as well as giving our brain much needed time to process the change and ‘self-switch’ into a different mode of being, at a small or grand scale. And crucially, ritual allows time to process this change without cognitively dissecting it. When we just do, we let the behaviour hold the meaning and guide us through the process, allowing our subconscious mind the space and time to properly integrate this change, without getting stuck in a cognitive maze of overthinking.
💭 Reflecting on ritual as a transitionary activity
Reflect on the daily transitions that can feel challenging to manage for you. This could include getting out of bed, travelling out of the house (to work, or anything else), arriving home (including getting out of the car and / or reuniting with your family or housemates), starting work, finishing work, going to bed, or something else entirely. Is there an element of self-switching or mode-switching that can feel hard to manage with these transitions? If so, including a transitionary ritual in these moments might be helpful.
Here are some tips for putting together these kinds of ritual:
Follow the same process every time (e.g. get changed, wash your hands, make a snack, light a candle in the living room).
Create a ‘path’ with your behaviours that propels you to the next stage / version of yourself (e.g. moving from privacy into a more communal space).
Actively think about what your behaviour is symbolising (e.g. take off your work jacket and leave it in the car – breathe deeply as you step outside the car and think about that jacket holding your ‘work self’ as you move towards your house without it).
Include sensory elements and / or symbolic totems (e.g. light a candle, play specific music, wear certain colours to symbolise certain versions of self, use specific objects that are meaningful, engage with certain scents etc.). Sensory and symbolic elements are particularly useful for self-switching.
Both personal and collective ritual around big life events can function as a vehicle to navigate change. Ritual in these moments can have a powerful impact on the meaning you apply to the change, how this fits into your story of self, and which emotions are metabolised versus which linger and calcify. When you think about big changes or life transitions you’ve experienced in the past, which of these had an accompanying ritual and which didn’t? Did that change how you processed those experiences? It’s never too late to move through a past transition that feels ‘stuck’ by enacting a ritual.
Here is a very small list of examples of what that could look like (but be a creative as you like!):
Use a symbolic touchstone – select an object that acts as a symbol of who you were or who you are becoming, following this transition. You can keep this touchstone in a meaningful spot, or get rid of it. Whatever feels best.
Plant a tree – this is a great one to mark beginnings, where the growing tree acts as a visual representation of the new ‘life’.
Burn or release something – this is one for endings. Burning something (safely, of course) or releasing something (biodegradable!) down a river can act as a powerful symbol of transformation. Personally, I’m a ‘burn’ kind of person; I love the symbolism of one ending turning into a new beginning – the death of one living thing, the tree, has been transformed into life giving heat and light.
Go on a solo nature trip or a ‘pilgrimage’ to a meaningful spot – is there a place in the world (natural or human-made) that feels particularly meaningful for you? Go there! And go alone or with a small group of people processing the same transition.
Anniversary events – these aren’t just for marriages or deaths. For any particularly meaningful transition, allow yourself as many years as you like to return to the event, almost like time is moving in a spiral rather than a straight line and it passes this same touchpoint every orbit. Allow yourself an anniversary ritual, to check in on that part of yourself that needs tending and care after a difficult transition, to make space to revisit joy and growth, or both!
Invite community witness – being witnessed by our community in a moment of authenticity is an incredibly powerful feeling. It’s much easier to cross an identity bridge if we have others walking beside us, or we have others there to say ‘yes! This happened! I saw it!’ and to share a collective memory for the shift that you undertook. Our community holds our hand (and sometimes the fragments of our ‘self’) by participating in a collective transition ritual.
🕯️ Ritual as a meaning maker
And finally, ritual makes the abstract tangible. It provides a concrete way to express or explore a big, heavy, or complex concept. There is an old Jewish mantra that encapsulates this idea well: first we do, then we understand. This reminds us that action can help to generate and solidify meaning. This way of thinking can feel alien in our current society, which insists that every action and behaviour must be ‘logical’. You must already know why you’re doing something before you do it, and it better also be goal focused! First we do, then we understand shows us that sometimes we need to do the thing to properly understand why it was important.
In ritual, complex concepts are made tangible through symbolism. In ritual action the behaviour we engage in symbolises something, for example, taking your shoes off at the door of someone’s house can symbolise respect for their space. In more complex rituals we might also add symbolic objects (totems) to add layers, nuance, or enhancement to the symbolic meaning of the ritual. Wedding rings are a great example of this. Totemic symbolism is so interesting because no matter what our spiritual beliefs are, we all engage in this practice to some level. Sometimes we might feel that an object holds intrinsic meaning, and other times we might feel that the meaning comes from us saying it has meaning. Regardless, human thought is so complex and abstract that it seems like we are driven to use objects in our material world to act as distillation points for ideas. And so, using symbolic objects in ritual can be a powerful element in the meaning making process.
Certain rituals also create opportunity for self-reflection and identity construction, by opening up a liminal space that can feel sacred and separated from our everyday life. The ‘self’ that we experience during these spiritual, meditative, or reflective rituals is often an idealised version of self, one that is closer to what we perceive our ‘true’ self to be. Dipping into this space and into this ‘self’ from time to time (because it is impossible to live here permanently) is hugely important for maintaining a coherent sense of self and identity over time. This is because it is often this version of ourselves that carries our deepest stories, our values, and a sense of knowing. Ritual is the bridge that can take us to visit this space.
This same identity function occurs for community level rituals too; collective rituals bind us together and are simultaneously a container for shared feeling and meaning, and an instruction manual for how members of that group should feel and make sense of something. Weddings. Christmas. Birthdays. Baby showers. Hannukah. Ramadan etc. etc. These two functions (i.e. containing and instructing) can be both positive and negative. For example, having a manual for how to feel about something and how to make sense of something can be incredibly soothing and anchoring (e.g. death rituals). On the other hand, it can also come into conflict with your own personal truth or meaning making, which can feel discordant and isolating. Similarly, having a place to put very intense community feelings can lead to a pressure cooker situation where fear, rage, or discontent amplifies into violence, OR it can be connection, warmth, and joy that is amplified, leading to an incredibly positive bonding experience. Regardless of whether a collective ritual leads to a net positive or a net negative, ultimately its function is social bonding and a collective commitment to group norms (Lang, 2019).
While this might seem very dry, the reason I bring it up is because of its importance to our psychological wellbeing. Our mammal brain craves deep connection with others and social belonging, and collective rituals are an important route to this. If we think about it from this lens, not participating in collective rituals can be just as emotionally meaningful as participation. Sometimes we might actively choose not to participate in collective rituals to signal that we don’t agree with group norms or with the symbolic meaning applied to ritual action and totems. But often, our lack of participation in collective rituals stems from lack of opportunity and an erosion of the value placed on ritual behaviour by our society. So we see it as an optional extra, not as foundational psychological nutrition.
💭 Reflecting on ritual as a meaning maker
Embedding time into your life for personal reflective ritual is an important aspect of caring for yourself. This might look like setting aside 30 minutes each month to light a candle, repeat a mantra, and reflect on the month gone. You could make yourself a particular kind of tea and have a bath once a week. Or walk along the beach and sit under the same tree every Friday afternoon, allowing space for the feelings that come up. There are many creative ways to enact a reflective ritual that works for you! The point here is setting aside regular space in your life to engage in a repetitive and formulaic behaviour that feels meaningful to you in some way, and allows you to tap into a ‘self’ that feels harder to access day-to-day. A self that is less cerebral and more experiential.
Rituals, whether religious, spiritual, or secular, often include symbolic totems, like particular words that accompany the actions, music, objects, visuals, or other sensory components. We see symbolic totems frequently included in religious and spiritual ritual (for example, demons were conjured “by bell, book, and candle” – sound, language, and fire – during the occult craze of the late 1800s / early 1900s), and that is for good reason; these things make intangible and abstract ideas feel more tangible, and they amplify the meaning-making process of ritual action.
Can you think of any objects, words, music, images, or sensory elements that are meaningful and symbolic for you? Including these in relevant mediative, reflective, or collective rituals can increase meaning-making power, and provide a helpful ‘touch point’ when you want to access that version of self again.
First we do, then we understand – where in your life do you feel drawn to act, even if you don’t understand why? Would it be possible to allow that action space to exist and breathe, and wait to see what interpretation arises?
What are your feelings around collective ritual? Have you had mostly positive experiences, negative experience, or neutral experiences in this space? For people with religious trauma the idea of collective ritual can feel triggering, and the practice is (understandably!) avoided. If this is you, it’s important to note that collective ritual can be completely secular (i.e. non-religious, non-spiritual). At its core, collective ritual is really just about a group of people coming together to decide what something means and to engage in a behaviour to communicate that meaning. For example, a collective ritual my friends and I have occurs on each person’s birthday. All of us will share one favourite story, memory, trait, or thing we’ve noticed about the birthday person that year. The meaning is – we see you, and we bore witness to your life this year.
What is an area of your life or internal world where you’re looking for more meaning? What is one collective ritual you’d like to join, play a more active role in, introduce, or observe over the next 12 months that could help with meaning making in this area?
I hope that this has opened up a little more space and permission for ritual in your life. As the calendar year is drawing to a close, and many of us are thinking about which practices we want to hold onto and which we want to let go of for next year, I invite you to think actively about ritual. Specifically, which rituals are anchoring you, which are supporting transitionary moments in your daily experience or broader life, and which are facilitating personal or collective meaning making, and how might these practices be more embedded in your life going forward.
Ultimately, I see ritual as a bridge, or an axis point, providing the pathway to connect our primal needs with our metacognitive potential. By offering this pathway, ritual acts as an emotional regulator, and as a means of deep connection with our community, ourselves, and the meaning that we give to this life.