the purpose of ceremonies

importance in acknowledgment

good afternoon, sweet one,

(or, as usual, good morning, good evening..) has the time before our meeting been kind to you? what time is it there? it feels so good to be with you again, held in your hands behind a little trick of glass. 

I think, for this message to you, I might only be scratching the surface of everything I want to say. and for this letter, that’s okay. I know that I don’t have to be afraid to let an idea rest for a while when it’s still figuring out how wide it wants to stretch. 

today, I’ve been thinking a lot about ceremonies. as long as we have been alive, so have our traditions in acknowledging the passage of time. rituals are as old as language, and as significant as it, too. they’re honored from as far–distant scope as the collective planet we share, down to your own caretaking practices before bed. this is how we move through time, birth, spirituality, love, aging, personal successes, rites of passage, holidays, death, and grief — it is how we acknowledge all of this continues, though in doing this, does not lessen its importance or special nature of each. it’s stunning, how deep our desire is to witness an event as the feeling moves through our bodies, and how many different ways these moments are recognized throughout the world.

but what I’m finding secret beauty in are the ceremonies we perform for ourselves.
a drive out to the coast at the start of summer. a fresh hair cut as a reflection of moving forward. pencil marks on the door frame of a childhood home. a recollection of “this time last year,” or champagne corks trailing just behind a note of good news. these markers of time are vital, to feel the appreciation from those around you or letting both the emotional and physical body sync. to formally acknowledge, even by yourself, and respect the feelings taking place: whether reflection in deep love, warming with pride, or tending to grief.

I’m writing this because I’m understanding it better this time around.
two years in a row now, I’ve spared a glance at the last week of May and made other plans. I recognize the anniversary, the start of taking my life back after leaving a harmful marriage. and because this was my choice—this was exactly what I wanted, and I’ve blessed the name of every day that’s followed since, I thought I wouldn’t be affected by it. the first year, on a camping trip with a new love and a life I clutch close with both hands, I couldn’t stop crying. now, still reveling in the glow of a recent adventure, sunning most afternoons from the comfort of a sports bra on the balcony, I suddenly can’t speak. 

I don’t miss him, and those years of difficulty don’t cross my mind anymore, but my body is asking me, the only way it knows how, for a way to recognize this. a moment before I return to the world, just to know I’ve reached the other side of that experience. to hold in both hands: I remember how much hurt this took and thank you for doing it anyway. 

so I think I will make something new. a dance only I will know the moves to, a hiding corner of the earth to let loose when May reaches its sunset. what other opportunities can we take to notice, to thank, to celebrate, to save a place for in our own victories, losses, and anniversaries to wave at from the Office Depot calendar? how else can we make sure we don’t miss this: a break from the single-file line shuffling through the week to stand back, gather a breath, gaze at our lives, and know we’re living it. 

with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck