A New Methodology for Personal Rituals
Finding resonance and fluidity with lower expectations.
In an ideal world, personal rituals would be simple, inviting, and never interrupted. Each stacked habit would be impervious to The Resistance; all things at my fingertips would prosper. Thanks to Real Life, my personal rituals change as often as Lady Gaga’s award show ensembles. So rather than become rigid and insist on my way, I’ve found a new methodology for finding rituals that serve. My work as a certified life and grief coach keep impermanence at the front of my mind, and this fluidity is reflected in my ever-changing practices.
But anything worth building deserves a firm foundation. As a growth minded, future-oriented human, I tend to run before I walk. I’m like a puppet with snipped strings. With nothing left holding me up, my strings hang limp and ungrounded. Freedom does not mean becoming unhindered or rejecting all forms of control. Freedom comes from building connectivity to something greater than ourselves. A lack of connection will demolish our wild spirits faster than a dynamite.
With strings hanging low and searching for a place to take root, I lean into others. There is wisdom around me waiting for internalization. This is how I find myself again when the world seems unkempt. We are creatures of habit, curiosity, and engagement. We need connection and grounding to others, self, and a higher calling.
And so, I look to the creatives; the wild hearts in pursuit of beauty. I allow their words and insights to inspire my own movement in the world. This is a fluid practice; one rife with pivots and U-turns. What inspires today may fall flat tomorrow. But for now, this is my way of building a ritual that serves. The following is an outline of my current morning habits, as often as I can have the space to work them. May the tools and words here help you create your own rituals of rest and restoration.
Identity
“Your natural state is not work. Your natural state is not rest. Your natural state is beloved and everything flows from that.”
Justin McRoberts
Before I show up for myself, I must know who I am. Personality tests and exams aside, I look to the bedrock of my identity before building any new routines — because we each learn in our own way. I try on new shoes before going for a walk. The same is true of new practices. Who am I, showing up in this ritual? I am beloved. I repeat this to myself every day when I wake. While brewing coffee, I drink water and inhale the morning as a beloved woman, daughter, wife. I listen to the boiling water and anticipate my first cup with delight. I am loved and while awakening my senses in this simple first step, I feel it. I move from that place first, last, and always.
Stillness
“Without solitude, it is nearly impossible to live a spiritual life.”
Henri Nouwen
I am a writer; I live and work in the same space where we raise our daughter and play with our puppy. My office is the family room, subject to constant interruption. And so I rise before the sun, chasing stillness, silence, and solitude. I am alone with my thoughts, my heart, and my breath. For a few brief moments, I offer nothing but openness to myself and the day ahead. Nothing complicated. I am showing up for myself and my relationship to the world around me. Without a peace in my spirit, the chaos of my thoughts derail the best of the intentions.
Movement
“Do not stop thinking of life as an adventure. You have no security unless you can live bravely, excitingly, imaginatively; unless you can choose a challenge instead of competence.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
The moment I begin to despise the life around me is the moment I stop moving forward. Too often during this year of challenge and transition have I threatened good things with destruction. And so with each small moment of contemplation, planning, or intention, I ask myself, “Does this move the needle? Will this act fulfill the adventure my heart is chasing, or is this a simple act of obligation with no love lost at it’s failure? I want to lead a passionate life; one that mourns the failures as intensely as it celebrates the wins. Bringing my whole self to the table means understanding the weight of my words. My yes and my no are mine to yield. I chose what the day holds and how I respond to each interruption.
Fluidity
“If you’re trying to add meditation into your morning routine but mornings are chaotic, then that may be the wrong place and time. Consider when you are most likely to be successful.”
James Clear
The notion of a morning meditation practice is romantic but unrealistic right now. While I am awake by five am, so is the nine-month-old border collie. And although we have a seven am “stay in your bedroom” rule in place, our six-year-old sneaks out early for morning snuggles as often as she can. Sometimes my meditation practice happens while lingering in a parking lot. Sometimes lying in bed, right before sleep. Sometimes the middle of the kitchen, elbow deep in sudsy water. Meditation is not a gala event, but a mode of operation. Working it in like breath means I’ve been successful, no matter the time of day.
Embrace
“Love is slow. You are not in a hurry.”
John Mark Comer
In full disclosure, this quote is a paraphrase. Since I cannot reproduce the entire work, I give you the two most powerful moments from “The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry” in one happy little line. With this in mind, I embrace those early morning interruptions when my daughter sneaks into my arms. I hug her a little longer and hold on a little tighter. When we walk, I move a little slower. When my husband wakes, I breathe deeper and listen closer. Because this life is short and the days feel shorter still, so I am leaning in. This little ritual feels like magic; as if I am stopping time. In these moments of slow, I am powerful.
Intention
“Present and awake. Love yourself. Love your neighbor. Move from a place of connection. Present and awake.”
Adriene Mishler
The purpose of ritual is to set yourself on a path toward growth. When I find I am detached from myself or others, I drop into the center of my body. Bringing my thoughts to the center of physical being allows me to find a little movement, a half-smile. Mishler is a yogi. When considering her words, I seek awareness of my body. Wherever there is physical tension, I look for tension internally as well. If I cannot offer love to someone, I place my hands on my throat, my heart, and my head to settle the disconnection. This is grounding; this is self awareness. And from this position, I become more aware of others and how we move in tandem.
These momentary rituals open my day with slow, intentional, and expectant hope. In this space of flexible repetition, this is how I show up, no matter who or what shows up at my door.
Mandy Capehart is a certified grief and life coach, and creator of The Restorative Grief Project. The Restorative Grief Project is an online community focusing on one another’s stories and new methodologies for grief, creating a safe environment for our souls to heal and our spirits to be revived. Registration is currently closed, but you can join the waitlist at www.MandyCapehart.com/grief.
