I remember reading “Around the World in 80 Days” when I was a child. Phileas Fogg, the protagonist is an exacting man, who does things with such economy and precision that not a moment is wasted. He’s described as “repose in action.” When I was nine, I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew is, that this was a character after my own heart.
As a child, I sought out habit and ritual more than I did adventure. I was timid, nervous, thoughtful and, for all intents and purposes, well-spoken. While other children chased each other about on the playground (of the many schools I attended), I spent many hours reading in the library.
Reading grounded me and it was the first real ritual I made mine. I enjoyed it so immensely and I still do.
While I’ve allowed more adventure into my life now, I’m a creature of habit. I love ritual. My mornings are timed, unwittingly, to such exactitude that it’s alarming even to me sometimes. I’ve been using the same cup for my morning beverage since I was 13 years old. It makes exactly the right amount of coffee that I can drink by 6 AM, when I head to the gym.
Since I got married a few months ago, rituals have become collective. My partner, who is much more fluid in the way he conducts his business, has embraced some of my idiosyncrasies, with an understanding that I need them for my day to feel like it fit right. In turn, we’ve come up with rituals together that bind our collective time. We do crosswords on Sunday mornings and make big breakfasts, we watch Family Feud on weekday evenings.
While people might find ritual constrictive, there is a grace and elegance to being able to do the same actions over and over with precision. It creates a respect for the time you have been given. Most of all, I think it connects us with the world in a way that is individually and collectively constructive.
As human beings, we’ve always been drawn to the North Star of habit. We seek it out in prayer and how we collectively organize ourselves in the world. After all, hopping on public transit has an almost ritualistic quality to it. Were someone to go and lie on the floor of the bus, no doubt, glances would be exchanged (and the requisite authorities called upon).
We like to think of ourselves as adventuresome and pioneering. But we come back to the comforts always of the things we know. They enable us to understand and be in the world on our own terms and connect us to the notion that we are, in fact, just how we want to be.
Anchoring myself in ritual allows me to move gracefully though a world that is, at best, unpredictable. It is the fulcrum of my living every day. As I get older, it also happens to be the thing that lets me deviate when I need to, with the full knowledge that I can come back when I want.
As wild as it is, life necessitates anchor points. It is only when we’ve fully understood the beauty, necessity and elegance of ritual, that we fully start to understand ourselves and the world around us. It is what enriches those experiences outside of our ordinary lives, so that, the one day that you drink your coffee from a different cup, you notice.
