do YOU know the difference between your routine and rituals?

debatable if i do!

in college i routinely attended a yoga class at a studio ten minutes away from campus, i would check in at the front desk, exchange pleasantries with the staff and order a green cacao mint smoothie which would waiting for me when i left, i would sit down next to tired suburban moms and tell them about my studies and oblige when they would ask how late i stayed out the night before. one day the studio had a yoga “master” (yes, this is what they called him) come guest teach a class, i didn’t think much of it and tried to push the thoughts of internship applications and midterms out of my brain with every downward dog. at the end of class i smiled and thanked him and went to the one specific locker i would always use because the repetition soothed me. i saw him slowly saunter over to me out of the corner of my eye and i assumed he was about to compliment the form of my chaturangas, but instead he said, “you don’t breathe during class.” i challenged him on the obviousness of his statement and he replied, “the only purpose of yoga is to move in synchronicity with your breath, it’s a practice and a ritual, i can tell you’re here just because it’s on your schedule.” he turned around and started talking to someone else and i wordlessly grabbed my mint smoothie and left.

we tend to use the terms “ritual” and “routine” interchangeably with each other, similarly to how we package “health” as “wellness” as a means to justify the absurd things we grasp onto in an attempt to feel better without actually being better. i’ve been thinking a lot about my routine, the motions of each choice in comparison to its weight… if routine is how i structure my life then a ritual is how i actually live it. to follow a rigorous routine without any meaning feels a little bit like eating cotton candy… it looks so vibrantly gorgeous and oppressively enticing from the outside, but after it metabolizes in your system you’re left feeling sticky and slightly sick, still hungry for something more substantial. in the depths of my cotton candy diet i used to be terrified of deviating from my self-imposed schedule (and honestly still am!!!!), driven by the comfort of padded bumpers lining my life ensuring that i was proceeding in a crisp linear line. it makes me feel as though i have control over whatever happens to me because i have sunk my teeth so deeply into my routine nothing can tear me away from this false sense of excellence, my worthiness dangling from that last single thread.

on monday nights i usually watch a movie (…a routine… a ritual?) this week i watched perfect days, a film by wim wenders that i think everyone should be required to view (alongside paris, texas while you’re at it), it made me think a lot about the conversion of a routine into a ritual and the isolation that it can sometimes spur. majority of the film centers around the protagonist, hirayama, and the habitual moments of his day. his introversion and quietness is nurtured by the rich internal world he has built for himself through his collection of cassette tapes and books and film photography and plants he has meticulously tended to. i immediately recognized the reliance on tangible idiosyncrasies as i sat in my pink living room surrounded by my trinkets and art and books piled on the ground and magazines piled on my coffee table. the line between being comforted by my world and terrified by the ability to hide in my wholeness becoming narrower as i sat there.

a few weeks ago angelina made dinner for sam, anne and i for no other reason than it was really cold outside and we wanted to laugh on a wednesday. at some point it was revealed that sam is in a book club and he had to read a few chapters of [REDACTED BOOK] in his uber pool home. i looked at him puzzled and he clarified that their book club meets on a WEEKLY basis. my jaw dropped and my eyes went wide at the thought of a book club that meets once a week (i also became obsessed with the idea of a bunch of boys discussing [REDACTED BOOK]). stunned by the gorgeousness of simple companionship laid in a gesture that is fairly average yet absolutely revolutionary to me. a few weeks earlier, i was at a different dinner party and heard the words, “well, we’ve been starved of shared ritual ever since live tv programming went away” fly out of my pretentious mouth (clearly don’t invite me to your dinner parties because i also had to text “sorry for the heated discussion about childlike wonder last night”). my friends and i do a great job at embedding meaningful traditions into our relationships despite the effort it requires, but i still yearn for that feeling of when everyone was watching the same thing at the exact same time… the comfort of ideological unity for at least a half an hour on a sunday night. there are rare moments when this still happens, like when everyone watches euphoria or white lotus at the exact same time, but it feels so silky and fleeting, a rare treat as opposed to a consistent warm practice. the only true example of mass communal programming that i can think of is… sports (anyone who knows me just fell out of their chair.. stay with me here). i went home for my sister’s 30th birthday in january, it was a crisp football sunday in philadelphia, i walked my sister’s dog, lucy, around the corner to pick up coffee and pastries. every time a neighbor would stop to pet lucy they would leave and automatically say “happy sunday, go birds” when i grabbed my coffee i said, “thank you!” and the barista replied, “go birds!” at lunch with my mom in center city i was the only person for miles not wearing eagles kelly green, the waitress gave me an undeniable side eye when she asked me what i was doing for the game that day and i replied that i was going to be on a train back to new york. i grew up saying “go birds” on sundays and wearing my favorite tattered eagles sweatshirt to school during football season, but i admittedly forgot what it felt like and how much it actually meant to me. despite loathing the semantics of a sports game (a personal and non-judgmental opinion, the theatrics of sports are honestly beautiful just simply is not for me) i will always admire the habitual camaraderie to celebrate a city.

i wrote most of this and then curled up on my couch in an attempt to smooth out the fuzziness in my brain and the aches in my feet that naturally come with having Too Much Fun for weeks on end. i boiled water for my peppermint tea, waiting patiently for the polite whistle of the kettle. i ate whipped cream out of the can because i live alone and can do things like eat a whipped cream from a can and listen to heaven knows i’m miserable now by the smiths b2b with next level charli out loud on my speakers. i sat on my couch and admired the way my candles independently flicker and melt next to each other like siblings idly chatting. i reorganized my books on my windowsill and touched the pages where i underlined sentences in my shaky handwriting. i kept my phone in the other room on do not disturb and tried to slow my breathing for the first time all week. i relished in these insignificant solo little rituals that are for nobody other than me (and evidently all of you reading this…). while settled in my solitude, i thought about my weekly lunch with angelina at that one place in hudson yards that is too expensive to get everyday, the one specific quarterly party we attend to catch up with people we probably won’t see again for another three months, my monthly book club at a wine bar in chinatown, the weekly pastry/cookie date i rotate with various friends, the monthly wednesday night dinner where sydney and i try a new restaurant we’ve never been to before, the almost daily yoga class i attend because i love the other students (AND I DO BREATHE NOW). i felt pride knowing that taking these repetitive communion wafers of connection requires intentional effort, especially when the reliance on routine can easily lead to isolated silos we nestle ourselves in through the empowerment of our phones. sure, any routine can be romanticized to a ritual once enough energy has been funneled into it, but what creates comprehensive impact is balancing the joy understanding oneself with the nakedness of grasping for habitual connection with others.

i used to force myself to publish angel cake every single weekend, i think because i was terrified that if i didn't i would somehow veer so far and never publish again. that sounds dramatic, i am aware. but i am really trying to force myself to be honest if a routine is additive or if it is a crutch. that being said, i appreciate you being here and reading, it means so much to me!!!!!

have a great week! and happy valentine’s day! one of the best days of the year!!!