Wishful Thinking: Count your Blessings

I have written about gratitude this week. But I am constantly thinking about it. Working in hospice gives you a unique perspective on what is important. What I wish for us all is that we never take our blessings, our people, our talents, our time, for granted. Have a lovely weekend.

Quotable Thursday: Let Gratitude Be…

Let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer. - Maya Angelou

Tuesday is for Questioning: What are you Grateful For?

What are you deeply grateful for? Share one very specific thing. I’ll start. I am super grateful I can connect my cell phone to my car’s speakers. I have the best conversations with my children on my commute home at night.  What about you?

An Attitude of Gratitude

“Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity: It must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all.”
—William Faulkner

My practice of gratitude goes back more than a decade. I cannot remember what first piqued my interest in it - an article or news story on TV - but I knew that I needed to intentionally experience gratitude daily.

 I started writing down three things in my journal or my date book. I was specific. I would not write: my kids, my health, my job. Instead, I would jot down "Had a funny conversation with Emma about her teacher." "Felt good after pushing myself to walk briskly for 15 minutes." Or "had fun training the new hospice volunteers."

 I have done this almost every day for years. I’ve tried to live the Vietnamese proverb “When eating fruit, remember the one who planted the tree.” I have even gotten into a weird habit. After I take a shower, I think about the people who made it possible. Sometimes I think about the engineers who keep our municipal water clean. Other times I think of the plumber who laid the pipes in my house, or the factory workers who made my soap.

A gratitude page from my bullet journal

 I honestly credit it for helping me stay out of the deep cycles of anxiety and depression I have experienced throughout my life. And there are now studies that connect counting your blessings to improved sleep, better relationships, and lowered risk of heart disease. (NOTE: Gratitude is not a magic wand. You STILL have to do your best to get to bed early, communicate with your loved ones and not just eat junk food. And if you are suffering from depression or anxiety, seek professional help.)

 However, there was one month, July 2019, that truly showed me how important gratitude is. On the 8th, I got the call that my father was seriously ill, maybe dying. I was out with friends at my birthday dinner in Pennsylvania. I immediately left and drove to NYC. Over the next month I spent much of my time at the hospital, watching him die.  It was heart-breaking. It was so frustrating to see someone you love suffer, and not be able to stop it.

But I also found a number of moments of joy that I attribute to my gratitude practice.

On that first drive up I said to myself, "Thank goodness the weather is good and I'm not trying to speed up there in torrential rain." That thought cheered me - and shocked me. I realized that I had completely integrated gratitude into my thought patterns. The years of practice had definitely trained those neurons to find some element of appreciation even in the worst circumstances.

Over the next 27 days, I had other gratitude moments, too. I had long conversations with cousins I had not seen in years. I took walks in the hospital's neighborhood and found beautiful flower gardens. There was a farmers’ market where I could buy fresh baked brownies. The hospital had stations where you could refill your water bottle with flavored fizzy water. I looked at the faces of the healthcare staff treating my father and they were all so beautiful. I don't mean magazine-cover beautiful, but that inner beauty that shines through. That's what I saw when I looked at them.

But the best one happened at about 3am one night in mid-July. There were many of us who just camped out in the large cardiac ICU waiting room for days at a time. One evening I was thankful that I had scored a padded recliner that I could "comfortably" sleep in. OK it wasn't that comfortable, but I was exhausted from working as many days as I could and driving back and forth between New York and Pennsylvania. I did not so much fall asleep as lose consciousness.

Then something woke me. I opened my eyes and saw a woman, about my age, another fellow camper who had been keeping watch over her gravely ill son. She was tucking me in. She said I was shivering, so she found a blanket and covered me. My heart just about cracked open with gratitude.

These experiences of thankfulness did not make my father's death any less terrible. We lost so much with him. But the moments grounded me. They kept me from losing myself.  They connected me to my values and to my people.

 Recently I have developed a new habit of gratitude that is partially inspired by my father. It rarely happens, but ever so often I have trouble falling asleep. I had one of those nights recently. I remembered my father playing his guitar for us kids. He was singing a Bing Crosby song form White Christmas, “I Fall Asleep Counting My Blessings.” So I stated with the letter A, apple-scented air freshener. B, sesame bagels. C, Carl gives the best hugs. I fell asleep somewhere between J and I.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” – Thornton Wilder, The Woman of Andros

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

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Create Your Own Bravery Ritual, a free Zoom event

You are invited to a free Zoom event on Tuesday August 16th at 7:30 PM (Eastern Standard Time). I had such a great response to last week’s essay on bravery that I want to keep the conversation going. We will discuss bravery rituals. We will work on crafting a personal ceremony that you can use when faced with your own anxious days. Please email me at celebrationism1@gmail.com to reserve one of the limited spots.

Wishful Thinking about Courage

Have been thinking a lot about bravery this week. Here’s what I’m wishing for us all this evening. Writer Erma Bombeck said, “It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.” I wish that we all have dreams to bravely share and people to share them with. Have a lovely weekend.

Quotable Thursday: Bran Asks a Question

“Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'
'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him.”

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Tuesday is for Wondering: When Were You Brave?

Can you recall a time when you were brave? Can you share that with us?

My request to those who read others’ answers, please respond kindly to those who are brave enough to answer this question.

The Ceremony of the Pencils

My heart is pounding so hard, I fear if I look under my shirt, I will see its rounded form trying to break free from my chest.

 My hands are icy. Not the cold of going out on a winter day without gloves. It’s ice from the inside spreading out.

I am quiet and still. I feel that if I move, I will break into a million shards of glass.

This is what a panic attack is like for me. Along with its partner, a generalized, low-level sense of doom, it has stalked me my entire life. I literally don’t remember a time, even way back in my childhood, when I did not have anxiety. But at fifty-seven, I have a much better handle on it than when I was thirteen. Many, many hours of therapy, medication, and lots of mental health “homework” has made this condition truly manageable for me. Thank goodness!!!

 That does not mean it has completely gone away. On very rare occasions, I do have a full-on panic attack. And a bit more frequently anxiety and dread still shadow my day.

 In her amazing book Atlas of the Heart, research professor and lecturer, Brene Brown has a whole chapter on what happens when things are uncertain. She writes, “An intolerance for uncertainty is an important contributing factor to all types of anxiety. Those of us who are generally uncomfortable with uncertainty are more likely to experience anxiety…” Well that fits me to a T. Because, without a doubt, if I don’t know how an event is going to roll out, (and we never actually do) I will imagine that it will happen in the worst way possible. My imagination automatically runs to “I’m fired. The house is burned down. Or EVERYONE’S DEAD.”

 And once something like that gets a hold of me, it is difficult for me to extricate myself. I once had to have oral surgery. The days leading up to it were a nightmare. I saw in my mind all the instruments the surgeon was going to use on me and the relentless pain. On the day, I sat myself in to the dental chair with my classic pounding hear, cold hands, and paralyzed demeanor. Honestly, I remembered the dentist saying he was going to begin, and don’t really recall the procedure itself because I was so internally panicked. Yes, it hurt, but suddenly it was over. 72 hours of self-torture for maybe 45 minutes of discomfort.

 About six months ago I had another one of those days come up for me. I usually don’t suffer from social anxiety, but I knew I was going to be in a complicated emotional situation. As the event approached, the dread continued to build up in me. I could feel it filling me up. I could feel it sloshing around in my throat. According to Brene Brown, anxiety and dread are the precursors, the things that happen before the actual thing you’re worrying about. Yup, it is always the pre-game that kills me. Usually once I am actually inside the source of my fear, I handle it much better.

 I decided I was not going to just hand myself over to this without a fight. And I turned to ritual and ceremony to create a weapon. I knew I had to go through this experience, like I had to have the dental surgery. I knew I had some legitimate concerns about the encounter. I just wanted my best self to be the one walking into it.

 I pulled out two tools to create this ceremony of bravery: a glass full of pencils. And one of my favorite books, Dune.

 I read Dune as a newly minted adult, in the mid 80’s. I am a giant Sci-Fi nerd, so I started reading it because of the spaceships, alien planets, and giant worms. But I also love language, the words in this book are lyrical and resonant. And one passage in particular stopped me in my tracks.

 In the story the young hero Paul Attreides is being tested for bravery and self-control. He must put his hand into a box that will cause devastating pain, and not remove it. As the burning - which is only simulated - gets worse and worse, Paul is afraid that he will pull out his hand and fail the test. He begins to recite words - a poem, a prayer - that has been come to be known as The Litany Against Fear.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
- Frank Herbert, Dune

These sixty-one words had a profound effect on me. At that point in my life, I was having panic attacks several times a week and living in a constant state of dread. Yet I never told anyone. I thought it was something to be ashamed of or something no one would understand. I couldn’t understand it myself except that it made me feel very weak and cowardly.

Now here was Frank Herbert who had created a strong character who also felt terror. Paul did pass the test and went on to become a powerful leader. This book showed me you could both be scared and take bold action. And it was all encapsulated in the Litany, which urged me to face my fear and let it pass through me. The fear was not to be ignored or suppressed. But it wasn’t to be given free reign either. It was to be processed. The litany assured me that when I was done digesting the fear, I would still remain.

 At first, I carried the book around and turn to that page when I was scared. Once I memorized it, I recited it. A LOT. It helped slow my heart rate and loosen up my frozen muscles. It didn’t do everything. That’s where the therapy, medication, and internal work came in. BUT it helped.

 And the Litany is kind of a cultural phenomenon. I have found other blog posts about it. Late night host Stephen Colbert and writer Michael Chabon are fans. There is even a profanity laden version by the comedian Gilbert Gottfried. (Not linking, you can google it.)

 So that explains the Dune part. But what about the cup of pencils? Was I going to write something in this ceremony? No.

 The pencils represent a moment in my life when I was brave and proud of myself. I did not learn to swim as a child. You could not get me into water above my head. But as an adult I wanted to change that, so I private lessons at our local Y. My teacher Judy was great. She really helped me overcome a lot of my apprehension of the water. But at my last lesson, she did encourage me to jump into the deep end. I told her I could not use the diving board or go headfirst. “That’s OK,” she said. “You could do a pencil dive.” That means you keep your body as straight as a pencil and jump in feet first, arms at your sides and toes pointed.

 Judy knew how afraid I was and was prepared to do a lot of coaxing. But I admired her so much that I really wanted to impress her. So, I just stepped to the edge and pencil dived. There was maybe a second or two of that turquoise silence and tickling bubbles. Then I was breaking back through the surface. Judy looked a little shocked, “I didn’t think you were going to do that.”

 Neither did I. But I did it and survived. I won’t say I enjoyed it and after that became addicted to the pool. I still suck at swimming. But pencil diving that night into the deep end is etched deeply into my psyche as proof that I could take the reins with fear.  I absolutely loved that I was able to face my fear and jump. I did indeed turn my inner eye to see the path where fear had gone, and only I remained.

 So, these were the two ingredients I used for my bravery ceremony. I got everything ready the night before. Printed up a copy of the Litany and sharpened a new box of ten pencils.

 The morning of my difficult meeting, I sat alone in my living room the paper, pencils, and a glass of water before me. I took some deep breaths and began to meditate on the memory. I tried to conjure up all the details of that last swim lesson. The feel of the rough wet tile beneath my feet. The sound of the other swimmers’ strokes and children’s splashing that echoed through the large space. The smell of chlorine. I made myself feel the fear before jumping in and then the triumph of surfacing. Judy’s stunned yet pleased expression.

 When I felt those proud emotions overcome the fear sloshing around in my throat, I opened my eyes and began to read the Litany Against Fear. And every few words I took a pencil and dropped it into the glass of water, calling forth my plunge into the deep end.

 Then the reading was done. The pencils were all in the glass. I started my day.

The emotionally complicated meeting happened. I did not feel great about it before or after. But I did feel that I brought my best, pencil-diving self to it. And that’s what The Ceremony of the Pencils is all about. I have performed the ceremony another time since then and it again brought me comfort.

 I have also helped others design their own bravery ceremonies. I always state two things.

 One, a ritual or ceremony can be very valuable, but it can never replace mental health therapy. If you need a therapist, that is what you should pursue. I did and it changed my life. Two, a good ceremony must focus on exploring and supporting your own, actual bravery and NOT on the person or situation you are dreading.

 And do not … well, um … fear, if your fear does not vanish after the ritual. The ceremony is there to help you summon up your courage and send you forth as your best self. To quote Emma Donoghue from her novel Room, “Scared is what you’re feeling. Brave is what you’re doing.”

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.

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Wednesday is for Wondering: the Best Laid Plans

These past few days I have been thinking about the sacredness of preparation. I am a big planner. I have dozens of notebooks – many filled with lists and plans.

I am wondering have you ever prepared something that worked out just the way you hoped it would? But also, have you created the most detailed of plans, only to have it completely change? 

I’d like to hear about it.

Memory Preserves

“Visit a fruit farm and then head to the kitchen with your mounded baskets to capture fragrant summer in numerous jars: the preparation for dark days must always begin during the brightest ones.”
― Lia Leendertz, Gardening and food writer in the UK

This quote makes me think of the sacredness of preparation, especially when we know hard times are coming. People’s lives used to depend on preserving food for winter. Now it would do us well to preserve memories of joy in the root cellars of our hearts to take out and open when our lives get cold and wearying.

The Sanctity of Preparation

Celebrationism and being a ceremony designer is a new thing for me. But at the same time, it’s not. As far back as I can remember, I created experiences in which people would connect and celebrate.

Really way back.

When I was five, I told my mom I wanted to have a Valentine’s Day party, and everyone would come. By “everyone” I meant me and my mom and my grandmother. (I still enjoy intimate events the best.)

But we had to get ready for this soiree. We had to have – drumroll, please – Valentine’s hats!

Mom got out our arts and crafts supplies. And, God bless her, she helped me glue red hearts on to paper doilies. Later the three of us bobby-pinned these “hats” to our heads and enjoyed cookies and grape juice.

I don’t recall the party that clearly, but I totally remember putting the doily hats together. Even at that early age, I knew that getting ready for something could be as important as the something itself. Wearing those silly paper hats signaled that something special was happening. Making them was the first, and very important, step.

Preparation is sacred. In its own way it is a ritual.

I love cooking big holiday meals. That’s one of my sources of joy. Maybe your thing is travelling to new places, fixing cars, or playing guitar.

No matter what brings you joy, though, you know that it will be more pleasing if you are prepared. Shopping lists written. Vacation research queued up. Tools clean and orderly. Guitar tuned. These are the things that give us yummy pies, awesome selfies, purring engines, and smooth solos. The seed of that enjoyable experience is in the groundwork.

Dancers take a class almost every single day of their careers. It helps them both physically and mentally.

“On a base level, our warmup is essentially to get our body literally warm for the day ahead, which could be a long rehearsal or multiple performances,” says dancer Alison Ramoran of Smuin Contemporary Ballet in San Francisco. “A good prep is important for us to stay grounded, focused and acclimated to whatever situation we’re in, acting like a meditative practice before a stressful event.”

Even when we approach something less than pleasant, getting ready can make it better. Students are more confident when they study before an exam. Expectant parents are more relaxed after attending birthing classes. Patients face the dentist with a grin when they have been flossing. (Yeah, that one you can’t just do the night before.)

Even Noah had to prepare. As Max Brooks, author of The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead, notes, “If you believe you can accomplish everything by ‘cramming’ at the eleventh hour, by all means, don't lift a finger now. But you may think twice about beginning to build your ark once it has already started raining.”

The seed of that successful experience – even when it’s the hardest thing you ever had to do - is still in the groundwork.

And I am using the word seed intentionally. When I was thinking about the meaningfulness of starting well, I remembered a poem by Muriel Rukeyser, Elegy in Joy [excerpt]. Two lines kept playing in my head, “The seeds of all things are blest. The blessing is in the seed.”

Those words have become a blessing for me. I say them when I find myself preparing for an activity or event. Sometimes it is a gratitude kind of blessing. How lucky I am that I can afford all the ingredients to make this meal for people I love. Sometimes it’s a blessing of encouragement. I know this project is going to be difficult, but I know I can do it. Saying the words anchors me into the moment, into the sacred work of preparation.

And since it is Friday, my day for wishful thinking, this is what I wish for all of us. May we be mindful of our preparations. And may we enjoy the getting ready as much as we can.

May it be a momentary reminder that Valentine’s doily hats make things special.

Wednesdays are for Wondering . . . Moon Time

In freshman year of high school, my religion teacher Mary Harrigan told us we were going to spend the first half of the class year “wondering.” Huh? I thought we were supposed to be “learning” and wasn’t sure what this was going to be like. But her class was a gift. She taught us to really look at the world, to ask questions, to wonder about everything. And I have been wondering for the past 40+ years since then.

On Wednesdays I will share questions. I hope that they stimulate some conversation online and in real life. Let us all wonder.

Today is the53rd anniversary of the first moon landing. I was only four years old, but I remember my father sat me on his lap in front of the black and white TV set and told me something important was happening. Together we watched Neil Armstrong taking that first step onto lunar soil. To me the moon has always felt like adventure, bravery, and learning.

So I am wondering, what are your feelings, your memories, your stories about the moon?

Quotable Monday: May it be a Light to You…

“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.” JRR Tolkien. From The Two Towers

Wishful Thinking – Sunrise, Sunset

On Fridays I will share something I hope for.

Today I wish, for myself and for all of us, to enjoy every sunrise and sunset that we can. This is the gorgeous sky that greeted me yesterday morning while walking my dog Felix. Taking a few moments to appreciate this beauty is a ritual of strengthening and of comfort.

Welcome and Here’s to Sparkly Nails

Welcome to 52 Rituals, the blog for Celebrationism. Through this blog I want to share ideas and thoughts on all things celebratory and ceremonial.

The concept for Celebrationism came to me on Saturday, May 15, 2021. I was training online to become an officiant through the Celebrant Foundation and Institute and was really thinking a lot about ceremonies and rituals. I know the exact date be3cause I wrote about it in my journal. “I believe I have come up with what my natural religion is. I’m a Celebrationist. Celebrationism (which honestly might be more of a philosophy but feels like a spiritual practice to me) is the remembering, marking, and celebrating our histories, moments, and connections. That’s my working definition. I have to think more about it.”

This blog will be part of that thinking more about it. Sometimes I will write about those “big” ceremonies we are all familiar with, weddings, funerals, etc. But more often it will be about everyday specialness. Because ordinary is sacred. So, I am going to start with a small thing, or rather ten small things. I almost always have sparkly fingernails.

I have loved nail polish since I was a small girl. All the colors thrilled me, pink, red, purple, blue, green, orange. And sparkles were my most favorite. But I rarely wore the glittery kind because your average Monday just didn’t rate sparkles. That was only for special occasions. About eight years ago I started allowing myself to have one finger on each hand all dolled up with glitter. During the day I would sneak a peek at those two fingers as they glinted in the overhead fluorescent light of my office. It never failed to make me smile.

Then Covid happened and the world turned upside down. I decided if one glittering nail per hand made me happy, all five would make me absolutely giddy with delight. And you know what? It did. Yes, the world was still, going to hell in a handbasket. Death and unemployment were still the themes of the day. But those tiny metallic chips of blue or pink or silver buoyed my spirits. They hey brought me back to happy carefree times in my childhood. Trying on sequined ballet recital costumes. Long afternoons of arts and crafts on the living room floor.

One day I answered application for position in a nursing home. I told the interviewer that having those sparkly nails meant I was choosing to find something each day to celebrate. I did not get that job (she told me I was overqualified), but I drove home understanding that what I’d told her was an absolute truth. Every day – even your average Monday – was worth sparkles. I was alive. I had enough savings to pay my rent. I had people I loved who loved me back.

Starry Night Nails!!!!

Now two years later and gainfully employed, I still look down at my fingertips and see the reminder that everyday gives us something to celebrate. Sure, sometimes those things are colossal events like graduations, moving, getting a new job. But if you only get glittered on those types of days, you are going to have very dull fingernails.

You see, I am totally here for celebrating traffic-free commutes home, good hair days, and finding your new favorite song. For that matter I’m here for even more basic happenings. Feeling your feet touch the floor when you wake up. Taking long peaceful breaths. Seeing that “I-got-home-safe text” on your phone.

This nail polish thing is a regular ritual for me. But I bet you have your own everyday specialness thing too. Maybe yours is a gift mug that you drink from in the morning or the jingling sound of the tags on your dog’s collar. One thing rituals do is serve as reminders. Birthday candles point out that another year has gone by, and we should appreciate life – and eat the cake!

The looking at my nails and remembering is a ritual of celebration. The painting of my nails is a ritual of preparation. Both help me savor the moment, feel gratitude, and experience a connection with the world. And it all can happen on an average Monday.

Humanist psychologist Abraham Maslow said, “The sacred is in the ordinary...it is to be found in one's daily life, in one's neighbors, friends, and family, in one's own backyard.”

Remember to create, celebrate, and gather.