On rituals and rebellion
art will always remind you why you bother
Why do we resist the things that make us the most happy? I fully believe in celebrating the milestones in life, in marking the seasons, partaking in the family rituals. But sometimes, I also chafe against those same rituals, too
“What’s wrong with me?” I say to my spouse Janyce who is standing by the bed holding out a cup of coffee and calling my name. The sunlamp came on over two hours ago. It was me this time, not her, who got up and stumbled through the house to the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot. But then I crawled back into bed, even though the real sun was rising across the street and painting the sky pink.
“You just need to partake of the elixir of life,” she says, foisting the cup in my direction while I pull myself up to a sitting position. She is standing before me in her workout clothes ready to greet the day. “Why don’t you get writing while I do my workout, and then we’ll take a walk first thing before we get started in the kitchen?” she says.
My immediate family is coming over tomorrow and it’s a kind of send-off to my parents who are headed back to Florida for the winter. There is nothing I like more than to entertain, to set a beautiful table, and to cook some new recipes. So why can’t I seem to get going this time? I also love to write this blog every week and I’m resentful of having to do this today when my list of entertaining tasks is long. I barely lift my head from the pillow to look out the window and sigh. It’s early morning and the rain that was supposed to continue from yesterday looks like it has moved on for good. The yellow leaves outside are now glowing from the sun.
A friend was bemoaning to me in text earlier that her family is not getting together for the holidays this year. She can’t understand why they reject these rituals when all she wants to do is be together and keep the family ties strong. I’ve heard her talk about this same disappointment many times before and I try to offer another perspective to the story. Maybe it’s the obligation inherent in the rituals? Maybe the family just needs a different paradigm?
Another one of my friends texted that she failed in the family rock climbing class the night before. She couldn’t get up the wall and it reminded her of some bad middle school gym class memories. She was trying to push through her reluctance toward doing this activity at all for their sake. She sent me her latest collage.
“I’ve been working on this collage,” she said, “and now I’m just realizing that it’s a close representation of my life.”
These art projects are her way of working through her hopes and fears and making sense of her life. I especially like the crumpled paper background on this one. Reminds me of first writing drafts that find their way into the trash, but also how you sometimes can pull them back, smooth out the paper, and take another look. Often you can uncover a message from your subconscious that leads you in a different direction.
Why do we resist the things that make us the most happy? I fully believe in celebrating the milestones in life, in marking the seasons, partaking in the family rituals. But sometimes, I also chafe against those same rituals, too. It’s a kind of an American rebellion inside me that says: Don’t tell me I have to do something the same way, all the time, every week, every year.
I have to laugh a little at my at my own rebellion here because I’m the only one that set myself up to write a blog post every Saturday morning. I’m the one who doesn’t know what I’m going to write about half the time until I start. I’m the one who asks, and sometimes even answers, my own questions that come up from the act of writing. I’m the one who is most surprised and delighted by doing it every week.
Janyce walks back into the bedroom and gives me a look that says: do you realize what time it is?
“I think I’m going to get started on some of the errands,” she says.
“I’m almost done writing here,” I say.
Suddenly I have a massive headache and all I can think about is getting some Tylenol and propelling my body up into a standing position. I can hear my late friend Sandy’s voice in my head. “Christopher, it all makes perfect sense to me. This is just another transition. Your parents are leaving and you don’t want them to go.”
I think it took the ritual of writing all morning just to figure that out. All the more reason to get up and get things moving. Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day.
Wonderful!!