The Rituals That Make Us: Part 2
Death, mourning, and gender reveals
When I began exploring rituals, I asked some of my close networks about their experiences. I began with my dad, and I was particularly interested in his childhood experiences (for context: Dad grew up in a relatively traditional Lebanese Muslim family in Sydney, including some early years in a tiny village just north of Tripoli).
In our conversation, Dad explained to me a common ritual in which, upon someone’s passing, the whole community would go into mourning for 30 days. This was an all-in kind of mourning: It meant no TV, no radio, parties, weddings, etc., for a month-long period.
And this obligation extended well beyond the loss of a close family member. Dad spoke of the process as experienced with his siblings: “I’m not just talking about a close relative passing away, either. I mean anyone, even a relative so distant you hadn’t heard of them. We’d be sitting there like, ‘Who is this person? We don’t know this person?’ But still, if we got caught turning the radio on, our parents would go off.”
“So, what would you do?”
“I usually just ended up leaving to hang out with my Aussie mates instead.”
Given the gravity of death in the human world, it’s perhaps no surprise that different cultures are particularly cautious about ensuring enough respect is paid to observing or supporting someone’s passing. We see the significance of death transcend across times and groups, honoured in different ways by the living. I also wonder if my dad and his siblings’ childhood experiences also beautifully exemplify the important principle that the shared or deeper meaning makes the ritual; otherwise, ritualised processes appear too arbitrary, or, at the very least, worth skipping. And sometimes, particularly when real-world sacrifices are in order for the sake of other-world transitions, that shared meaning has to do a lot of heavy lifting.
Death rituals are a common one, and they don’t necessarily stop with the human species. Experiences that we may liken to grief and mourning (though this is a contested view) have been observed in a variety of animal species, and animal grief is an emergent research area. Elephants, for example, are well known for their interest when another elephant dies, inspecting and caressing their loved one’s carcass and even sometimes displaying burial-like behaviours, using surrounding dirt to cover them. Crows are also known to respond when they see another dead crow by “scolding”; that is, calling out to effectively announce the sighting to other crows. Some research suggests that this is probably less about a display of grief than it is about risk assessment by heightening awareness of possible danger in the vicinity. Still, it seems likely to me that the connections between emotionality, rituals and death are not exclusive to humans.
If we were to perceive some common societal rituals for the first time, I bet many would feel almost like a practical joke. From brides throwing bouquets to people lining up for hours to get the best Black Friday deals; from memorialising moments by taking pictures of ourselves on little handheld devices, to gender reveal parties. Humans are weird. Again, shared meaning is imperative as we operate in this broader social and cultural context. The last edition of this newsletter focussed more on individual rituals and their impacts, but, of course, many rituals operate as effective mechanisms for human togetherness. I found it interesting that Dad and the other people I spoke with all told stories of rituals that were shared with other people. Social rituals bring us closer through this shared meaning, helping us move through difficult experiences like grief and loss, celebrate change, or simply facilitate feelings of connection and social identity. In more ways than one, it’s the rituals that make us.
Letting go and starting anew
Many traditional rituals operate in some way to signify the passing of time: Highlighting the passage from one chapter to the next, simultaneously marking the end of a world we have known and welcoming one that is new and uncertain. Someone has left the world or entered the world, or we have collectively shifted to a new time in it. We have just passed a prime example of this with the start of a new calendar year.
Image made with Dall-E
One of my best friends and I have a debate that we jovially re-ignite every couple of years. Colloquially, we could call it the ‘time is an illusion argument’. We’ve had this debate so many times that it’s now more a farcical play in rhetoric than it is anything else, but one of my favourite go-to’s is ranting about the arbitrary construction of the Gregorian calendar.
We could consider Julius Caesar to be the man responsible for millions of silly hats and hopes being pinned on the first of January. Caesar implemented major calendar reform around the 40s (BC) to shift society away from the lunar calendar. As part of that, he made January the start of the year, so the first of Jan went on to become a time of magnificent feasting, gifting, sacrifice and celebration. January is also the month of Roman god Janus — an appropriate god to kick off the year, as he reflected gates, frames, beginnings and endings, time and transitions, and dualities (commonly represented by his two faces directed towards the past and present, respectively).
Image created with Chat-GPT
In the modern day, most of us take a little break around this time and zoom out to play Janus for a while: Reflecting on the year that has just passed and on the year we hope to see ahead of us. A 2022 YouGov survey of Americans found that 37% of respondents intended to set a New Year’s resolution. Putting the ‘time is an illusion’ argument aside, we know by now that the meaning makes the ritual. So, it is certainly within our power to increase the value of this month endorsed by the god of gates. While a new calendar year, logically, is an arbitrary and ordinary moment in time, why shouldn’t we harness its potential power? Why not lean into the alluring concept of fresh starts and possibilities, and use that collective sense of newness that comes with New Year rituals to build momentum for positive change?
I’d love to hear about how you are building on New Year rituals to support positive change, through resolutions or something else — reply to this email or let me know below. (And there’ll be more to come on New Year’s Resolutions in the next edition.)
A small, meaningful action: A reflection prompt for the start of a new year
Below is part of a reflection prompt I recently shared that you might find valuable in this first week of the year. This should take about 40 mins if you’re solo journalling. Better yet, connect with a critical friend or group and make an evening of it to do the exercises in sync: Take the dedicated time to write your individual responses down, then, when the timer is up, go around and each share your responses, taking a moment to reflect in dialogue before moving on to the next question.
Big questions: 5 minutes of stream-of-consciousness journalling reflection for each. Try not to self-edit, just write what comes to mind in the time and aim to keep writing for the whole time period.
a. When I think of 2023, what immediate thoughts and feelings come to mind?
b. What were the challenges of this year, and how did I respond to them?
c. What were the highlights of this year, and what did they bring me?
Reflecting on smaller moments: Set a timer for 2 mins of stream-of-consciousness journalling reflection for each:
a. What is a 2023 moment that brings me great pride?
b. What is a 2023 moment that surprised me?
c. What was a dream or goal I had for 2023?
e. Who is someone I felt extra connected to this year?
f. What is something I learned about myself?
h. What was an area of growth that sticks out for me?
i. What am I most grateful for from 2023?
j. What metaphor best describes the journey of 2023 for me?
k. What hopes do I have for 2024?
m. If I were to set an intention for 2024 in one to three words, what would it be?
A quote
“Go a little further. Sometimes when you think you are done, it is just the edge of beginning. Probably that’s why we decide we’re done. It’s getting too scary. We are touching down onto something real. It is beyond the point when you think you are done that often something strong comes out.”
-Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down to the Bones
A recommendation
My current read is Writing Down to the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. It is, as the quote above suggests, possibly more about life than it is just about writing. I recommend it for writers, of course. But I also think great writing books provide value for anyone who wants to hone their craft or think more creatively.