Belated Recognition of the Importance of Rituals


By Jane Friedman

7 Replies

photo by Cedric Favero

“People put so much effort into starting a relationship and so little effort into ending one.”

—Marina Abramovic

I was deeply touched by a story about Marina Abramovic in this issue of The New Yorker.

She and her partner are both well-known performance artists. Upon deciding to split—after a very long time together—they both started walking the Great Wall of China, but each starting on opposite ends. When they met in the middle, they said good-bye to each other.

My modus operandi, for so many things in life, has been to quietly let things go. I used to adore the Billy Joel song, “Surprises”: “Don’t get excited, don’t say a word. Nobody noticed, nothing was heard. It was committed discreetly, it was handled so neatly. And it shouldn’t surprise you at all.”

I used to think it was incredibly mature to end things without any fuss—that endings are simply the natural way of things, and if we scrub life down to basic-basic, what does it all really matter anyway?

The problem with this posturing is that it bypasses ritual and de-emphasizes the importance of a person or of a time in your life. It doesn’t acknowledge the start of a new cycle. And without a ritual to mark a new cycle, you can wake up with the past clinging to you like a cockleburr.

Another problem relates to what Alain de Botton has said: “Life without ritual: burden of having to mark all significance oneself.”

It’s bigger than that, though. It’s not just about marking and celebrating the significance with others. It’s also about gathering support, and signaling a change in direction so that other people can adjust, too.

As I write this, it all feels very simple and not worth pointing out.

But I come from a family where the concept of ritual is next to nonexistent. We don’t even have a way of saying good-bye to each other at the end of trips—we scatter.

I suppose there is a certain amount of vulnerability in these things. You have to admit through any ritual: This is (or has been) important to me. This is meaningful. You don’t protect how you feel or pretend that you’ll be just the same as always.

Sometimes, I’m amazed at how hard it can be to admit or reveal we really feel something.

  • Simon Rutherford

    I have noticed in the course of life that the effects of the absence of honouring Ritual can be despairing to witness. And when the actions I bring to the affairs in my life contain an even small celebration of honouring Ritual, it has appeal and brings people closer. I find it heralds safety in communication.

    Great topic, Thank You.

  • http://www.janefriedman.com Jane Friedman

    I love that idea: “safety in communication.” Absolutely.

  • Rosemary Carstens

    Lovely post, Jane. I love the feeling I get from rituals, and yet I often forget to continue their practice. It's not something that was done in my family either as I grew up. Birthdays and major holidays were recognized, of course, but not ritualistically. Some of what you discussed I've observed without thinking of it as ritual. For example, many years ago I met a woman who lived in a nearby apartment with three young children. She was very smart, highly creative–but poor and overwhelmed. Ultimately, as her hopes and dreams faded, she couldn't cope and killed herself. For many years, I noted her birthday on my calendar and took time on that day to remember her and to acknowledge with gratitude that I'm still here to do that. I like to light a candle, too, on the birthdays (whether living or dead) of writers I have especially admired. I wrote recently about an annual “ritual” of my childhood that still glows in my heart: http://www.snaxonline.com

  • http://www.janefriedman.com Jane Friedman

    I have a friend who has these calendar remembrances quite similar to what you're describing. It feels like an immensely mindful practice that I really ought to take time to adopt.

  • http://twitter.com/AugustReed August Reed

    Reading this sent me topsy-turvy into the no-fuss-scattering-exits of my preadult life. We (my family) had rituals, but they were all subversive. We said things without calling them present. My grandmother always chased you out of the house with a bag of groceries, “God forbid you should starve.” This she did religiously; however, if you were to hug her, which I tried on one occasion, she all but recoiled at your touch. It just wasn't done. She loved you and hated to see you go, but she would never say so.

    My favorite was the linger. My parents used to stand at the door and talk for an additional thirty minutes after saying, “we hate to leave, but we should be going.” This meant, they did not want to leave. It meant we had a great time and would miss seeing our hosts. In my family history, visits where my parents lingered were life-affecting. These people are the ones we embraced with our hearts. They mattered. My sister and I have remembered them with clarity for years (the people and the lingering episodes). Even reminiscing about them later at a family reunion, we never identified them for what they were: subconscious rituals.

    Formal ritual like that of Abramović and Ulay is not something we all can face. Even theirs took three months to complete. Not to diminish the poetic in their efforts, but it is difficult to be open at the moment you feel changed. The moment when a person touches you deeply (healthy or unhealthy) is often a moment of retreat. We have to evaluate what that means to and for us. Only then do we choose to share—or not to. Who really wants to look at a broken heart in the face and “clear the air”? Who can look at people they see everyday and make a profound statement about there affect without great uncomfortableness? Just the acknowledging of something special regarding others is a task for most people. I do know a few who transcend these obstacles, I am not one of them. I prefer the unfussy method—most of the time anyway.

    Thanks for sharing!

    August
    (@AugustReed)

    P.S. I am not without my own shame. While in college, I planned the going away party for my best friend. It was at my house. I bought all the refreshments and invited all of our friends. By the time the party started, I had escaped. I tried to miss my own party. My dutiful friends, of course, found me. Let's not do that again.

  • http://www.janefriedman.com Jane Friedman

    Wow. I think you may have changed my mind wholesale with that comment.

    Sometimes what I'm wondering is how much we need a mutual and sharp understanding when something is at a close. I don't mean “closure” necessarily, but an implicit or explicit agreement that there will not be a return. Is it better to achieve finality (either via ritual or decisiveness or unfussiness), or to be open to the possibility of things, to leave windows and doors open?

    I do have to admit great empathy for the course of action you attempted at the going-away party. I see little shame in it.

  • Michael Wheatley

    Ritual need not be formal, and named or recognized as such, to be ritual. We are social creatures, and creatures of habit. Do we not create ritual, often simply a pattern of behavior, constantly, as in the end of an event or occasion with family? Ritual which is unspoken yet imperceptibly subtle, is still ritual.

    @August – I absolutely agree with you, having had my heart broken many times, that it is indeed difficult, if not impossible, to face that pain at the moment of its creation. However, that doesn't mean that a ritual doesn't/shouldn't take place. As it was with these two performance artists who took three months to mark their ending together (and I would argue that the *entire three months* was the ritual), sometimes we need time to retreat, to be alone – at first. Sure, most people aren't dying to face that broken heart right away. But the clearing of the air, whether planned explicitly or not, often is going to take place anyway. If not, are we not left with the uncomfortable feeling that there is unfinished business or a loose end somewhere?

    I am reminded of the end of my marriage. It was a difficult transition, for us both. Our separation was loaded with pain, guilt, blame, resentment, and freshly discarded dreams. However, we always kept some line of communication open. And in time we came to understand one another again. Our “ritual” didn't take place for several years. After having gone through the legal preparation and procedures required by our state to divorce, after having dealt with our families, and with custody and financial arrangements. After everything was settled and we had established a new way of interacting with one another – it happened. We were in a parking lot at a Starbucks. Anything that had needed to be said, any apologies from either of us, these things were all in the past. There, quite spontaneously as we parted towards our separate homes, our eyes met and we hugged for the first time since our divorce. We were friends again, and we have been friends ever since. A look, a smile, and a hug was the ritual that subtly marked and paid respect for all that had come before, and served as recognition that we were different now.