We all have our rituals whether we realise it or not. Every morning I make myself a cup of tea (it used to be coffee) and it is often the first thing I do. To me, it signals that I have started my day. It is not an elaborate ritual—it takes all of five minutes—but pouring a piping hot cup of tea into my mug is in some way like turning on the ignition of a car: a surefire signal to get started.

But what is a ritual? And how is a ritual different from a daily chore? I do not consider brushing my teeth a ritual but just like my coffee I do it twice a day. This is perhaps why many people do not recognise activities as rituals at all. Is making coffee (or any other drink you prefer) not an obvious part of your breakfast? What sets it apart that it seemingly calls for special recognition as a ritual?

Futility is welcome

Unlike brushing my teeth I can actually do without my cup of tea. And unlike what a cup of tea traditionally achieves, my morning cup is not about the tea itself but first about the process of making it and then about what else I do while I drink it. There is a certain futility in this indulgence—and a very real replaceability—and as a mere activity or chore such futility is abhorrent. In a ritual though, futility is welcome.

Compare this to the more famous and explicit ritual of ‘morning pages’. First introduced in Julia Cameron’s book The artist’s way, this ritualistic activity, like my cup of tea, is to be done first thing in the morning. It is described in this way—

Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing, done first thing in the morning. There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages—they are not high art. They are not even “writing.” They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind– and they are for your eyes only. Morning Pages provoke, clarify, comfort, cajole, prioritize and synchronize the day at hand. Do not over-think Morning Pages: just put three pages of anything on the page…and then do three more pages tomorrow.

Any way you see it ‘morning pages’ should be futile, but that is precisely their point. Through their futility they create an environment for you to thrive.

Ritual is boredom

Many years ago I read an article in the New York Times on boredom¹. It aligned remarkably well with a lot of my own views but it talked about something I had, until then, not connected my views to, and the subtitle captured it succinctly: “Boredom teaches us that life isn’t a parade of amusements.”

It discussed how in olden times the leisure classes idled in drawing rooms, read books, took walks to “stare at trees” or went motoring to do the exact same thing differently. The labour class could not afford that because they had to work most of the day and then feed themselves soon after before another day was already upon them. Their schedule was rightly called “mind-numbing”. Lin-Manuel Miranda is quoted for crediting “a blank page or an empty bedroom” for spurring his creativity.

In our fast-paced world with considerable mindless hustling, rituals force us into brief moments of calculated boredom.

I enjoy flight simulation. For a few hours every week I fire up my Xbox and flight stick, meticulously plan a flight with proper airspace transitions, noting down ATC frequencies, looking at METARs and NOTAMs, and even preparing a VFR navlog on my iPad before taking off from one of my many favourite airfields. Once the intense planning phase is complete, which has forced me to concentrate on several considerations, and I have hit cruise altitude, I find myself sitting with nothing but my thoughts. I’m in a plane flying through a remarkably photorealistic rendition of the globe, with accurate ‘live’ weather, and the hum of a piston engine before me. It is ‘boring’ to some, because unlike a traditional game it does not keep the player on their toes, but it creates a fantastic environment for me, with just enough stimulation, that I am allowed to sit back and let my thoughts wander. Because I am tethered to the plane and my many responsibilities as a simulation pilot, it forces me to strike an inexplicable balance between being aware and drifting off into a liminal space.

Ritual is memory

What is the point of all this? Even if we all cannot agree on what counts as a ritual I think we can agree that rituals are, in the end, constructive. They are enablers of things we want to do, whether that be write, draw, code, teach, learn, exercise or anything else. But more than that, rituals can be tools that establish familiarity through memory. It forces you into a situation with which you are familiar, allowing you to use it as a platfrom from which to jettison yourself towards all the other things you want to do.

Sometimes this can appear meaningless—like quickly honking your car horn as you pass beneath a train because it reminds you of your parents doing it while you were growing up—but it can help ground you and remind you of good memories that give you strength. Another possibilty is having the same food on a certain occassion, which is something I am guilty of but I make no excuse for it. I have certain foods I enjoy eating at certain times and with certain environments that to me become simple but priceless experiences.

Ritual is irregular

Rituals can happen regularly or they can be tied to occasional events, like things you might do before you start packing for a long trip; or something you do no more than once a month with your significant other but where you both share a commonality in an event. Rituals are personal but they can also be shared. They can be as periodic as a clock but also as flexibly irregular as you like. Rituals are magic. They can make quotidian days special.

These are what set rituals apart from chores, from everyday activities. And I partake in many more rituals than I care to admit. Before I use my devices every day I wipe them clean; making my bed every morning is a ritual; making tea (or coffee) of course, as is an evening walk or jog; or packing my pocket notebook while on a trip and writing into it everywhere I go.

What are your rituals? And if you have not given them a thought, perhaps now is the time to recognise that perhaps you have many rituals too that you simply did not recognise as such explicitly. And now, as my watch strikes 5 pm, I will head out for another of my rituals: a post-writing walk as a little reward for myself.