From the notebooks: A new year's ritual
Dec. 30th, 2008 02:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pjthompsonThis is a post I did for a small, private mailing list. We were describing personal rituals for New Year's and this details one I used to do. The logistics eventually got too complicated, so I stopped doing it. I thought to restart it again this year because we have a fireplace and we planned to start using it again. It hadn't been used in at least five years, so we called in a chimney sweep. He turned out to be a certified chimney inspector as well as a sweep and he had some bad news: the chimney had cracks in it, one large hole behind the mantle, and a smaller hole up top. He recommended we not use the fireplace until we have the repairs done as it could be dangerous. He himself doesn't do those kinds of repairs, but recommended a company who did. It could cost upwards of 3k, so needless to say, we won't be having a fire any time soon.
If I can think of a way of reviving this ritual that doesn't entail me releasing carbon monoxide in the house or standing outside in the cold at midnight, I may revise this, but . . . I may also not have as great a need for it as I once had. Maybe that's the real reason I stopped doing it—and why I haven't invested much creativity into coming up with a solution. That's the other thing about ritual: it changes as one's needs change.
January 1, 1998
I find ritual, especially ones I make up for myself, to be a powerful metaphorical tool, one that helps me grow and change and "redistribute my neuroses," so to speak. People need metaphors (like religion, honor, etc.) to live by. I do, anyway—and if the ones society hands us seem bankrupt, we must create our own.
Over the course of the year, I negate negative voices or mitigate regrets and recriminations (really, all the same thing) by writing each one down on little pieces of paper, folding them up, and sticking them into a little wooden covered bowl. The idea of covering or containing is important—so they can't get out. I do this especially if they are persistent, recurring negative thoughts, regrets, etc. To encourage the positive, I also write them down on little pieces of paper, fold them up, and put them in a covered wooden box. The idea of holding them dear is important here.
I always wind up being more scrupulous about getting rid of the negative—at least I'm more consistent with that—because inevitably at the end of the year there's a greater accumulation of negative notes than positive. So I usually have to sit down in the hour before midnight and write positive notes to myself. Anything and everything, from "I have a good singing voice" to "I did a good job cleaning the sink tonight" to "I do good rituals!" to "I am compassionate and caring" go into the pot and if it's rather dorkish, so be it. (And why is it, I ask, that positive reinforcement always does seem dorkish, whereas cynicism and criticism doesn't?) The rule is, write them down, no matter how vain or immodest, write them even if that little voice of contradiction comes up and says, "Yeah, but—-" I tell that voice of contradiction, "Tonight, you do not hold sway." I do this for a full half hour, and by the end of that time, I'm usually wracking my brain to come up with stuff, but I keep going. And soon the little wooden box is overflowing.
In the last half hour before midnight, I remove the negative notes from their container and burn them one by one, leaving them behind in the old year while carrying the positive forward into the new. It's not that those negative thoughts won't return, but I leave them behind. If they recur, as some of them inevitably will, then I will deal with them in the moment, in the new year, and not drag them from year to year. It's a rich metaphor for me and surprisingly liberating. I have shown the voices of negativity my disregard and, for the moment anyway, they have no power over me.
Sometime on new year's day, I release the positive in some appropriate way.
If I can think of a way of reviving this ritual that doesn't entail me releasing carbon monoxide in the house or standing outside in the cold at midnight, I may revise this, but . . . I may also not have as great a need for it as I once had. Maybe that's the real reason I stopped doing it—and why I haven't invested much creativity into coming up with a solution. That's the other thing about ritual: it changes as one's needs change.
January 1, 1998
I find ritual, especially ones I make up for myself, to be a powerful metaphorical tool, one that helps me grow and change and "redistribute my neuroses," so to speak. People need metaphors (like religion, honor, etc.) to live by. I do, anyway—and if the ones society hands us seem bankrupt, we must create our own.
Over the course of the year, I negate negative voices or mitigate regrets and recriminations (really, all the same thing) by writing each one down on little pieces of paper, folding them up, and sticking them into a little wooden covered bowl. The idea of covering or containing is important—so they can't get out. I do this especially if they are persistent, recurring negative thoughts, regrets, etc. To encourage the positive, I also write them down on little pieces of paper, fold them up, and put them in a covered wooden box. The idea of holding them dear is important here.
I always wind up being more scrupulous about getting rid of the negative—at least I'm more consistent with that—because inevitably at the end of the year there's a greater accumulation of negative notes than positive. So I usually have to sit down in the hour before midnight and write positive notes to myself. Anything and everything, from "I have a good singing voice" to "I did a good job cleaning the sink tonight" to "I do good rituals!" to "I am compassionate and caring" go into the pot and if it's rather dorkish, so be it. (And why is it, I ask, that positive reinforcement always does seem dorkish, whereas cynicism and criticism doesn't?) The rule is, write them down, no matter how vain or immodest, write them even if that little voice of contradiction comes up and says, "Yeah, but—-" I tell that voice of contradiction, "Tonight, you do not hold sway." I do this for a full half hour, and by the end of that time, I'm usually wracking my brain to come up with stuff, but I keep going. And soon the little wooden box is overflowing.
In the last half hour before midnight, I remove the negative notes from their container and burn them one by one, leaving them behind in the old year while carrying the positive forward into the new. It's not that those negative thoughts won't return, but I leave them behind. If they recur, as some of them inevitably will, then I will deal with them in the moment, in the new year, and not drag them from year to year. It's a rich metaphor for me and surprisingly liberating. I have shown the voices of negativity my disregard and, for the moment anyway, they have no power over me.
Sometime on new year's day, I release the positive in some appropriate way.