It was pouring rain a couple of Saturday mornings ago, as my husband and I packed up our car with dog and baby to head to Central Park, as we do every Saturday, come rain, shine, hail, sleet or complete lack of sleep. It’s one of our many rituals.
“I may be pushing our luck this time”, I said to my husband, J, as buckets of rain hit our windshield. But still, we kept driving. And my faith lingered…
Faith in the oddest of tiny miracles we experience time and time again on these early Saturday morning outings ~ no matter what the weather is like when we leave our house, as soon as we’re approaching the park, the skies suddenly clear up and our walks are filled with the mystical glow and intoxicating smell that only follows after the rain. That misty air I love so much, that always calms me down as it seeps into my pores.
J used to protest our park trips when we’d wake up in the morning to a water filled sky. But each time I’d say, “let’s just go anyway babe”. And he’d oblige.
He doesn’t protest anymore, he knows our miracle never lets us down.
Our walks through the park during off leash hours (before 9:00 AM), where hundreds of dogs are running around freely, are the highlight of my week. Only a hurricane would make me want to miss them.
We hold hands and talk about life and all the things we hope for. We chase our dog. We talk to strangers. We fawn over our own little Rayne drop.
We stroll, slowly, enjoying the moment, the walk, the ease of the morning. Tea in hand.
We’re not rushing off to work, juggling the baby, catching up quickly on the phone or dealing with laundry, dishes and cooking dinner. We’re just strolling, enjoying the morning, the nature, the dogs, and each other’s company.
It brings us back. Back to each other. Back to our peaceful foundation, even if we’re discussing heated topics. We’re in our world, together, rehashing and reseting, so all that’s off can run parallel again.
And as we drive back home from the park, the sheets of rain often start pouring down once again. And each time I’m in awe of the timing of it all. In awe of the magic created in the honoring of our ritual.
The resetting. And then life, as it comes pouring back in.
My husband and I have so many rituals. Rituals that developed organically. Instinctually. But I’ve noticed over time how quickly these little rituals can ground your relationship when things are feeling off. How sturdily they can forge your foundation. Even the silly ones seem to work magic.
They work so well when you honor them. We don’t skip ours in a fight. I used to, I thought that was okay. I’d be furious about something so doing our simple kiss goodnight, our long hug in the morning, or our “I love you’s” as one walks out the door would get tossed aside.
But my husband taught me a better way. He is endlessly my teacher in love.
He never skips a ritual out of spite or anger. And over the years it’s proved to be such a comfort, to know that if I mess up and piss him off, he’ll still kiss me and say I love you before walking out the door. He doesn’t punish or use his love as a weapon, as I’ve experienced in previous relationships. He doesn’t withhold his love when things get ugly. He makes it unconditional.
It’s such a blessing that I’ve learned to give him the same courtesy, despite being somewhat more emotional of a person than he is (an understatement).
And with the honoring of each little ritual, no matter what the disagreement or annoyance is, we reset.
And like clearing of the skies on the rainiest of days, it’s our commitment to our rituals that helps us clear our own inner clouds, and has us walking hand in hand once again…
Perhaps if things seem rocky at times in any of your relationships (romantic, family or friend), you can find a way to create simple rituals that ground and reset.
*I hope they bring you a little magic*
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