Rituals & Destiny

Rita Ora, a British pop star and actress who isn’t nearly as famous in the U.S. as she should be, sings in her song called ritual, “And I'm always singing it like a prayer…oh, you'll always be my ritual.” I can’t hear the word without thinking of the song, which represents, for me, the very nature of almost all my rituals…habits…traditions…routines…compulsions: they’re emotional security blankets – things I do to quiet my mind, comfort my nervous system, and make sense of the world around me. They are learned, they are sacred, and to me, they are the opposite of chaos – through my rituals, I ground myself and bring order to an existence that feels increasingly out of control. 

Writing is one of my rituals. I write public birthday messages celebrating the people I love most in the world; I write emotional breakup emails to men; I write and edit obsessively a multi-page to-do list with reminders that stretch years into the future – a masterpiece one of those very exes once referred to as “Life dot doc.” 

My vanity is another ritual. As early as middle school, I reserved weekends for what I dubbed “beauty day,” an afternoon I’d spend laundering my sheets, pumicing my feet, painting my nails, and steam cleaning my jewelry. I laid out my outfits for the week and even packed my gym bag for five day’s worth of workouts – any deviation from those consistencies felt almost lawless and unsafe. Today, I find it relaxing to know that every five weeks, I’ll see my hair stylist, every four weeks, my lash artist, and every three, my nail artist, among others. I find those rituals calming and cleansing and wildly important to my sense of self, and my need for order. 

Cleaning is a deeply personal and relaxing ritual for me. I unpack my suitcase immediately upon returning from a trip, no matter the hour; I can’t go to sleep with dishes in the sink, streaks on the mirror, or any item out of place. For as long as I can remember, an untidy situation has left me unable to concentrate, and neatness has felt holy. 

Finally, movement is perhaps my most important ritual. I was never a natural athlete, but after a deeply disordered relationship with food and exercise in my late teens and early 20s, I now view fitness as a non-negotiable protective veil for my mental health. I became a group exercise coach a decade ago, and I find the combination of physiology, musicality, community and self-discovery to be the ritual with the most impact on my wellbeing. 

Friday nights are the encapsulation of so many of these rituals: I coach a group exercise class, pick up a turkey sandwich from a favorite nearby deli, write a work communication that goes out the following week, arrange my clothes for whatever is happening that weekend, and do my laundry. The last time I was in love, I knew it because I was able to loosen my grip on that ritual, and the freedom to live slightly outside my routines felt significant and romantic. 

There’s one ritual I’ve practiced since Election Day in 2004, when I worked on John Kerry’s presidential campaign in central Florida, and every election day sense: blasting the Destiny’s Child banger “Lose my Breath” to get hyped. I remain hopeful for the election days still to come, a perfectly imperfect display of one of the most valuable rituals of all: a representative democracy.

‍

Ori grew up in the Boston suburbs, but has called DC home for almost 25 years. When she's not communicating on behalf of progressive causes and issues, she fills her days drinking iced coffee, finding ways to expand her wardrobe, talking to every beagle she meets on the street, coaching group exercise classes, watching Bravo, and playing mahjong with her pals. You can find her writing in the NYT, USAToday and CNN.com, but she wrote those for other people -- she does her best work on her own Instagram, @okorin.