Traditions come and traditions go
Traditions come and traditions go
And that can be really hard to accept
Last week, I stood in a circle of mostly strangers in the middle of the woods. We all held hands, introduced ourselves, and each shared something we were grateful for.
“Hi, I’m Katie. I’m from St. Pete, and I’m grateful for traditions.”
My partner and two of my closest friends, John and Josie, were the non-strangers in the circle. Everyone else was either a guest or staff member of The Hostel in the Forest, a no-frills retreat in Brunswick, Georgia, that’s built on environmental sustainability and communal living.
The gratitude circle marks the start of a nightly tradition at the Hostel. It connects everyone before dinner, a meal that is shared together, and is followed by a music-fueled group cleanup of the kitchen. It’s one of the traditions I nodded to in my introduction. The other tradition was what brought me to the Hostel in the first place. John, Josie and I were in Brunswick for a friendaversary trip—the third annual vacation that the three of us had taken together.
My husband Jamie and I met John and Josie in March 2015, during a blind double-date that was set up by our realtor. She sold houses to each new-to-Florida couple, and had a feeling we would hit it off. She was right.
Is friendship at first sight at thing? Because ours felt like a whirlwind romance. After navigating our way through the awkwardness of a blind friend date, we decided to see each other again, and again, and again. We spent most free weekends and evenings together, laughing and sharing stories, and exploring the state we now lived in. John, Josie, Jamie and I were inseparable; it was so much easier and more fun to navigate a brand new city with brand new friends.
We eventually decided our friendship was special enough that it deserved to be celebrated. On the first anniversary of our blind double-date, we recreated the evening, with dinner at the same restaurant and drinks afterwards at our favorite brewery. As our second anniversary inched closer, we determined an annual trip would be even better. We agreed on New Orleans.
If you’ve read this newsletter for any amount of time you know this part: Jamie died, one month before we planned to take that trip. Although we were nothing short of numb, John, Josie and I decided to go to New Orleans anyway. My friends were mourning, just like I was, and also shared the trauma of being at the race where Jamie died and seeing his collapsed body. We all needed an opportunity to escape.
I’ve enjoyed plenty of traditions with people over the years. There were annual family road trips, Christmas morning routines, holiday dinners, group friend vacations, and so on. I wish I could say that I handled changes in those traditions gracefully, but alas. I desperately wanted to hold onto what once was. When my grandmother died, I was insistent that our family beach vacations continue on exactly the same—even though that was impossible. Every Christmas, I was determined to capture a perfect photo of Jamie and I with our dog, Henry—even when that meant taking an obscene amount of self-timed portraits and inevitable grumpy moods. I’ve held onto traditions tightly, and felt disillusioned and defeated whenever they fell apart.
It’s said that as you get older, change is harder to accept. That seems like a cruel fact, considering the biggest changes we experience often come with age. Priorities shift, opportunities wane, people die.
There was—and, let’s be honest, probably still is—part of me that was mad at all the promises Jamie and I made. If we didn’t plan friendaversary trips, would I feel so much like a third wheel on our vacations? If we didn’t take those Christmas photos, would seeing other families’ holiday cards hurt less? If we never vowed to return to Paris every five years, would I know what I was missing?
In his book Transitions, William Bridges explores the three stages of any life transition: Endings, neutral zones, and new beginnings. The last stage sometimes results from careful and conscious planning, but new beginnings oftentimes happen naturally, sometimes seemingly accidentally.
“Our most important beginnings take place in the darkness outside of our awareness,” Bridges writes. “It is, after all, the ending that makes the beginning possible.”
Jamie’s death could have marked the end of our friendaversaries. Instead, it marked the start of something new. This year, my partner joined us on our annual friend trip, and he fit right in. That change in tradition made me happy and sad; I felt speechless by how unpredictable life can be.
Traditions may not last, and they certainly will change, but that doesn’t mean they’re pointless. They connect us with the people and places we love most. They’re useful for personal growth, too: they give us a meaningful and recurring way to track progress and acceptance over time.
xoxo
KHG
p.s. I wrote a first-person piece for CNN. As Notre Dame was burning and its fate was unclear, I found a photo of Jamie standing in front of the cathedral that was taken during our honeymoon. I tweeted it with the caption, "Everything is ephemeral." That tweet led to this essay.
p.p.s. If you’re enjoying My Sweet Dumb Brain, please encourage a friend or two to subscribe. You can also share this week’s essay on social media. (Pro-tip: If you’re a Medium member, please consider applauding my stories! It helps me earn a little cash each time.)
Good job, brain
I'm currently reading: Hope in the Dark, by Rebecca Solnit. This book is the perfect antidote for when the state of the world seems hopeless and overwhelming. It’s a short and inspiring read, and I highly recommend it.
I’m currently inspired by: Shine Theory. I’ve long been a believer in supporting and surrounding myself with smart and amazing friends, and have seen many mutual benefits as a result. I enjoyed this Shine Theory recap on the always A+ podcast “Call your Girlfriend.”
I'm currently aiming to: Keep writing! My Notre Dame essay and recent Modern Loss piece were both results of sitting my butt in a chair and writing as soon as I felt inspired. Jolts of creativity can be fleeting, and I'd like to take advantage of them more often.
Additional resources
Do you ever feel like you're The Least Important Friend? This advice on how to deal with friendships waning over time is really great.
I love this: Intellectual humility is one way to stay open-minded and adapt to change.
Speaking of open-mindedness, the Hostel in the Forest requires a good dose of it. I loved the experience, especially being in nature, with nary a laptop, cell phone, or TV to be found.
For your sweet dumb brain
Is there a tradition you’re holding onto for no other good reason than “we’ve always done it this way"? Take some time to think about the traditions in your life, and whether you’re clinging onto any of them out of fear. It’s totally normal to feel this way—we’re all averse to change!—but it’s also healthy to challenge that fear. Try and loosen your grip a little. Instead of always having a certain meal at a certain time during a certain trip because that’s what grandma did, allow yourself to explore whether younger relatives have different approaches for communal dinners.
This is just an example! I’m definitely not subtweeting my family. (I love you, mom.)
My Sweet Dumb Brain is written by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. It’s edited by Rebecca Coates. Photo by Arnaud Mesureur on Unsplash.