This Is the Ceremony

A love note to the sacredness that’s already here.

Have you ever had one of those moments where something you’ve heard a hundred times finally lands?

It’s not that you didn’t know it before. You did. But it stayed in your mind—floating around like an idea, a concept, a quote you saved on Instagram or underlined in a book.

And then suddenly, without fanfare or warning, it drops.
Right into your heart.
Right into your body.
And everything softens.

That happened to me this week.

I’ve been in a season of doing a lot. More than usual. My calendar has felt a little overfull, my mind a little foggy. I’ve been craving more time for the things I say I value—ceremony, connection, slow mornings, creative rituals.

But I kept pushing those things to “later.”
Once this project is done.
Once the pace slows down.
Once I get through this month.

I kept imagining a slightly alternate version of my life—the one just over there. The version of me with more space to breathe. More room to feel. More time to journal. To stretch. To exist gently.

I was waiting to arrive at my life.

And then, in a moment of unexpected stillness, something inside of me whispered:

This is it.

Not later. Not someday.
Not when the to-do list is done or the inbox is cleared.

This is the ceremony.

Life isn’t something we step into once we “deserve” it.

It’s happening now—in the rushing, the resting, the moving, the pausing. In the small in-between moments. In the ordinary acts of brushing your teeth, paying the bills, folding the laundry, sending the email.

It’s not about adding more sacredness.
It’s about noticing that it’s already here.

My husband has told me this many times (patiently, lovingly):

“Meditation isn’t something you step away to do. It’s how you move through life.”

I’ve nodded along. I’ve even taught that very idea to others.
But this week, I felt it.
And that’s different.

There’s a wide gap between knowing and embodying.

Knowing is intellectual. It lives in your head. Embodying is intuitive. It moves through your breath, your pace, your presence.

This week, I didn’t change my schedule. I didn’t take a day off or book a retreat or create more time for journaling (though I love all those things).

But I noticed.

I noticed the warmth of my coffee mug in my hand.
I noticed the sound of birds as I walked to the car.
I noticed the way sunlight filtered through the kitchen window.

And for a fleeting moment—one that lingered—I realized that nothing needed to shift for me to feel connected.

I was already living it.

Ceremony isn’t always stillness and incense.

Sometimes it’s a deep breath between back-to-back calls.
Sometimes it’s folding the laundry with both hands instead of scrolling through your phone.
Sometimes it’s lighting a candle—not to set the mood, but to remember the light you already carry.

The sacred doesn’t ask to be performed.
It asks to be remembered.

I know I’ll forget this again.
I know I’ll keep reaching, rushing, resisting.
That’s human.

But I also know that life will keep offering me these reminders—these moments of return. These moments that whisper, You’re already here. You’re already enough. You’re already in it.

This is it.

This is the ceremony.