I’m not the kind of person who loses things.
In fact, since college, I can only recall one significant loss of property or possessions.
On New Year’s Eve fifteen years ago, after a chaotic period of couch surfing, I signed a lease for my new apartment.
That night I lost my keys.
(Note: It was 7:30 in the evening, so it was not celebration related, but it was clearly a psychological statement.)
And yet, now I find that I’ve lost something deeply important to me: my writing sweater.
It’s an unremarkable gray cardigan that originally belonged to my father.
(He died in 2015.)
Here’s what’s really strange…
Except perhaps for a trip to the lobby to get my mail, that sweater NEVER leaves my apartment, much less my apartment building.
In fact, it barely leaves my writing office.
On the eve of the NYC quarantine, the night I noticed it was missing, my friend Robbie and I searched my apartment top to bottom, which while spacious, doesn’t have that many nooks and crannies where clothing can go missing.
I even made a list of “suspects” who had visited me the day or two before.
While the quarantine prohibits me from traveling to search their closets, I feel relatively confident that none of those close friends is a cardigan thief (probably).
Beyond this, in the 40 days since the March16th quarantine began, it hasn’t miraculously “turned up.”
It’s not been found hidden in the forgotten guest linens or appeared accidentally rolled up inside a duvet cover.
It’s…just…vanished.
Here’s what I regret about losing that sweater.
It’s really not that it once belonged to my dad.
I still have a handful of things that were once his.
There’s a parka that he got from an Air Force buddy (my father was a marine).
His friend was stationed in Alaska, right at the end of World War II, servicing fighter jets.
That means this Air Force-issued coat is about 75 years old––and still the warmest thing imaginable.
And also, there’s a key ring from the plant where he worked for 35 years.
Again, it’s really not that I regret losing this sweater because of what it meant to him.
I regret the loss of the ritual I created around it.
You see, I’ve been wearing it since he died whenever I sat down to work.
And during that time, I’ve written…a lot. (At least 8 courses and books.)
One of my favorite books, THE WAR OF ART, which I recommend to all my writing clients, encourages the power of ritual.
So does one of my heroes, the choreographer Twyla Tharp:
I begin each day of my life with a ritual. I wake up at 5:30 AM, put on my workout clothes, my leg warmers, my sweatshirts, and my hat. I walk outside my Manhattan home, hail a taxi, and tell the driver to take me to the Pumping Iron Gym at 91st Street and First Avenue where I work out for two hours. The ritual is not the stretching and weight training I put my body through each morning at the gym. The ritual is the cab.
The moment I tell the driver where to go, I have completed the ritual.
I love that so much:
The ritual is the cab, not the workout.
My ritual was putting on the sweater.
And now, globally, all our rituals have been interrupted.
We can’t do things the way we used to do things…and yet things still need to get done.
And so, after searching for 30+ days, I decided that perhaps it was time to buy myself a new writing sweater.
And so, I did…
Rather than charcoal like its predecessor, I chose a deep red since that’s my chocolate lab Belle’s favorite color.
(Before everyone writes back to inform me that dogs can’t see color…Yes, yes, I “know” that “fact” and I politely disagree. I have my own completely unscientific theory that dogs can actually SMELL color…but that’s a whole other, more controversial topic.)
I also opted for XXL as well because I wanted to be completely comfortable.
(Writing is already hard enough.)
Beyond sharing the change in my wardrobe, here’s the point of all this.
In this crazy time, I’ve realized two things:
1. Connection is vital.
(That’s why Stefan and I are opening up the Inner Circle in May HERE…and why I’m sharing yoga every day HERE.)
2. New Rituals are required.
We not only need structure, the deepest part of us also CRAVES it.
(Just FYI, that’s also partly why I’m teaching every day and also opening the membership: sharing in this way is selfish, meaning it’s also really good for ME.)
And when new rituals are needed, sometimes you have to let go of the past––even things that were working perfectly well for you, like a charcoal cardigan that once belonged to your dad.
Who knows what will happen next creatively (for any of us)?
All I can do is see what happens when I sit down on Monday––this time wearing a new red V-neck––and begin working again.
Namaste for Now…
