Traditions are necessary for remembering the past, a sense of security, and for us to feel connected. Some stay, some are abandoned, and some morph into something different and yet the same. Can we say the same about rituals?

This year, as we welcome two new additions to our family, I think about whether there is a difference between rituals and traditions. “Rituals differ from traditions in that rituals involve a series of actions that are repeated.” Can’t traditions involve a series of actions that are repeated? And if I think of a tradition as a ritual, doesn’t that make it even more meaningful? Are we too hasty in letting go of either?

Two examples in our home where ritual meets tradition are making eggnog and trimming the tree.

Every year we go to the same place for our tree. Our daughter, Jordan, was an expert at picking the perfect tree. Now that my husband and I are picking, I let the tree tell me it’s the right one. Perhaps, subconsciously, the same was for my daughter. The tree farm, Conifers Unlimited Christmas Tree Farm in Farmington, used to have a yurt.

We would duck into it and warm up by the fire while holding cups of hot cider while we nibbled on cookies. They no longer have the yurt. Its absence makes me sad. For us, this was more than a tradition; it was a ritual. In that yurt, we bonded as a family. Yurt or no yurt, we still make the trek. Walter and Joanne, consider this a wink and a wave if you’re reading this.

Once home, the tree is set in its stand and secured; the lights are waiting and soon entwine the branches. “It needs more lights!” I always exclaim. We can never have too many lights! The angel is put on the top from where she watches us through the season. Each ornament is placed just so as we talk about its history. The ribbon or paper chain encircling the tree goes on last. Our tree trimming is both a ritual and a tradition.

That eggnog, alongside the Cubanos and other snacks, exists every Christmas eve is a tradition. How it is made and who makes it is both tradition and ritual, and over the years, the practice has morphed into tradition tweaks, while the ritual has remained the same.

When the kids were little, I made the eggnog in two batches. One was the “adult” version with mom’s secret ingredients, and one was for the kiddos, sans secret ingredients. Cracking the eggs and adding the sugar, cream, and vanilla in just the right order was a meditative ritual. I use the same ritual every year in anticipation of the same cherished results.

Now that my son is an adult, his helping me has morphed this tradition into a mother-son ritual tradition. Throughout the process, we ponder if it needs a little more this or that until we finally proclaim its perfection and declare that once chilled, it will be prized by all.

Whether we consider rituals and traditions different, the same, or something in between, they both sustain us and have the power to take us higher.

Comments are not available on this story.