Following the Ritual Path

It is a ritual for me where I drive each morning to my place of work. Sure it adds about a mile to the trip from the more direct way of getting there, and the traffic is slow. Still, it is a ritual, making a connection with a place of joy in the past. I got lost driving for the first time to my new work place, but that was not what made the drive taking that route a ritual. Being aware that I was well and truly lost and that being late would not please my new bosses. I had to do something.

So I decided to pull over to a grocery store to ask for directions to Barley Street where my job was. I went to the nearest checkout person, a woman, who was just a few steps away from the entrance. Not only did she give me the directions that I so badly needed, but we began to talk more socially after a couple of minutes of her explaining how to get to where I needed to go. Being a single man at the time, I looked to see whether she was wearing a wedding ring. At the same time I soon saw that she was looking directly at the fourth finger on the my left hand, as well. She then asked me whether I would be alone for dinner that night. I, of course, said ‘yes’. That would be our first date. We had a few more dates over the next few weeks. It was not long before we decided that we should get married.

We had four absolutely wonderful years of marriage. At least that was my impression, but over time she apparently did not have the same view. She initiated the divorce, and she soon married again with someone who worked at the same place as I did. I wondered whether she had been checking him out at parties that we attended of the people with whom I worked.

My fellow male employees have asked me why I still take that longer more out-of-the-way route to work. I tell them that it had been a place of joy for me, a feeling that I could not seem to lose completely despite what eventually happened.

I am a person that loves rituals. Before every game of the Toronto Maple Leafs, I put on a particular blue shirt. True, they have not won the Stanley Cup in a very long time, years before I was born, but that does not make me lose the ritual that I initiated as a boy. The shirt is a little tight on me now, my mother bought it for me when I was 12, but I still wear it on game day. Maybe I should wear skates as the ritual, rather than the blue shirt, when I am watching their games on television.

Maybe I Should Give Up This Outdated Ritual

I am thinking now that maybe I should give up on this ritual. It’s a year now after the divorce, and I turn my head away from the grocery store when my car approaches it. As it turned out, it was not hard to avoid it one morning. I slept in about 20 minutes, so I had to take the faster root I had been told about for the first time. I had watched a late Toronto Maple Leafs game that was played in the home stadium of the Los Angeles Kings, and it went into overtime. I was debating with myself when the regulation time ended as a tie, about whether I should see the rest of the game. Still, I wanted to prove myself a loyal fan. They of course lost. So much for loyalty. Perhaps I should change my ritual to wearing skates in my living room when I watch their games.

So I got into my car in a hurry, and headed to the route that I knew would take me significantly faster. It was on the very same street that my work was. I left so fast that I forgot to take with me a coffee. So I when I suddenly spotted a coffee shop on the same side of the road as I was. It was called “Carol’s Coffee”. I pulled over rather rapidly, driving a little fear into the driver following me rather closely.

The woman who poured the coffee for me gave me a big smile as well, as she said that her name was “Carol.” I believed that the smile was genuine, and not just because I was buying her coffee. I returned the gesture. I told her that I had left for work so fast that I had forgotten my coffee, which for me is a ritual before getting to work. I would like to have spoken with her longer, but I was in a hurry, and there was already a person behind me who looked like he had a similar forgetful experience.

So I waved goodbye to her, which she returned with another big smile, and I walked slowly to the door, not wanting to leave her company. This would be my new route, and it would be combined with buying coffee at Carol’s Coffee every time as part of my new ritual. Maybe I should do that when this day’s work is over and I am driving home. I will have to look at her left hand very carefully to check whether is wearing a wedding ring. If not I will check further by saying something like, “Your husband or boyfriend is very lucky in having a great coffee maker for a wife or girlfriend.” If her answer is that she has neither, then I will be a regular coffee buyer both to and away from work. Maybe we will establish a relationship. Who knows what the result will be?

I drove the rest of the trip to my workplace with a smile on my face that I could see in my rearview mirror. As it turned out, I was ten minutes ahead of time when I arrived at my place of work. I opened the front door for a woman that I believe I had never seen before.

She spoke to me as if she knew me. “So you are the romantic man that takes a long route to work as a ritual because you married the woman that you met when you asked for directions. I have heard that you still take that route, even though she has left you. Is that true?”

I quickly replied. “It is true no longer. Leaving home late this morning, I took the short cut for the first time. That is why I am early this morning.”

“Well, I am a woman who appreciates a man who is both a romantic, and one who believes in rituals. I engage in them myself. I am assuming that you got here via Barley Street. As it turns out, I take that road myself. Why don’t we have dinner together in a diner on that street? I know one that my former husband and I used to take every weekday. What do you say? We could share a ritual. Who knows what could happen?”

Unable to speak, I just nodded my head vigorously. My faith in ritual was not yet lost.