Jon Staff

I was building a campfire at one of our Getaway outposts recently when I started thinking about rituals. Whenever I spend a night at one of our tiny cabins, no matter how cold, tired, or uninspired I am, I always build a fire. There’s something about the physical work of arranging the wood in the fire pit, the sight of the flames catching and growing, the sound of crackling and that unmistakable sweet, smoky smell that makes me feel like I’m truly somewhere else, far from the stress and pressure of my life back home. Committing the time and making the drive from Brooklyn helps to get me here, but it’s the ritual of the campfire that allows me to really let go. 

Unlike habits—things we do so routinely we barely notice we’re doing them—rituals are performed with awareness and intention. They’re hardwired in us: humans from every time period and culture on earth perform rituals, sometimes together and other times alone. We have rituals for luck, for courage, for celebrating births and honoring the dead, for healing, for good vibes, for bringing the rain. 

Whether rituals can actually deliver luck, fortune, or good weather is an open question, but recent studies show that we receive concrete psychological benefits from them either way. The repeated gestures and actions of a ritual can give us a sense of order and control, measurably reducing stress and anxiety. 

Like a lot of people, I’ve had to let some rituals go this past year. Over the holidays, which Michael and I celebrated quietly in our apartment, I found myself missing not just my family but my mom’s jello salad, a regular staple of our Christmas dinner. (I could’ve made it myself, but it wouldn’t have been the same. And you can be sure that Michael, who didn’t grow up with this particular midwestern delicacy, was not missing it.) 

Luckily, I’ve been able to maintain one of my favorite rituals: the email list-serv I started years ago with some grad school friends, in order to stay connected after graduation. Every two weeks like clockwork, one of my friends sends out a new email, and the rest of us reply with brief bullet-point updates about our lives. Exchanging quick email updates with friends doesn’t always feel super meaningful in the moment. But over time, these biweekly dispatches have become an indispensable archive of who we were and who we’re becoming.

Like any investment, the value of a ritual isn’t immediate, but cumulative. As behavioral scientist Nick Hobson explains, “The more we do them, the more meaningful they become, both to us and to others with whom we might share them.” For my friends and me, our listserv has become a lifeline, especially over this long hard year of social distancing. 

And then there’s the Getaway campfire, which always takes me back–not to a specific time or place, but to a particular kind of feeling I get when I’m surrounded by nature. It’s peaceful and simple and elemental: the heat of the fire on my face, the stars overhead. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

What rituals–whether new, modified, or old standbys–have been getting you through this winter? Share them with us at lodge@getaway.house.

Ready to create some of your own rituals in nature? Book your Getaway today.

For my partner Michael and I—along with many of our peers who live far from the places they grew up—it can be easy to get bogged down in logistics around the holiday season. Will we travel or stay put? Is there a way to spend time with all of the people who matter to us, or will we have to choose, and if we have to choose, whose turn is it? Last year, Michael and I spent Thanksgiving in Minnesota with my family. This year, as my parents, siblings, nieces and nephews gathered together in the Upper Midwest, Michael and I flew to the UK to spend the holiday with his family. 

Michael was born and raised in England, so Thanksgiving isn’t a cultural touchstone to him the way it is to me. His dad is American, though, so his family does observe the holiday in their own hybrid, half-British way. In deference to my American upbringing, this year they agreed to prepare a classic American Thanksgiving dinner—turkey and gravy, stuffing and cranberry sauce—rather than a traditional English roast. And in deference to my Minnesota roots, they asked me to contribute a Jell-O salad. 

If you’re not familiar with this iconic Midwestern dish, here’s what goes into Jell-O salad: Jell-O in the flavor of your choice; Cool Whip; and a can of fruit cocktail (I think this is the part that makes it “salad”). Michael’s family thinks the concept of Jell-O salad is very funny, and they are also under the impression that I really love it. 

“Love” is probably too strong a word to describe my feelings for Jell-O salad, but I can’t deny that it was a holiday staple in my home growing up, and continues to feature on my mom’s menu each Thanksgiving and Christmas. For me, a single sweet, slippery mouthful is enough to unlock a cascade of memories from past holidays around my family’s dinner table, which in turn reminds me of the place and people I come from. It’s not the dish, really; it’s the way that traditions large and small can give us a sense of continuity and belonging, no matter where we are. Michael’s family has their own set of rituals and traditions, of course, so I’m grateful for the way they’ve made space not just for me but for this most dubious “salad,” which will always remind me of home. 

As we grow up and branch off from our families of origin to create new communities, partnerships, or families, the holiday season inevitably becomes more complicated. On any given occasion, there are only so many places we can go, people we can see, dinner tables we can converge around.  But many traditions travel well, or require no travel at all: the annual reciting of a beloved poem, prayer, story, or song; a favorite family recipe; a long walk after a big meal. Shared traditions can collapse time and space. They can become a way of being together regardless of geography. I was with Michael and his family in the English countryside; my own family was 4,000 miles away in the northern Minnesota woods, and there was plenty of Jell-O salad for all. 

I’ve always counted Thanksgiving as one of my favorite holidays, but I didn’t fully appreciate how much I treasure its familiar rituals—gathering in the company of loved ones to stuff ourselves with delicious seasonal foods—until last year. As Joni Mitchell famously sang in “Big Yellow Taxi”: Don’t it always seem to go / that you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone? 

Last November, like most people I know, I had a Sad Thanksgiving. With Covid-19 raging across the country and around the world, Michael and I cooked a quiet meal in our apartment. Then we propped a laptop on the dinner table, logged onto Zoom, and tried our best to pretend that the loved ones who showed up in little boxes on screen were actually sitting at the table with us. Needless to say, it wasn’t the same. 

This holiday season, public health experts have given the greenlight for fully vaccinated people to get together safely in-person. I’m overjoyed for the chance to sit around a table with my whole family again, eating lefse — a traditional Norwegian potato bread — and Jell-O salad — a traditional Midwestern dish that is definitely not salad.  And I’m filled with gratitude: for my loved ones who I’ve missed so much; for the scientists and public health workers who’ve made it safer for us to come together again; for the medical teams who’ve risked their own lives to save others; for the frontline workers who’ve showed up to their jobs and kept our cities and towns running even during the scariest times in recent memory.

Part of gratitude means reckoning with the magnitude of what we’ve lost. As I write this, more than 770,000 Americans and 5 million people worldwide have died from Covid-19, figures that seemed absolutely unimaginable back in March 2020, or even at this time last year. Far more have suffered through the virus, and some continue to struggle with its long-term effects. Many people have lost loved ones, jobs, and relationships that couldn’t withstand the ongoing stress and worry. All of us have lost time. 

The pandemic has changed our lives in some ways we can already see and other ways we won’t fully understand for years. How will we rebuild from here? What new values, priorities, and traditions will emerge from this unprecedented age? 

Going forward, I don’t want to limit my musings on gratitude, reunions with loved ones, and appetite for huge communal meals to a single Thursday in November. I want to make space for hearty shared meals and festivity with my people all year round. What new traditions will you and yours dream up? 

Happy holidays, and be well, 

Jon

Like so much else in 2020, Thanksgiving isn’t going to look like it usually does. In a regular year, my partner Michael and I would do Friendsgiving in Brooklyn before heading off to celebrate Thanksgiving Day with my family in Minnesota. This year, with coronavirus cases spiking nationwide and public health officials urging Americans to stay home and avoid gatherings, Michael and I will be spending the holiday in our apartment, eating turkey for two.

It’s not the version of this holiday I was hoping for, especially after such a long and stressful year. When so much has been taken from us already, it’s frustrating to face yet another difficult tradeoff between carefree celebration and the safety of our loved ones and communities. At the same time, heading into this national holiday of gratitude, I have to say I also feel more grateful than ever.

I’m grateful that my family and I are healthy, in a year when so many have suffered tremendous illness and loss. As I walk around my neighborhood and see beloved shops and restaurants shuttered, I feel grateful—and lucky—that the business I started five years ago can still thrive in our current crisis. I’m grateful for my team of flexible, creative, and hard-working colleagues, who have figured out how to continue delivering the highest standards of safety and care for our guests. I’m grateful for our guests, who keep showing up and sharing their stories with us.

And though this might sound funny coming from me, this year I am really grateful for digital technology! At Getaway, we often talk about the importance of disconnecting from tech to be more present with our surroundings and the people right in front of us. But in the age of social distancing, Zoom and FaceTime have become a vital lifeline. This Thanksgiving, my family and I won’t be sharing a table, but we’ll be propped up on each other’s tables, beaming in from computers and phone screens tucked between the cranberry sauce and the gravy boat. It’s not the same as being together, but it’s as close as we can get, and that’s enough for now.

This Thanksgiving, whether your loved ones are near or far, spend some time expressing gratitude for the people you are thankful for. If you can’t be with family or friends, schedule a phone or video chat to catch up and share your experiences. Our website will be down on Thursday to help you and our team enjoy the day with fewer interruptions. We’ll still be on-call for folks staying in our cabins!

Need some time off in nature? Book your Getaway today.