Cabin Rituals: Ways to Uplift Your Stay

Google defines a ritual as “a religious ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order.” But in my life, rituals tend to emerge more organically—without structure, without ties to religion. They’re simply the moments that bring me into the present, allowing me to embrace the illusion of time with a little more intention.  

Rituals differ from routines. They leave space for flexibility, for noticing, for feeling. Finding the miraculous in the mundane. Winks from the universe. It’s playing your favorite songs while cooking and dancing aimlessly around the kitchen. Sitting on the porch with your coffee, realizing the birds only seem to chirp in winter when the sun is out. (I too only “chirp” when the sun shines) It’s giving your dog a treat and laughing at how they savor it. Lighting an incense stick—or forgetting to—and pulling a tarot card anyway to spark a thought for journaling. Walking alone on the beach, searching for rocks that match the colors of the rainbow. 

Rituals can be solitary or shared. Feeling uplifted might come from a quiet moment alone or a refreshing hangout with friends: the ones that end with everyone texting afterward, “Wow, that was so good for my soul.” The laughter that makes your cheeks hurt, the deep conversations, or even crying together—like that one scene in Midsommar but without the cult undertones. Those moments are rituals in themselves, ones you carry into your week even when the moment is past.

I’ve noticed that the space I’ve created here at the Chakra Shack seems to encourage these kinds of rituals for my guests, too. Many of them have shared how their stay gave them an opportunity to step outside their routines back home. I often see couples and groups using the board games I leave out, turning a quiet evening into something filled with laughter.

One guest told me she spent hours by the water, starting the first draft of her novel. Another asked if I had plain paper for her to color on, and we ended up sharing my watercolor paints; she left me the most beautiful little painting of a sunset landscape that evening.

Then there was the guest who spent Thanksgiving here, meditating in solitude. She left behind the remainder of her sage for me to cleanse my own energy.

Without anyone saying it aloud, the space seems to offer exactly what I’d hoped it would: a place for people to create their own rituals, to slow down, and to connect—with themselves, each other, or simply the present.