After a pretty good night’s sleep I awoke this morning at 5—as is my custom every day—found the dogs waiting impatiently for their breakfast in the kitchen—as is their custom—ground some coffee beans, set out the French Press, built a fire and put the kettle on. Tina and I spent some quiet time together after which she ended up back in bed for her weekly, “It’s Sunday morning and I don’t need to be up this early” second sleep. Those are the best sleeps of all.

I ended up sitting in my wingback chair next to the fire listening to the crackle of the flames, the quiet breathing of a sleeping beagle in the chair opposite me, the ticking of the grandfather clock and, although it was still dark outside, the distant sound of our rooster announcing to the garden that a new day had arrived.

This is, for the most part, my daily morning ritual. Some the details change. Sometimes I’m outside by the fire pit. Sometimes inside by the fireplace. The identity of the sleeping dog may change—it could be either one of two beagles or an old black Labrador—but there’s usually a dog involved.

I never know for sure what happens next. I might read the news, or a book, or write something myself, or doze off. I might pursue a creative thought, or try to get my arms around an emotion, or just sit there staring into the fire letting the moments drift by. I often get a glimpse of some of my best ideas when my mind is still relaxed and moving slowly but, just like a naturalist waiting in a blind for a wild animal to pass by, there’s no guarantee I’ll spot one on any given day. What happens next doesn’t matter. It only matters that it happens.

That is my ritual. I call it ritual because it happens again and again and brings a centering rhythm to my life. It is ritual, but not ritual not laid upon me by others. Rather, it flows from within me. I daily choose to build this altar from the raw materials of coming to know myself. It comes from no one else but me and exists for no one else but me. It is not required. It is desired. And in it there is no pretense or performance because no one else but me is there and no one else cares whether it happens or how it happens. This makes the ritual authentic and honest and that, I think, is the best kind.

These words came from that ritual this morning but to be completely honest I didn’t exactly write them for you so I don’t know what value they are to you, except perhaps as a witness to the power of personal ritual and an encouragement to find an honest and authentic one of your own. It will likely not look anything like mine and I’m not even saying you have to have one. Maybe it only matters to me and perhaps I’m projecting my own experience outward. But I don’t think I am?

I just sincerely believe that you deserve a time and a space and a place to meet yourself each day. I believe you are worth spending time with, talking to, listening to, and of all those who should be lined up every day for that honor, the person who should get the first access and the most access to you … is you.

So I guess that’s the message today: honor yourself by spending time with yourself. Part of the story I’m always talking about that I try to build into a home is making it a holy place for its occupants. Holy is not about religion. It’s just a word that means “set apart for something important.” That important thing is you. So I hope you too can find your holy place—an authentic space that honors your life and fits the ritual and rhythm your life deserves. You deserve a space and a place where you can sneak away and rendezvous with yourself, spend time with yourself, get to know yourself, even perhaps learn to like yourself. Then you’ll really be ready to walk out the door, face the world, and build yourself a beautiful life.