A story about release, ritual, and the quiet work of midlife.
Something interesting happens in midlife.
We get wiser.
We get clearer.
And we also carry more.
More responsibility.
More memories.
More inner turning points with nothing to mark them.
Childhood gives us rituals without asking — birthdays, first days of school. But midlife?
Midlife is full of transitions that happen quietly inside us.
We lose parents and try to keep life steady.
We evolve while the world sees sameness.
We hold stories and emotions that have nowhere to go.
Rituals matter because they give shape to what we already know.
They draw a boundary between what was and what will be.
They help us let go and begin again.
I didn’t fully understand that until a morning on a shoreline in Baja.
Near the end of a couples’ retreat at the Modern Elder Academy, Marcia and I sat with a shaman named Saúl. It was outside our comfort zone, but the week had been full of stretching.
He spoke with Marcia first. Within minutes, he named something she had carried alone for nearly 30 years — a story she had never spoken aloud.
Her words surprised me — unexpected but not disruptive.
We weren’t ready to process it yet, but I knew we’d return to it when the pace slowed.
Then Saúl turned to me.
He sensed something I had been holding tightly: the grief of losing my mother.
I told him how Alzheimer’s had taken her slowly, but the end came fast — too fast for goodbye. I barely got the words out.
He listened and offered a ritual:
“Tomorrow morning, take an apple.
Rub it with your energy.
Tell your mother what you need her to hear.
Throw the apple into the sea.
And trust nature to do the rest.”
That night, Marcia and I talked about our stories; the ones we’d carried quietly, the ones we were still understanding.
And the ones we hoped to rewrite together.
It wasn’t tidy. But it was real.
And something between us opened rather than closed.
The next morning, I reached for an apple.
Without a word, Marcia picked up one too — her own quiet sign that she was ready to release what she had carried for decades.
Two apples.
Two stories.
Two people letting go.
We walked to the shoreline and tossed them into the Pacific.
The waves tossed them right back, as if the sea were asking, “Are you sure you’re ready?”
Saúl had prepared us for this saying:
“Whatever happens, leave them. Nature knows when and how to carry what you release.”
So we sat with our coffee and watched.
Not forcing anything.
Letting the moment do its work.
As we watched, a faint rainbow appeared on the horizon; settling between the apples as they rolled in the surf.
And when the time was right, the ocean carried them out to sea.
What That Morning Taught Me |
Rituals aren’t magic.
They’re meaning.
A place to stand during transitions we can’t explain.
A way to mark the invisible shifts that define midlife.
They can be simple — a symbol of release, a quiet walk, a letter you never send.
Anything that says, “This matters. I’m honoring this moment.”
Your turn. Journal Prompt |
What story, emotion, or unfinished moment in your life feels ready to be honored or released — and what small ritual could help you mark that shift?
Take five quiet minutes.
Write whatever comes.
Let the page hold what you’ve been carrying.
If you're navigating your own turning point, reach out. Reply to this note or schedule a call.
You don’t have to do this alone.
Your next chapter starts with one decision: to stop waiting.
Mark Wigginton, MS, Certified Professional Coach
Personal Coach | Midlife Guide | Next Chapter Navigator
📬 MarkW@FocusingOnResults.com
🌐 www.focusingonresults.com
🔗 Connect with me on LinkedIn
P.S. If this message resonated with you, it might speak to someone else too. Forward it to a friend who’s ready for their next chapter—you never know what kind of shift a few words of encouragement can spark.
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