I’m not celebrating the solstice this year

At least, not the way I want to

It’s another random edition of Peace of the Whole! All letters are free and not promoted on social media. There are no subscribe or share buttons. We keep it calm around here. I might make a “tip” button in the future because capitalism’s still happening, but we’ll see.

This letter is as much a surprise to me as maybe it is to you.

Infrequent, unscheduled publishing is how things will roll here now. And nothing had really caught my (very scattered) attention enough to write about it until today. I’ve been aware the summer solstice was upcoming, but I’ve made no moves to celebrate it. Again.

I’m writing because I am a bit disappointed about that.

For a few years now I’ve been exploring cyclical living, ancient rituals, other ways of doing things. And yet I still can’t seem to celebrate the equinoxes and solstices, not even in just a small way but any sort of way. This is a fact that causes me some frustration and I’ve done nothing to rectify it.

The solstices and equinoxes mark physical, astrological events that have real, observable impacts on us and our world. They are the true beginnings and endings of seasons. But in 2024 most people don’t even know when they occur, let alone observe them. We celebrate Christmas, New Years, Thanksgiving, etc. though—all of which are arbitrary dates and cultural constructs largely instigated, in one way or another, by or for men. (Which is not to say they can’t be meaningful, only that they lack diversity in their origins and aren’t attached to a physical reality.)

Increasingly, I’m finding the usual rotation of holidays (literally “holy days”) boring at best and tiresome at worst. But I can’t quit them yet.

The handful of holidays observed in my culture feel both rote and overburdened by histories—personal and otherwise. I want them to be more than they are, and also less. Doing a thing because it is “tradition” has, to me, never felt like a good reason to do something, but I do like continuity. The amount of commercialization largely feels like it detracts from the most important parts of all the holidays, but participating in the commercialization is part of what makes me feel like I am—well—participating. I want more options without looking weird, but I also kinda want to look weird. I want to do what feels best for me without causing undue distressing to other people.

The few holidays I have as a North American person of largely European, Christian descent feel to me like too few days of celebration, wherein the celebratory-ness is too concentrated. Can’t we spread it out a bit? Can’t we celebrate more? Can we have some variety? Can’t something else be the focus?

What to celebrate then? I turn to the Wheel of the Year for examples, because while the Wheel of the Year is a modern construct, it is inspired by celebrations my ancestor would have likely held. (Please see this wonderful blog post on the Wheel of the Year from my dear friend who I actually met via said blog post!) In the Wheel of the Year, the solstices and equinoxes make up the quarter days. (The cross quarter days being things like Samhain and Beltane.) The solstices and equinoxes are observable phenomenon, which I like, and they signify the beginnings/endings of seasons. I like that too. And so, why not at least celebrate those?

I’ve been saying this for several years. No celebration has yet materialized.

What will it take for me to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes?

And how would I like to celebrate them?

It seems the answer to both of those questions is clear but inconvenient. Community. Perhaps it’s just me but again and again lack of community seems to be one of the major problems of modern life. And here again it strikes. I don’t have a community to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes with. So I don’t celebrate them. Yet.

This is, after, what makes the holidays we already observe special. We do them together, not alone. Most often, we sit around a table with other people.

Overall, doing things with other people has gotten us this far as a species. It’s been part of our survival; it’s woven into us. It’s a both reasonable component of a celebration and worthy inclusion. I suppose if you do it alone it’s a ritual, not a celebration. Is that fair to say? And I’m all for ritual but right now I could use a good strong dose of celebration.

But there’s no precedent for celebrating the solstices in the cultures I come from. Nobody I know gets off work on these days, the banks are still open, the grocery stores have anything special stocked for solstice parties. Most people, it seems, think summer arrives with the last day of school or the most scorching day, not the solstice. According to most people I talk to, summer started a while ago.

What would I do if I could do anything I wanted to celebrate the summer solstice?

Here is where answering questions gets harder. I suppose I’d like to host a good party—I haven’t done that for a while. It would be outside. Shoes would be shunned. Maybe we won’t even call it a party, just a gathering. I think I’d like to make written invitations. I would just like to participate in a communal expression of joy that summer is beginning. Perhaps one year it might happen on or at beach and we would all take a swim together. We would burn candles and bonfires until the longest day of the years comes to an end. I don’t even care what the meal consists of so long as there are cherries, lemonade and chocolate chip cookies.

What did you think I was going to say? I mean, if someone wants to dance around the bonfire under the light of the moon I’m not opposed. Dancing just isn’t my thing.

The togetherness is the most important part. I want it to be something a group of us know we do together each year. That’s really all my requirements are.

I would like to honor together with others the fact that we have made it to another summer solstice. And I would like to promise, with others, that we will do all that we can to come together again in one year’s time to celebrate another solstice. I would like to live from solstice to equinox to solstice with those memories and that promise.

What we do is less important than why we do it.

And that will not be this year.

This year, there is no gathering. There’s no communal observance. Last night, after beginning this letter, I felt I had to do something. So I made five bouquets from our cut flower garden and put them out at the end of our walk for free. This has been the purpose of growing our flower garden from the start—being able to make free bouquets for the neighborhood—and it felt right to begin it on solstice. I may not have the chance of togetherness with others on this day but at least flowers my husband grew and I arranged will bring color to someone’s day. And I will spend the day brewing plans for changes that will hopefully get me closer to a community of people who are also eager to observe the solstices.

This is the season I’m in. There is something to be learned from it.

So I suppose that the reason I’m writing to you today is that I would like to feel a little less alone in my observation of the summer solstice and I know some of you will understand. I wonder too if some of you are feeling alone in a place where solstices aren’t honor, and I want you to know I’m thinking of you.

Write back (by which I mean comment) if you’re observing the solstice today, if you want to but aren’t, if you have before but you’re not this year, etc. What are you doing? What would you like to do for this special day? Do you have thoughts about beginning a new tradition that is nothing like the ones you’ve been handed?

Bright, beautiful solstices wishes to all of you!

My free solstice bouquets