Reverence is a practice
On Memorial Day
There’s a certain stillness to today.
Not performative.
Just… reverence.
And, I didn’t always understand that. In fact, I still struggle with this often.
For a long time, I thought honoring a day like today had to look a certain way. Structured. External. Ceremonial for sure though in a way that felt distant from my actual life.
The old me would have needed to be out on a boat to be seen or hosting a BBQ to be with community.
But, today felt different.
I spent the afternoon by the pool, book in hand, sun resting gently on my skin.
No urgency. No noise. No need to be anywhere else.
I read slowly.
I journaled honestly.
I let myself be.
And somewhere in that stillness, I realized—
reverence isn’t loud.
Sometimes it just presence.
We honor those who came before us—
those who sacrificed, those who carried weight we will likely never understand.
But there’s another layer to this.
One we don’t always talk about.
The responsibility of being here.
Of being alive.
Of having the space, the breath, the choice to slow down.
To reflect.
To feel.
To actually witness your own life as it’s happening.
Today, reverence looked like honoring that.
Honoring the version of me that keeps going.
That rebuilds.
That chooses again.
Not in a dramatic, “look at me” kind of way though in the quiet, honest recognition that being present with yourself is a form of respect.
It’s a form of gratitude.
There was a moment
A subtle shift when I found myself at peace.
There was no fear of missing out and no anxiety about the weeks ahead.
Just the awareness that I’m fully here in my own life.
And I can choose how I want this day to be.
Because it’s reverent.
So today, I didn’t rush to fill the space.
I let it stretch.
I let it breathe.
I let it mean something.
Maybe that’s what reverence actually is:
Not only honoring what’s been lost—
but also deeply, intentionally honoring what still remains.