As we approach the 24th anniversary of 9/11, I am reminded once again of the deep need for rituals that connect and comfort us. 9/11—and, in fact, every crisis we face as human beings—teaches us that comfort is not a luxury. It is a necessity.
Comfort rituals are lifelines. They carry us through fear and uncertainty, offering us safe passage from despair back into wholeness.
I remember in the days after 9/11, cars stopping in the street to let the elderly cross, CEOs leaving work early to sit at the dinner table with their families, strangers leaning in to talk in cafés, friends calling just to ask if you were okay, and spontaneous meditations happening in city parks. We were cracked open, raw—and more tender with one another.
Table of Silence Project 9/11
But as time passed, many buried their vulnerabilities, convincing themselves they could get by with what I call “cold comforts”: numbing through drinking, overworking, overeating, or scrolling endlessly just to escape. Cold comforts may ease the edge in the moment, but they ultimately drain us of the energy we need to heal.
Real comfort, on the other hand, nourishes and sustains us. It’s a gentle hand on the back of a crying child, the embrace of someone who sees you and holds you in your pain, the cup of tea shared with a friend who listens without judgment, or even the unexpected relief of singing along to a favorite song that suddenly lightens the heart. These are not luxuries. They are the essence of what it means to be human.
This week, I invite you to create or return to a ritual of true comfort—something that genuinely feeds your soul.
One of my own comfort rituals is attending The Table of Silence at Lincoln Center, a free public performance ritual and Call to Action for Peace conceived and choreographed by Jacqulyn Buglisi.
This Thursday, September 11, 2025, at 8:10 AM, the ritual will take place both in person and online. If you, too, are longing for a deeper well of connection and spiritual sustenance, I encourage you to join. Learn more here.
Because in times like these, comfort is not only healing—it is sacred.
With love and light,
Barbara