Rite of Passage

It is now just 7 days until we leave Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud, otherwise known as New Zealand.

And I have fallen in love.

With wekas. These clever little flightless dinosaur birds that can open zippers... and do whenever they get the chance.

With the strange and beautiful blend of conifer and tropical trees. Think Hawai‘i, Ireland, and Western Canada all mixed into one.

With impossibly clear, cold, and swimmable rivers.

With walking barefoot literally everywhere. No joke, anywhere, and no one bats an eye.

Since landing here 53 days ago, I have found a simple kind of happy.

I finished the rewrite of the third edition of the Facilitator Manual. It felt like it nearly killed me and is now over 300 pages long.

I had one of the first truly happy birthdays I’ve ever had, perhaps because it was magically summertime. Northern Hemisphere–born Capricorns and Aquarians, I know you feel me on this one.

And then I went through a rite of passage.

For the first two weeks in New Zealand, we lived in an intentional community tucked deep at the end of a Golden Bay.  This community is home to many rites of passage ceremonies created by the Rites of Passage Foundation of New Zealand, for people of all generations. Their work is to mark life transitions by creating ritualised, nature-based processes that support participants to step into the next phase of life with confidence and clarity.

These transitions are marked through carefully designed “challenges” that are supported by tools and resources to help participants navigate them. This creates the conditions for deeper self-understanding, connection with others, and recognition of the gifts each person brings to the world.

Jovy and I attended Tides, a five-day residential rite for teen girls and their mothers. I assumed it would be mostly for her, that I would be there simply to witness my daughter step into young adulthood, sitting in talking circles with other mums, sipping tea.

I was wrong.

I can’t share the details. Part of the rite is holding them in confidence so others may enter without knowing. But I can say this:

I found my happy again.

I found patience again.

I rediscovered my deep joy for the beauty of simple things, like watching cheeky wekas steal tea bags from our long-forgotten mugs of tea.

I barely slept. I was often cold and wet. The sand flies nearly drove me crazy.

And I have not felt so filled with love and appreciation in years.

This experience changed me. It helped me recognise something I already quietly knew but had not yet claimed: many of the elements present in the rite are the same elements that are woven into our trainings. Often, these elements are the reason those who study with us want to return.

What I realised is that, freed from the educational focus of “training,” we can place rites of passage at the centre of our Immersions. We can hold them intentionally as spaces where transformation is not promised, because that part is up to you, but where the best possible conditions are created to support it, should you choose to step into it.

And so I make a vow — to those who have read this far — that my team and I will mark your transitions well. We will learn from our own rites of passage, and woven into my contribution will be the wisdom of those dear women who held me and my daughter in the Tui Tree field. And we will do so with a whole lot of dance and epic music.

And so it is.

INCEPTION A DTM Immersion | May 11–16

LINEAGE A DTM Immersion | Oct 30–Nov 03

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