a recap on 2023 and how rituals create and improve memories
If I could live in the year 2023 forever, I would. Perpetual visits through memories, feasting on what I loved, shining its state, and experiencing life ritualistically.
Since our son, Link Comet Bae, was born last year, I find myself swirling or maybe obsessing over one question - How do I make space to revisit rituals and create memories?
I ask this question as both an attempt to bring order and meaning to the day-to-day while also being ambitious about family. Ambitious in the sense that after decades of life, I understand it’s the seconds that count. Where simply being present yields crops full of memories, family rituals make us good at processing and creating memories.
This question, like the opening to this year’s annual letter, was written and written many times leading up to publication. I knew what I wanted to write about but not how I wanted to write about them - the words, feelings, names, births, deaths, anniversaries, rituals, and memories. And here I am. Still writing.
The time now is 10:37 pm, and I’m standing in our studio in Mérida, Mexico. My wife and our firstborn are upstairs sound asleep. We developed a bedtime ritual consisting of feeding, changing clothes, zipping into a sleep sack, passing hugs, and finally reciting the BAE pledge.
Wondering, Wander
Where, Here
When, Now
Loving Ambitiously
Before Anyone Else.
These rituals consume me now. They define what kind of father I will be and what memories our family will create. Looking around, I see late patriarchs, complicated and compassionate women and men, and the mirror of life. I am. We are.
We are our memories. We revisit them through rituals. Both a question and a swirling answer.
In this year’s recap, we’ll show you how we attempt to live our lives not as checkpoints but as forever canvases - capturing the moments and memories through communal, familial, and personal rituals.
A recap of 2023
On January 9th, Kennedy and I filed to change our names to Kennedy and Lawson Bae, something we discussed in last year’s letter, Before Anyone Else.
Having returned from a reassurance trip to Mexico only days prior, the paperwork and government hoops we jumped through were more straightforward than the decision itself. I’m not sure if we’ve said this publicly before, but we decided to change our names to BAE years ago. It wasn’t until we knew we were pregnant that we made the leap.
Weeks later, we stood in front of family and friends, talking about what it’s like to name a child and revealing a logo with the initials for our firstborn. We were at the Baeby Review, our take on a baby shower, where we asked friends to review us a bit like a product review meets a short story teaching a lesson in parenting.
In February, our Pomeranian, Coco, passed at 16.5 years old and two days shy of the 10th anniversary of my late wife passing away. In One Decade, I mused grief like progress is not linear.
“It’s more like a loop attempting to spin upward. Each loop passes by a few new things and a few familiar spots - revisiting ideas and memories.”
A trip to my cousin’s wedding in Atlanta allowed me to revisit decades of Spiotta family events. The wedding ritual opened a portal of memories of dancing with my mom at weddings past and the laughter we enjoyed in my late grandparent’s home.
Days later, I was looking at the dark sky in Death Valley, attempting to capture the moment before fatherhood in self-portraits and on paper.
“Link, I wrote your name on this page probably months before these words - like a debt waiting to be paid or better like a placeholder for my future self and for you in the future…”
Before the letter was written, the page contained only his first name - just waiting. I spent an afternoon in Ubehebe Crater paying the debt with my words.
March brought us the visits of Kennedy’s best girlfriends - each a witness to special moments before the birth. Kennedy somehow found time to surprise me with an early birthday celebration. The due date, April 14th, was only 7 days before my birthday on April 21st.
On March 30th, I sold my company, RARA, to Mask Network. This was a well-timed and proud moment for me to give the team and investors a soft landing back on earth.
Two weeks later, I became a father, Kennedy a mother, and together parents.
“Link Comet ☄️ Bae was born at 8:24 pm, after a long and immersive labor. Sometimes great things need a little extra help to make their debut, and we are grateful for it. At 7 lbs 6 oz, and 20.25 inches, Link is exactly as big and strong as we knew.”
Memories. So many memories. This part was new. Sleeping in the hospital twin bed with Kennedy while Link slept beside us was magical. He came out crying, but as I walked over to him and we locked eyes in a moment of calm - nothing will ever be the same.
“I love you like the center of the universe. I love you so much. I am you, and you are me. We are we. Baeby. ;),” a poem from one of my paintings.
The oldest siblings visited first as rising leaders in the tribe, bearing gifts like spiritual rights. Kennedy’s sister gave the muscle memory power we needed, and my brother followed. While my parent's visit was cut short, the emotions of their arrival were long.
May ended with flights to Chicago to see long-time friends, like a pilgrimage to drink one final sip of familial wisdom. June brought Kennedy’s youngest older sister up from Florida, then smoke down from Canadian fires. The smoke blew the ideal moment for Kennedy and Link to fly to Louisiana to see her mom and second oldest sister.
Meanwhile, back in New York, our Mexican residency visas were approved.
We packed our bags, curated our street finds, and started saying our goodbyes and come visits, too.
Weeks later, we were in Memphis to see my family while our belongings rode further south to the Yucatán Peninsula.
Two and a half months after being born, Link and our family landed in Mexico, a place we now consider home base for our family’s lives and ambitions.
In August, we spent time in the mountains under the trees in Idyllwild, CA for FWB Fest.
“Friends with babies - that’s the energy I’m here for,” said Trevor McFedries, co-founder of FWB, as Kennedy nursed Link on a picnic table.
We celebrated Kennedy’s birthday with a visit to a favorite Yucatecan restaurant, Nectar, and a trip to Kabah, one of many stunning Mayan archeological sites that often go overlooked in the shadow of Chichén Itzá.
We saw many changes in September as Kennedy returned to work and Link met his nanny and best friend, Gali (short for Galilea). To say Gali has been instrumental to our family’s rituals would be an understatement. From the Mayan legends shared while we drive through town to Sunday game night at her abuelita’s, Gali is as much of our family as we are a part of hers.
Link ate a fresh croissant every morning in Paris while Kennedy and I discussed improving his sleep schedule. The bedtime ritual was in full effect at this point, but we knew the “shut down sequence” was more than steps and patterns.
Every second of our lives is unique, but our brain patterns match their way through it like a coping mechanism akin to blinders on a horse. The risk of adulthood is letting these patterns blind us to the beautiful chaos that is our every day. As a newborn, Link is more present than any of us may ever be again, and the reality is that’s a crazy default setting.
Deep groves may hold knowledge, but they have the experience. I read in The Socrates Express that Henry David Thoreau spent much of his time looking at the world upside down to ensure he saw a place.
I think of this idea as a ritualistic prompt.
To create new memories, include elements of spontaneity. To be spontaneous, become ritualistic. Design your life with checkpoints and patterns to harden memories and create new and ancient experiences. Then, whenever you can, spread the word. Invite others into others into your rituals. Share the knowledge. Give the experience. Create memories.
While we missed much of the celebrations for Hanal Pixán, the Mayan equivalent of the Day of the Dead, we were lucky enough to eat “píib.” While the word technically refers to underground earth ovens, píib, like slow-cooked pork referred to as “barbecue” in the south of the USA, refers to giant tamales that are only cooked a few days of the year. Gali’s family, like many others, serve fresh píibs to their deceased loved ones an hour before the living eat. While the smell of smoked and almost caramelized tamales fills the home, the family sits silently while the spirits eat.
Looking at many communal rituals, it’s clear that the sense of smell and taste reinforces memories while giving purpose to rituals. While it’s said that 1/3 of the brain is dedicated to vision, vision is generally paired with at least one additional sense: touch, taste, smell, or hearing. We thought deeply about this when designing our virtual wedding in 2020. We knew the event was at risk of not being memorable on a computer screen, so we included guests’ hands with art and, for those who cooked breakfast and a wedding cake with us, their sense of smell and taste.
This knowledge inspired us to serve píib at our Intentions Ceremony. The ceremony was our take on a housewarming party. Upon arriving, we asked the guest to write two intentions: what is one thing you’d like to leave behind and one thing you’d like to take when you leave. As we burned copal, Kennedy set our intentions for living areas while I set our intentions for our bedrooms. Everyone spoke about their intentions for what they wanted to take with them as we ate píib. For the closing, we burned the unread intentions of what everyone wanted to leave behind.
Sipping tea while getting my haircut in Istanbul in November, I think back to my first haircut after moving away from my hometown. While I was adventurous with my haircuts growing up, I had the same family friend stylist for my living memories. Fifteen years since then, I’ve got haircuts everywhere, from market stalls outside Cusco, Peru to an alley in Kyoto, Japan. I try not to save up haircuts, but I welcome a clean-up in new lands. Google the local terminology, screenshot some ideas, and tell them, “You’re the artist. Do your thing.” Simple ritual, deep memories, and some interesting cuts.
The remainder of my time in Istanbul deserves another post, but as my taxi driver told me over Google Translate, “Istanbul is a great civilization,” and said I must return when my son is old enough to understand. It’s clear that Istanbul - like the Sacred Valley in Peru and the Yucatán - has a culture that spans thousands of years and clear scenius.
Returning home, we created the set and setting for Kennedy’s favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, and the ritual of feeding others in our home. The timing was perfect in Link’s eyes and mouth as he got his first four teeth simultaneously.
December brought all of the holiday preparation and travel we have grown to expect. We travel to my hometown, Memphis, in early December for my mom’s birthday and celebrate Christmas early with family. Returning home, we sprinted to finish the three-month design and build process of Link’s bed. As tradition dictates, Mr. & Mrs. Clause stayed up late on Christmas Eve for the final assembly.
Christmas evening, our friend joined us for dinner and the re-opening of our wedding water ceremony. I worked with Cloudship Creative, an artist friend, to create an altar to capture the importance of the water for Kennedy’s Christmas present. As Kennedy transferred the water from its travel container to a Joshua Tree-adorned vessel, she spoke about how she was gifted the seed water of over 800 lakes from the Center of Sacred Studies in Guerneville, California. Combining the seed with cenote water from our friend, we began the three-part ceremony, telling the stories of what had happened since we were married in 2020. Next, I returned some water to the earth while talking about those who had passed since our last ceremony. Finally, we parted with a new seed as a gift to our friend so he could carry the ritual to his new home.
Heading into the final week of the year, friends from San Francisco became our first friends to visit. Newly married, they offered Mountain Lake in San Francisco to the altar, then returned some to the soil in honor of a recently passed friend. As the ritual dictates, we also gave them a seed for their home together.
These are our rituals. These are our memories. Experienced.
