Three weeks ago, my eldest son had his Bar Mitzvah. I know he had a wonderful time (and now has more cash in his bank account than I do), but for me, it was the single happiest day of my life. That is a big statement to make, and yet I know it to be true, and it has certainly created a near tidal wave of feelings in me around it.

It was a day in which I felt totally present. There was no place in me for the churning on what tomorrow might bring, or what yesterday was like. I had prepared myself a couple of days before to really move into the occasion, and I had been catalyzed to do so by the arrival of family from overseas—and by the overwhelming understanding that an event like this is a rarity, and an opportunity to focus on what is meaningful in my life. But above all else, I saw my son move from boyhood to young manhood during the couple of days that led up to the ceremony and the party. The rite, in and of itself, created the container that allowed him, and me, to move.

And in my home over those days, surrounded by my family who had arrived from London, Tokyo and Montreal, the whole reason why I am grounded to home as the place that contains the explorations and discoveries of my life—whether in the personal, business, emotional or social realm—was so apparent as an anchoring condition of my existence. Home allowed me to interact with family, and they with me, without the need for preconditions of who I really am. My family could see and sense me; there they could navigate to the meaning of me, and from there I could journey out to love them more truly.

There was a moment that encapsulated all of this. Two days before the big event, my son, his brother, their mother and I went to a 7 a.m. service at the synagogue. Yes, 7 a.m. on a school day in the middle of the week, with young boys, hungry. The service was only attended by perhaps 15 people. But in that service, my son was accepted—and participated—as a man, as a member of the community, by everyone there. During that one hour, in the quiet of that room, away from what would later be a much bigger ceremony, my son engaged with himself and the meaning of this time for him. In that place, too, I was transported more than 40 years back to that moment when my twin brother and I stood with our father and, watched by our mother, moved to another level in our lives. This quiet moment of acceptance is what Bar Mitzvah is really all about.

And so the event has caused me, again, to realize how in my life the big shifts happen away from the gaze of the world, and do their work on and with me where and when I can quietly and deeply engage with them. That Thursday morning, as my son went off to school, I am sure he had no real, deep understanding of what had happened for him, and how the big event two days later would be, in some ways, just a shadow of that, but it transformed me. It moved me to a place where I could be and breathe in the present around my whole life—something I truly struggle with—and it has set a standard for me since, and against which I measure every day. Life unfolds for all of us, and sometimes, if you are lucky, you can have a day of days where it all makes sense because you allow yourself to take a breath, look up and taste the meaning of it. If this is what a Bar Mitzvah is, then it seems to me that you can be Bar Mitzvah more than once.

[Main image: Edward Leaman]