Part I. In the U.S., there are quite a few key milestones or rituals of transition that are important in a person’s life. Some of them are more biological in nature, happening without much or sometimes any personal effort. This could be the arbitrary point of legally being considered an adult at the time of your 18^th birthday, or the beginning of womanhood with one’s first menses. Others require a lot of effort and are the result of many hours of dedicated work, discipline, and perseverance, such as graduating from high school, obtaining one’s driver’s license, or getting married. One that strikes me as kind of a big deal in the United States is the act of moving out of one’s parents’ house for the first time. While this is not always permanent like other classic rituals of transition, this ‘step-into-adulthood’ is highly revered by our capitalist/independence-driven country and deemed almost essential for one to be considered grown. The separation from your parents as you pack up your belongings and search online/around town for a new place to live, the liminality as you don’t *quite* have to follow the household rules any longer (or the freedom that comes in the limbo-period that you stay with a friend until you settle on a new apartment), and the incorporation as you move into another residence and meet your new neighbors follows this 3-step model of transition.

Part II. An example of a ritual of transition that I have gone through in my life was my confirmation in 8^th grade. I consider myself to be Catholic, and my religion was a huge priority to my mother when I was young. She had me attend catechism every Monday of the school year since about 1^st grade, and my extended family and I attended church every Sunday morning. For years, my catechism classmates and I studied scripture, broke down parables, and memorized prayers to help us feel more connected to God. In my last year of classes before my confirmation was to take place, we were asked to volunteer more in the community, read the Bible more frequently, and complete take-home assignments to prepare us for the sacrament. During this liminal period, we had to choose a sponsor who would help guide us on our journey into our faith and help us fulfill our baptismal promises throughout the course of our lives. At the time, these steps became more important (almost magical), the closer we came to the date of the ceremony. On the day of our confirmation, the other candidates and I were anointed by a priest and were asked to profess our faith, promising to follow the Lord. In exchange, we were to receive the Holy Spirit. The ceremony was followed by a big celebration and full acceptance into the parish as a committed Christian. Looking back on this experience, I have a much different perspective of what this transition meant to me. Without getting too deep into the intricacies of Catholicism or debate of religion, time has made me view this confirmation process as more of a personal decision rather than a moment of holy otherworldliness. While the steps felt almost mystical to my 13-year-old self, charged with some unknown energy at the time, I now feel like my preparation resembled that of studying for an exam, or reading a legal contract before signing. I realize that I was learning more about what my faith was based upon, memorizing the foundational truths, familiarizing myself with what would be expected of me as a full-fledged Christian, and finally deciding if I wanted to be a part of it. The readings and technical rules have faded away, but the big lessons are what stuck with me more than the magical feeling of sitting in a church pew: the way we are supposed to love others and be respectful of their needs and opinions; how we are to help people and forgive those whom we may have had issues with in the past; how we are supposed to be hopeful, to search for some greater meaning in our lives, and to make the world a better place for all those in it. This ritual of transition was more than just some fairytale-esque metamorphosis; it was about developing into the person I wanted to become.

Part III. College is a great example of a ritual of transition, this idea of belonging-liminality-belonging. As an RA and student, I have seen the steps of this ‘betwixt and between’ play out in people’s lives. I’ve seen two students that are 5+ years apart meet up for coffee to study as equals, and I have seen how freshmen stay up all night during Welcome Week and eat ice cream for breakfast (because no one can tell them not to). I’ve seen students experiment with alcohol and relationships for the first time, testing their limits and finding what makes them happy. College can be a fantastic liminal period…or it can be awful. And while there are some great messages and opportunities available to students during this time, there are also some that aren’t so great. Old movies and music on the radio put ideas in our minds about how we are expected to talk, act, and behave based on our gender. At Michigan State on a fall Saturday morning, men are expected to be dressed in a beer-soaked jersey, listening to loud rap music, and be talking to a drunk girl outside of a dirty fraternity house, not studying in the library. Despite the frigid temperatures, a college girl is given the message that she should be wearing a green and white crop top and skirt, shivering next to a pong table and trying to hold a conversation with a cocky business major with great hair (not on a lunch date with the sweet guy from her chemistry class). Exaggerated as it might be, this time of experimentation and self-discovery is influenced heavily by our cultural norms and close-minded view of gender roles. Ideas such as ‘a man needs to be a player’ and ‘a woman needs to be skinny to be desirable’ coerce students to make very poor decisions for their health and happiness; they shift the focus off of what this transitionary period is all about: self-discovery, learning, and positive growth.