What Do You Consider Sacred?

In this episode of the None But Curious Podcast, we explore how sacredness shows up in everyday life—far from temples, rituals, or traditional beliefs. Candy reflects on how the ordinary can hold extraordinary meaning: a child’s laughter spilling into uncontrollable joy, the stillness before sunrise, the crunch of leaves underfoot in the autumn.

Instead of asking what society or religion tells us is sacred, this episode invites you to wonder: What feels sacred to you?

Episode Takeaways:

• The origins of the word sacred and how its meaning has evolved.

• September as a threshold month, full of rituals—back-to-school mornings, sharpened pencils, new planners, and fresh starts.

• October as a season of quiet traditions—sweaters pulled from closets, warm soup simmering, apples and pumpkins filling farmers’ markets.

• Everyday rituals that feel like ceremonies: lighting candles earlier, sorting closets, setting the table with intention, or brewing the season’s first pot of coffee.

• Sacredness in transitions—the first frost, the changing angle of sunlight, the last leaf clinging to a branch.

• The quiet rebellion of pausing in a culture obsessed with productivity, choosing to honor presence over output.

Why This Episode Matters: So often, people think sacredness belongs to religion, to holy places, or to practices they feel disconnected from. But what if sacredness isn’t something you need to believe in? What if it lives in noticing the ordinary—the breath before turning out the light, a child tying their shoes, a long warm bath at the end of the day, or sweeping the porch as autumn leaves begin to fall?

By slowing down and marking small moments with care, we discover that sacredness isn’t somewhere else—it’s already here.

Perfect for listeners who are:

• Spiritually curious but not religious.

• Interested in mindfulness, meaning-making, and slowing down.

• Seeking inspiration in everyday life and seasonal rituals.

• Looking for thoughtful, comforting reflections on change, belonging, and presence.

As you move through this season of transition, what feels sacred to you? A ritual, a habit, a fleeting moment? This episode invites you to pause, notice, and honor it.

Find None But Curious for more reflections on finding awe in the ordinary:

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Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Welcome to the None But Curious podcast. We're all about finding inspiration in life's uncertainties.
Whether you're still figuring things out, questioning your beliefs, or just curious
about the world, come hang out with us as we celebrate the beauty of not having all the answers.

(00:23):
With everything that's going on in the world lately, I've been asking myself,
what is considered sacred? I've never been part of a church, and religion was never a central
force in my life. And for a long time, I assumed sacred was a word that belonged to someone else,

(00:44):
to traditions, to rituals, to holy places I didn't step into. But over time, I started noticing
sacredness in places that look nothing like sanctuaries. I noticed it in the dust that
floats in sunlight coming through a window, in the way the world hushes right before the sun rises,

(01:07):
in a child's laughter when it tips into something very uncontrollable, breathless, and unforgettable.
These aren't religious moments. They're ordinary. And yet, when I pause, when I set them apart,
they hold a certain weight. They leave an imprint. They become etched in memory.

(01:31):
The word sacred comes from the Latin sacer, meaning something set apart, consecrated.
And in ancient times, it meant belonging to the gods. But language evolves. And today,
sacred can also mean anything we treat with reverence, anything we mark off as different

(01:52):
from the ordinary. So maybe sacredness isn't something you have to believe in. Maybe it
lives in the act of noticing, when we decide that an ordinary moment matters enough to be set apart.
September itself feels like a threshold month, a passage from one rhythm of living to another.

(02:15):
And even if we don't call it a ritual, a month is full of them. For families, there's the first
day of school photo taken year after year on the same porch, on the same front steps. Backpacks are
zipped with fresh notebooks and markers and sharpened pencils. Yellow buses return to the

(02:35):
streets. Parents adjust to earlier mornings and new traffic patterns. Teachers decorate
bulletin boards, writing names on desks and preparing for another cycle of beginnings.
Even if you're no longer in school, you might feel it in your body, that sense of starting over.
Some people reorganize their desks. Others buy a new planner or calendar, almost as if September

(03:01):
is its own new year. There's a seriousness in the air, an invitation to begin again.
Think about the ritual of sharpening a pencil, cracking open a blank notebook, hearing the
rustle of paper. It's ceremonial. The first day of school is one of the most universally shared

(03:22):
rituals across the Western world. Over time, those photos and keepsakes turn into touchstones,
reminders of who we are, who our children are, where we've all been and how we've grown.
And outside, nature joins in. The mornings cool. Evenings shorten. Summer's greens fade into the

(03:50):
golds, oranges and reds of fall. And before the leaves fully turn, people start noticing the
angle of sunlight changing. There's a sharpness to the air and a softness to the light. September
feels like one long exhale, the loose chaos of summer days giving way to rhythm, to order,

(04:13):
to routine. Some of us welcome it. Some resist it. But either way, the shift carries meaning.
Then comes October, carrying its own quiet rituals. Sweaters pulled from the back of the closet,
candles lit earlier in the evening, the first pot of soup simmering after months of grilling

(04:34):
and fresh salads. For many, October is also a harvest month. Farmers' markets overflow with
apples and squash and pumpkins. Families wander through orchards and fields, bringing home bushels
of fruit and maybe even carving jack-o'-lanterns to light on their porches. Even if you don't

(04:54):
celebrate fall holidays, the season offers gestures of ritual. There's the crunch of
leaves underfoot, the warmth of cider in your hands, the visible breath rising on the first
really cold morning. These simple, repeated acts create a rhythm of belonging to the season.
They may not look sacred from the outside, but they remind us that life is always turning,

(05:20):
always renewing. The sacred often hides in transitions, in the in-betweens, the thresholds.
In early fall, those shifts are everywhere. Acorns tap softly on the ground,
trees begin to release their leaves, lawns sparkle with morning dew, and there's even a

(05:44):
quiet moment or two to enjoy a warm cup of coffee. What if we treated these transitions as sacred?
The first sweater pulled over your head, the first evening when you notice it's dark before dinner,
the first tree turning gold at the edges. None of this requires belief, it only asks for attention.

(06:11):
I've also been thinking about the small rituals that shape my own autumn. As the school year
begins and routines start to settle, I usually pick up a new wall calendar, not just to track
appointments and school schedules and work schedules, but to mark some time with intention.
The blank squares feel like quiet invitations, small windows of possibility where I begin to

(06:36):
imagine the season ahead. Apple picking, hay rides, weekend hikes, cozy movie nights.
Slowly those empty spaces take on meaning, filled not just with plans,
but with my hope for the kind of fall I want us all to share.
We also start browsing new recipes, searching for something fresh to bring to the table.

(07:01):
Fall and winter for me are filled with cooking smells, warm spices, sugary sweet baked goods.
But it's never just about the food, it's about the act of gathering, of trying something new together,
of inviting friends and family over for togetherness.

(07:22):
Fall is another time I move through closets and drawers, sorting clothes, toys, and household
things we no longer need. It's a gentle clearing and a way of making space, and it benefits others
who might need these things, but it also benefits us too. It's a quiet reset. None of these rituals

(07:45):
are grand, and they wouldn't seem sacred to anyone else, but to me they are because they're
intentional, repeated, carried with care. They help me feel grounded in the season
and in the life I'm slowly, deliberately shaping within it.

(08:06):
Sometimes I wonder if noticing sacredness is itself a quiet form of rebellion.
We live in a culture obsessed with productivity, speed, and outcomes, and September feeds into that
a little. Calendars filling, deadlines approaching, routines starting, paperwork being filled out,

(08:28):
but pausing pushes against that current. Watch a leaf drift down, sip tea without multitasking,
walk without earbuds. The pause says, I am not only a machine for output,
I'm a human being. I am alive in this moment. Children know this instinctively. They build

(08:54):
forts and declare them as castles, or garages, or cars, and the blanket hasn't changed,
their attention has transformed it. That's what sacredness does. It sets something apart
through noticing. So let me ask you, what feels sacred for you in autumn? Maybe it's helping your

(09:17):
child get ready for school, the rhythm of tying shoes, packing lunches, the quiet exchange before
the day begins. Maybe it's pulling out the slow cooker for weeknight meals, or refilling the hand
soap with a seasonal scent, setting out a basket for hats and gloves by the door. Maybe it's the

(09:38):
hum of a school hallway, or the hush that follows. Maybe it's that brief moment in the car before
you open the door and start on your way, a breath, a pause, a reminder to be present.
Maybe it's savoring a long warm bath, bundling up in a favorite blanket,

(10:01):
or sweeping the porch as leaves start to fall.
Sacredness often lives in transitions, the first frost, the last leaf clinging to a branch,
the breath before turning out the light. Sometimes it even hides in grief, the way fall
reminds us of time passing, children growing, of summers that won't return.

(10:26):
Holding that ache gently without rushing past it, that can be sacred too.
We're always making meaning even when we don't name it, in the way we hang jackets by the door,
or pull out the same blanket each year when the nights turn cold,
when the familiar scent of a favorite candle, or the way light moves across the floor as the days

(10:49):
grow shorter. Each small gesture quietly says, this matters.
In the weeks ahead, I invite you to notice one moment that feels sacred to you,
not holy, not divine, just set apart. It might show up in the middle of your routine,

(11:11):
and in a school drop-off, in a bus ride, folding laundry, even in a grocery aisle.
The point isn't where it happens, that you pause long enough to feel it, to name it.
As the season deepens, as evenings cool and leaves begin to turn,
I hope you find your own ways of setting moments apart. Because sacredness doesn't

(11:36):
live only in sanctuaries or rituals, it lives here, in the ordinary, in the rhythm of now.
So maybe the question we began with, what is sacred, was never about finding the perfect
answer. Maybe it's just about paying attention, about choosing what to honor,

(11:58):
about letting everyday moments matter. This autumn, may you notice what feels set apart,
may you treat it with care, and may it remind you that sacredness isn't somewhere else,
it's already here. Thank you for joining me today. If you liked this episode, share it with

(12:19):
friends and family, subscribe to the None But Curious podcast, even visit nonebutcurious.org
and suggest books to read and discuss. Until next time, stay curious and awedinary.