13. Music

“Maybe one day you can feel at home with happiness” she replied with a frown, though I knew she understood. 

I felt at home and comfortable with her, so did that mean she’s the embodiment of sorrow? 

What is sad, anyway? And why does it hold so much weight? 

Corporate pop, sunshiny retail store music, and bops for kids are what we wade into for heedless acceptance and the embrace of not having to really think about things. 

An Anti-Hero or a Waffle House are fun to sing about together. 

But “I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery,” and “I’ve been so unfair to me to love you like I have—chimney lips and all, please come home,” these words capture a depth of being human that 4 chords and joy almost…can’t. 

Can you sing about loneliness and really mean it unless you’re alone? 

And maybe the human experience is about more than just feeling. 

Snapping out of it and into reality, I realize I just told her my cheesiest internal belief: that melancholy music feels familiar so it’s my home. I wonder how she’ll respond. 

12. Living in a Van

2018 was the year I decided I’d live in a van someday. I caught that bug and I caught it so hard. I spent hours on YouTube conversion videos, I made a plan, had a mission, and all I lacked was funds. It was actually going to be a ministry thing. I thought that if I made a mission out of travel and asked for donations to visit shelters or community kitchens, I’d be able to visit all 50 states within a year. I’d make video content to show people what their money was going toward (allowing 1 day for editing per week), volunteer for 3 days, explore for 2, and travel to the next state the next day. I still think this would be a cool thing to do, but I’m thinking it probably won’t happen. What did happen for me, though, was living in a van in 2022-2023.

This probably comes as a huge shocker, but living in a vehicle isn’t quite like the sprinter van videos on YouTube. The difference between the concept of a bed on wheels and the actual vibe of it can’t be overstated. If you want a real idea of what it’s like, rather than visiting Trent and Allie’s social media feed or TikTok skoolie couples’ pages, check out the “nomads helping nomads network” and “cheap van life” Facebook pages. There you can see real people struggling, and you can see the actual reason that most people live in vehicles. You can see people’s homes being stolen, stranded, stuck, and breaking down. It becomes a display less of people thriving and living their lives to the fullest and more of people simply surviving. 

My experience wasn’t a huge struggle, thankfully. I enjoyed every night being an adventure, but I definitely didn’t travel as much as I thought I would. Turns out you still have to make money if you’re going to keep the lights on. And to keep the lights on in a van, you need gas. My carbon footprint may rival Taylor Swift at this point with how much I ran my van to keep warm. 

The most difficult parts of the van life for me included staying warm, mechanical issues, eating, where to park, and most of all loneliness. You’d think that a mobile home would increase your social life with new communities, more excuses to visit friends, and a cool story to tell. Quite the opposite, though. My main place to park in Denver was scary. Doing some research showed me that if you need help with something in a parking lot with other van lifers, it’s best to ask anyone else. It’s important to remember that a majority of the people that live in vehicles don’t have a choice, and therefore will do anything they can to protect themselves. 

"Going home" after work was such a surreal experience every day. I’d end my shift, hop into the back of the van, and just…sit there for a while. Going home to a place is something I didn’t realize was such a desire of mine. And when home is something you’re required to move it’s disorienting. 

I don’t have anything deep to say or any kind of lesson to push here, I just want to say that while it was so fun and I’m glad I did it, living in a van wasn’t a social-media-like experience. I think I did it for the wrong reasons (just to do it) and didn’t have a practical travel goal or set myself up to have absolutely no roots. Maybe if I cut all ties with friends it would have gone better, but I had so much more of Denver to explore. Maybe if I had about 50,000 more dollars it would’ve been a more comfortable experience. 

11. A Map

This is my third year in Colorado. There aren’t many better decisions I’ve ever made than dropping my entire sense of reality, what I thought a career was supposed to be, and my vision of success to go work at a ski shop and be in my vacation spot full time. The challenges of a new spot have been numerous. The rewards have been vast. 

I’ve been thinking hard about why I’m still here recently. I rounded out my early 20s as a ski bum, which is just about the coolest thing I could envision for myself. 6 months from now, though, I’ll be solidified into my late 20s. I have a couple of goals, a couple of ambiguous thoughts on the way my life may go, but honestly I have no idea what’s going to happen. The detriment found in completely ditching a road map is that you just don’t know if the next turn is the correct one, even if it looks cool. The cool thing about completely ditching a road map is that there is no correct way to do things. 

I’d be lying if I said that there wasn’t a voice in the back of my head, though. It’s what has caused me to ask why I’m still here. Time isn’t unlimited. 

I wonder if I’ll ever escape the need to prepare for some future that I haven’t found the map for. 

10. Eyes, Hair

What color are your eyes again?

Staring into them is its own gift. 

Two great salt lakes, as deep as they are wide. As full as they are deep. 

Color isn’t the first or second or third thing I see when I look at them. 

I see today’s elations, last week’s good memories, and last decade’s pain. 

I see a grip of reality and your habit to deal with it. 

Your eyes and their owner share the propensity to search and wander - a habit I hope is never broken. 

Their darting back and forth, up and down, looking for the next adventure catapults my own vision into the flow of your hair falling around them. 

What color is your hair again? 

9. Quick Writing

Mary Karr, on her writing students, says “Before you can work consciously, though, you go through a phase of developing a critical self, which makes a writer wicked self-conscious. Some students in our three-year MFA program come in defending every word; by mid-term second year, the more determined ones find themselves in despair at their own pages. Through reading and thinking, they’ve raised their taste beyond their skill levels. So when they stare down at their pages, they can no longer superimpose what’s in their heads onto the work. These students can’t go back to their old tricks–they can see through those now.”

Felt. 

My 9th blog in 13 days is trying to kill me, and I don’t have time to revise while still meeting my goal. How do authors do this day after day without creating soulless lab reports and short sentences? If I allotted an hour every day to write something and immediately had to hit “post” as the timer ran out, I may be checked into a mental institution. According to Mary Karr, writing without revision simply does not work, and the answer to a student's dismay is revision. 

If only, though, I could capture the essence of every day and write about that instead. Pretty much everything I’ve posted up to this point has captured my mood for that day, and fortunately I’ve had enough experience to be able to present “sad” in many unique ways. As soon as “sad” creeps its way over to “apathetic,” though, my goals are in jeopardy. Forcing myself to be inspired is the least genuine thing I could do. 

Doing difficult things seem to all be easier if they’re part of a distraction. If they’re for our own perceived greater good, maybe it’s still worth doing, just as a part of something we want to do. Taking shots isn’t fun. Not being a buzzkill is fun. Just plug ya nose, think about your next dance move or the tasty lime slice that’s in your hand, and throw ‘er back. Life in general isn’t fun sometimes, but listening to music generally makes those tasks that have no color vibrant. Having no inspiration for a blog is no fun, but complaining about it is!

8. Red Thumb, Blue Thumb

Disclaimer: I'm just venting here. I haven't been getting much sleep.

 

 it's official.  Signed at 10:33. It's even passed on TV.  Facebook will start charging this summer. If you copy this to your wall, your icon will turn blue and your Facebook will be free for you. Please pass this message; if not, your icon will be deleted.

P.S.:

Mine really turned blue. Don’t forget tomorrow starts the new Facebook (aka...new name, META) rule where they can use your photos. Don't forget the deadline is today!!! I do not give Facebook or any entities associated with Facebook permission to use my pictures, information, messages or posts, both past and future. With this statement, I give notice to Facebook it is strictly forbidden to disclose, copy, distribute, or take any other action against me based on this profile and/or its contents.  The violation of privacy can be punished by law.  NOTE: Facebook is now a public entity. All members must post a note like this.

If you prefer, you can copy and paste this version. If you do not publish a statement at least once it will be tacitly allowing the use of your photos, as well as the information contained in the profile and status updates. 

DO NOT SHARE. Copy and paste.

Here is how you do that:

Hold your finger down anywhere in this post and "copy" will pop up. Click "copy.”  Then go to your page, start a new post and put your finger anywhere in the blank field. "Paste" will pop up and click paste.

This will bypass the system. Thanks Bye Bye ads

Yessssss it works!!! 

Omg it worked !!! Update 

To regain friends in your news feed and get rid of ads - Hold your finger anywhere in this post and click ′copy’. Go to your page where it says ‘What's on your mind?’ Tap your finger anywhere in the blank field. Click paste. This upgrades the system.

Hello new and old friends!🥰

It's sad we have to keep doing this to kill the Ads and see our friends.

Hello new and old friends🤗

Sorry to stereotype (I’m not, actually. I think this is a fair one), but the 11th time I see a post like this plastered unabashedly on someone’s Facebook page is around the time that I start despising their political views and frankly the information they choose to share. Is it lead poisoning or is it a desire to be led? No idea. This begs the question -  is it worth engaging these people in a conversation or would I have to dramatize to them, say that hard-earned American journalist jobs are at risk if they don’t stop digesting tabloids like they digest their Chick-fil-A (I still eat Chick-fil-A too, but allow me to stereotype please)? I wonder every day if I’m being unfair in my two-dimensionalizing of complex people with their own careers, children, societal contributions, and, unfortunately, thumbs. 

“Do not engage with people on that side” is something I’ve been told. Hundreds of times. As a child I wasn’t allowed out with “bad influences,” which is not a foreign concept to a parent trying to raise a child. Recently I was engaged in a riveting conversation with an elderly woman who grew up without a god and will die without one. The comfort that came with conversing with someone so…sure of her stance made me feel like I was speaking to a mentor. I digress. After an in-depth conversation about my former political stances, where I've been, and where I am, she placed her slightly tremoring hand on mine and said “don’t engage with them. They’ll never change sides because they’re committed to not knowing the truth. They’ll never change.” but as the words left her mouth her nose wrinkled as her face twisted gently, her eyes wandering to the corner of the room with a new thought: “Though…you did.” 

I don't know what caused me to switch sides so drastically, but I'm not sure how much it has to do with morality. I have a new and different concept of what's right than I did 10 years ago, but until I understand why I won't feel comfortable with the whiplash. 

I have to believe that there is a third dimension beyond the two of liking people and disliking people. A third dimension beyond a dumbass and a smartass, beyond red and blue, beyond engaging in conflict and letting the wrong thing fester. But if there is, what is it? Pacifism? Activism? Active pacifism? The most popular example of a savior, Jesus Christ, was a mix of both (if that’s worth mentioning). His scale was heavy on the pacifist side. Activists love flipping tables and pacifists love being martyred, though. Where’s the middle? I’ve heard the answer spoken to me in the form of morals, the Holy Spirit, the Law and constitution, and the Gut. 

The Enneagram, AKA Christian Horoscope (kidding, it's a useful tool to learn about your own motivations and the ways that they can healthily interact with others), is a presentation of nature vs nurture in your own personality and how it impacts day-to-day life. There are 9 boxes you can put yourself in, but the overall goal is balance. If your tendencies and motivations are perfectly balanced between the 9, you've won. This is an impossible task, however, because I think it's impossible to choose what motivates your inner child. Your parents did that before you could think. The reason I bring this up is that maybe it's all about balancing what you can, and recognizing what you can't. If that's how you win, I think I'm just realizing where the starting line is. 

What I'm recognizing is this: the boundaries that I have set for self-preservation keep out negativity, but they also keep out connections with some of my loved ones. I'll cling tightly to my own worldview because it is my sense of reality. I can't give it up, but neither can they. 

I wonder if it's just a matter of showing up, sharing a meal, and hugging. Common ground may not be found in worldviews, but rather in physical action. Finding somewhere in the middle is the beginning of balance, right? 

7. Life After the Church, Pt. 1: a Warning About Community

“You can answer no to this. But…are we good? I know I’ve probably done things to hurt you without knowing. I want to check on our friendship because it feels different.”

This is what friendship heartbreak sounds like, and a question that’s been ringing in my head since the day it was asked of me. I didn’t have an answer to this question that was nearly as gentle and elegant as the way it was asked. But honestly, the answer couldn’t be a “yes” with no questions asked. 

There’s something about the community around deconstruction that is bathed in resentment. Being bold and telling it how it is sometimes feels like the only way to maintain self worth and the only way to feel heard. I can’t overstate how valid this is. The systems of oppression that are disguised as systems of freedom have caused irreparable damage to many, many people. But sometimes I don’t want to be angry at the people and systems who hurt me and hurt the people I love without meaning to. Sometimes I just want to be back to “normal,” in a place where my innermost self feels loved because my facade is loved. It’s lonely out here, man. 

I couldn’t fully answer yes to the question above. A friendship that I formed in ministry won’t be the same when I’m no longer in ministry in the same way that a friend I made painting won’t be the same if I lose my vision. I hesitate to really go down this road mentally because it was so tough last time I wrote about it, but there’s no map to this kind of grief. It’s almost comforting to dwell on the good parts that I miss sometimes. There is no “Church of Deconstruction” that I know of. If there is, I don’t want to go. A church formed around heartbreak would be painful. There is no church of grief, there is only grief counseling. There is only “let’s get through this and build our lives around the hole in our heart because we’ll never fill it.”

Relationships built on disdain aren’t what I want. Years later, it’s difficult to find as much relatability in any aspect of my life without it. 

I don’t know if this community-shaped hole will ever be as full as it used to be. 

There was a huge line at the coffee shop today so I got a late start and need to cut this short. Maybe that’s for the better, to be honest. I’m not sure how much good it does to dwell. 

6. Texting Back

I’m hoping I can write a blog that I can link for those who I accidentally ghost. I’m hoping to create a resource for my forgetful friends as well. So, if someone sent you this blog, they’re sorry for not texting you back. They probably had an important blog to read and forgot. And me? I had an important blog to write. 

Consider this an apology letter. 

As I type this post I’m only at 32 unread texts, which is an achievement. I’m normally only panicking if I’m over 100. This is not to brag or to say I just can’t keep up with the texts because so many roll in. It is to actually say that not that many roll in, in my brain there is just a disconnect between seeing a notification and my internal clock that gauges an appropriate response time. It’s an exam with no required date for it to be taken. You can always study for it, but will you? If you’re still confused at this point, you probably got straight As in college. 

It feels impossible to describe the cycle of emotions that go through my mind when I’m struck with a reminder that I accidentally let a message sit for too long and it’s spoiled or no longer relevant. “Grab a beer tomorrow?” turns into a time capsule full of Gamestop stock that was opened too late, after the short squeeze ended. “Hi friend! Just wanted to check in. How are you doing?” becomes a bouquet of flowers left on my doorstep the day before I went on a big trip. “Mason. Call me. -Mom'' becomes a mailed parking ticket that got mixed in with my roommates’ mail piles.

The general emotions felt when I’m thinking about a text from a day, a week, or a month ago are dismay, disappointment, and abject panic. 

The emotional toll of my own actions (or lack thereof) got so bad that I googled “why am I so bad at texting back” and got a wide variety of results including an anxiety diagnosis, a shaming, and a “it’s totally normal, queen. You don’t have to text anyone back that you don’t want to.” I don’t think I was the target audience for that last one but man it felt so good to read that I almost just closed the chapter on thinking this was a problem right then and there. 

I think the real issue is a combination of a few things, but if I truly knew I’d be spending time texting you back instead of writing. Most of this is a desperate cry for relatability, and if anyone reading this has any advice I’m more than happy to sit down and chat about your methods. 

In conclusion, you are very important to me. Know that if you’re one of the people close enough to me to care to read this, I’d take the time to drive you to the airport or eat lunch with you or be a shoulder for you to cry on. I just may need a reminder or two if you need me to respond to your text. I’m not making excuses. I’m just asking for your forgiveness. Or a secretary. 

5. The Idea of a Friend

Concepts of relationships are nothing new. “I love the idea of you” is a thing I’ve said and been told. It’s a slightly more aesthetically pleasing way of telling a romantic potential that something just isn’t quite right with who they are right now, and you should see other people to find someone whose presence manifests your dreams. It’s a great breakup strategy for people pleasers, too. “I love the idea of you,” if you really mean it, is so much more than a way of letting someone down easy, though. I think it’s a profound concept that hints at something deeper. 

In a romantic context I see someone, see them be kind to a stranger, and imagine them being kind to our kids one day. Having a dream about them can shape an entire view of the way they (probably) act behind closed doors, the way they’re (probably) bound to treat their lover, and how they can (probably) do no wrong. Who doesn’t build up being with someone in their head? When reality strikes and the Superhuman inevitably shows their humanity in disappointing the Imaginer, it feels like double the heartbreak: one heartbreak in reality, one heartbreak in the imagination. 

As I said in the first sentence of this post, this concept is nothing new when it comes to relationships. But what about friendships? 

Before and after romance, there is friendship. With other people. At least, I hope there is. The ability to cultivate and maintain a friendship is a benchmark in my standards for my choice of a partner. If they can’t be a good friend, how could that create anything but a codependent and unbalanced relationship? So, by my way of thinking, many friendships last longer than romantic relationships (This optimistic way of thinking probably has absolutely nothing to do with my parents’ divorce! Bias has absolutely no affect on me whatsoever. Nope, not ol’ Masey Mase! Purely objective thinking here). *I’m going to end my typing of this section for now and come back after I’ve done some research.* Okay, I googled it. According to Cross River Therapy’s website, the average friendship lasts 17 years. According to Weinman and Associates’ website, the average marriage lasts 7 to 8 years. So maybe we should be investing in our friendships a little deeper. 

Anywho, now that we’ve used our deductive reasoning skills to determine that nobody is good, everyone will let us down, and we might as well curl up to die in a hole and hiss at anyone who tries to extend an olive branch, let’s talk about romance again. If there’s one thing I’m learning from my observation of healthy points in my own relationships and successful ones outside of my life it’s that concepts and romanticizing someone is just about forgiveness. A step deeper than that, to truly forgive you should see the other person, not the action. We forgive because we see more than the action. And more importantly, we finally feel at home when we are forgiven for inevitably letting down a person we’ve trusted with seeing the part of us that needs to be forgiven.

It feels straight out of a beautiful movie on the surface, but to love the idea of someone is limiting. Putting them in a box like that is disrespectful, selfish, and an insult to their humanity. What makes life so beautiful? I think it’s discovery. In the same way that I wouldn’t want to leave my house every day with a script that I had to use, I’d rather my friends surprise me with their humanity. I’d rather be surprised by humanity than comforted by their uniformity. 

So, after giving myself the prompt “is the idea of a friend better than an actual friend” to write about when I first came up with the idea of this writing project, I’ve come to my conclusion: the idea of a friend is not better than a friend. The friend is the one who gives us the idea of what a friend looks like. 

There's a part of me that is always looking for more, and I feel restless as soon as I feel I know someone. So this is my attempt at understanding that friendships aren't a conquerable feat. They're ever-changing and will never be exactly the same from one day to the next. Not if you don't let them be. 

Discovering the idea of friendship is an adventure, so sign me up. 

4. It's Not About the Size of the Blog

 It's

                                        about

                                                                                            what

                                                                                                                                                you

                                                                                            do

                                                with

the

space. 

3. Writing About Myself

Being the hero in a retelling of your own life feels like cheating. I just finished The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr. It’s a book about writing about yourself, written by someone who has written three books about herself. It’s an incredible instruction manual but Mary Karr is famous for her memoirs, she’s not necessarily famous for her instruction book. Have I ever read a full memoir? Nah. But I have been able to fake a couple of intellectual conversations by knowing who Mary Karr is (not for her memoirs as I’ve never read one, and I’m able to score points with the Intellectuals by sharing with them a book they’ve never heard of by an author that they have). 

What Mary Karr has learned from her tens of thousands of authored pages that were revised, reread, and trimmed down to hundreds, is this:

“Oddly, when I’m working well, the work ceases being about me, even in memoir.” -Mary Karr, The Art of Memoir

Being the hero in a retelling of your own life is missing the point, I think. I know this because when I push the computer across the coffee shop table for my girlfriend to read a draft, I look for a spark of relatability in her eyes. I want her to feel good from my words, and I want you to finish reading what I have to say without a doubt in your mind that it was worth your time. I have so many stories that after my own mind’s revisions make me look really, really good. But I’m the hero of my own life, not yours. 

Being the hero in a retelling of your own life is stripping a privilege that belongs to the reader. The reader is the hero, discovering a new perspective. The author offers insight, the author’s story is a stepping stone for a reader to write their own. 

2. Home

I’d argue that if there is one single universal human experience, it’s the desire to be home. Home can look like so many things, which is why I feel comfortable making such a claim. A person or group that feels like home, a specific hiking trail, a coffee shop, getting into the zone of a sport you’ve devoted your life to, poetry, or, - and hear me out here - a house. The ability to feel familiar is an elusive concept that I’ve struggled with since I was 17. Almost 10 years ago after a particularly violent screaming match with my father, and after hearing “it’s you or me, and this is my house” from him, I found myself living out of a duffel bag at my friend Jeff’s house. Junior year of high school is a wild time to start thinking about how to go through the day-to-day by yourself, especially when you’ve only known life in an upper-middle-class, 3-meals-a-day, church-every-Sunday family. I can’t ever fully realize how privileged I am to have felt so comfortable for the first 17 years of my life, but after this everything just became a little more scary, and thus began my search for home in different places.

Is there a word for homes that aren't quite home? 

Since then, drawers have become a thing of the past. My brain was actively developing when I learned that you don’t need many clothes or much furniture to exist, and that made me pretty mobile. In college I never fully unpacked, and packing up to move again just looked like throwing things in trash bags and either dropping them in the dumpster or trashing them. I still have a fundamental problem with using drawers, and if I use one I’ll forget about what I put there until it’s time to move. No drawers made it easy to live in a van for a while. No drawers make it easy to follow the other things I want to do, they made it easy to move to Colorado. They’ll make it easy to move to the next place, and no drawers make it easy for that next place to be somewhere I want it to be. 

But if I don’t need drawers, what else don’t I need? 

This concept has been at the forefront of my mind because a rather large milestone just happened: I’ve officially lived in one house longer than any place since I hurriedly packed a duffel bag and closed the door on my childhood home behind me halfway through high school. And honestly, it feels like it’s time to go. Nothing has changed, but my internal alarm clock is ringing. 

This begs the question: will the alarm clock stop? 

Is home just the concept of home? Maybe yes, but right now I guess it’s never here. 

"Home is that house you no longer live in. Home is before, and you live in after." -John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed: Essays on a Human-Centered Planet

 

1. Ocean vs Opportunity

I think I’ve cornered myself as an author. There’s something especially daunting about investing in a specific writing style for a specific audience, honing that style to the point where I was regularly converting it to speeches and sermons, catering to that one audience, and then closing the door on the foundation of that schtick. 

Have you ever had a conversation with someone who didn’t think they’d live past the age of 20, and now they’re panicking because every day they live is a new, unexpected, and unknown void? I never thought I’d die an early death (I mean I think we all fantasize about who’d be at our funerals though, right? Maybe “Faking My Own Suicide” by Relient K was only part of the niche I left, but it really got me thinking about who I’d absolutely shock with my untimely death. Actually, that song and its entire premise has aged horribly. I wonder how that got past the walls of the recording booth). I always thought I’d be married by 25 at the latest, with a child or two by the time I turn 30, and I’d figure it out from there. I think that’s the death I planned on dying. 

A little over a year ago I penned (typed, actually) a farewell to my former foundation. I wrote about it recently in an unreleased, unfinished journal entry:

8 months ago I outlined the crumbling of my faith, on display for all to see. There is no tangible way that I've found to accurately describe slipping from, grasping at, and eventually losing a worldview without metaphor. "Bomb going off next to your Lego set" is one, "flood washing out the foundation of your house" is another, but I think my favorite is just..."Jenga:" your worldview is your tower, you choose your path to build, and you’re building it with other people supporting you. You tried to build it too high, so it’s toppled. But now, you’re alone. Jenga is a metaphor that's been used multiple times in my conversations about this topic over the past few weeks, so I'm taking it as a sign to shift my description from my previous favorite of the bomb and the Lego set.  

The only thing missing about this toppling Jenga metaphor is that the game normally has to be played with people. There does seem to be something that keeps people together in the church, sometimes with no questions asked. I've never played a round of Jenga by myself, I just feel like that'd be sad. Every block of the tower I build now, every time my tower comes crashing back down, I feel like I'm looking around in an empty room for someone's laughter, someone's "aww," or someone's elation that they don't have to deal with the loud clatter as a result of their clumsiness. I'm playing this game by myself and the concept of community seems to be a thing of the past.

The thanks I've received for stringing my words together last year have helped me not feel so alone. Dozens and dozens of people have reached out to me, thousands have read the blog. It does help to know that there are at least a small portion of people I interact with on a regular basis whose towers have crumbled, but isn't it a strange thing to all go play our individual Jenga games and then come back to write a report on them, and maybe, if we establish enough rapport between us, to talk about our individual games in person? 

I read a blog today from one of my all-time favorite medium-sized deconstructionist influencers (think Rachel Held Evans, just with 13,000 TikTok followers), reminding me of what sparked my exit from religion as I know it: the beauty of scripture in the way it was intended to be digested: not as a lab report. It makes me remember some things that satisfied chasms in my heart that haven't been satisfied outside of religion. I think of the comfort of knowing that grace exists as a baseline of my existence in a community: the acknowledgement that I'm not perfect and don't have to be. I think of people who care deeply about the invisible things that impact the health of my heart. I think about the feeling of being recharged - just making it to Sunday to remind me of the things that "really matter." 

I think about what I've found to replace the things I used to cope with life in the midst of religion. I've found self-worth in recognizing that while I'm not a perfect person I'm a good person. I've found at least a small amount of community in people that actually accept me where I am and for who I was, who I am, who I might eventually be, and everything in between. I recall a conversation I had with a retired clinical psychologist who was born and raised in New York City and only left to retire in Florida. She was raised without religion and never found it. I usually posture myself in an apologetic manner to describe what I believed in my past, who I campaigned and voted for, and what I've said to people in the name of what I thought was right. This conversation involved me expressing discomfort and slight embarrassment at my aforementioned life, a sentiment which this psychologist shut down immediately. "Why are you embarrassed about the life that got you where you are today?" she asked. "Are you trying to say you'd change the very things that built you and gave you perspective?"

And now, here we are. I’m not fully apologetic, but I’m not fully proud either. Depending on the Bible and its translators to tell me how to live day-to-day is something I’ve taken for granted in a significant way. If life is water, I grew up in a swimming pool and was training to be a lifeguard. Now that I’ve decided to try the ocean on for size, I feel overwhelmed. And not like a lifeguard. In a similar way, what am I supposed to write about now? Life is so much bigger than deconstructing an inherited faith (though I do have a 3-part blog started on that, whoops). But then again life is bigger than most of the things we spend time on, so why not just talk about it? 

I’d like to at least try. I miss writing, whatever it looks like. I’ll fight to get myself out of this corner, jump into the ocean, and start writing reports on my jenga tower. Unrelated,  but also hopefully I’ll stop using so many metaphors.