Are you there God?
It's me, Brittany. *Chapter 14*
I have never been a religious person. At 8 years old, I remember sliding into the front seat of my mother’s navy blue Aerostar minivan after church. I stared at the dashboard for a moment and then announced, “Mom, I don’t want to go to Sunday School anymore.” Incredible woman and mother she is, she told me that was fine but also wanted to know why. I simply couldn’t wrap my brain around the concept of God. Specifically, I couldn’t accept an “all-loving” God who would also “punish me.” We went to a Methodist church. From the little I know of religion, Methodism seems pretty reasonable. I don’t recall any pressing guilt or the threat of hell. God simply seemed hypocritical to me at a point in my life when I didn’t know what hypocrisy was. It just didn’t make sense.
After I stopped going to Sunday School, I became scared of this tiny little church we would drive by on the way to the grocery store. I do not know what it was about this specific church. It started out as a trailer and eventually a tiny little steepled building appeared. Every time I looked at it I got an empty, fearful knot in my stomach. What was God going to do to me? I had the same fear of this church that other kids had of graveyards. I’d hold my breath when we drove by it.
Still, I remember a feeling of knowing. A knowledge of something bigger than me. But what? A pit of existential dread came directly after thinking too much about it. What if there isn’t anything bigger than me? What if I am alone? My most breath-taking anxiety came from the inability to see out of other people’s eyes. I couldn’t stand the idea of being stuck in my own brain, trapped in my body, experiencing all of this by myself for my whole entire life. Really freaky stuff for a 9 year old.
In high school, I attended a few youth group gatherings at mega-churches in our town. The cool kids were doing it. I just couldn’t get into it. Electric guitar and worship music I just… couldn’t.
I have envied people with absolute faith in their religion. Answers to all of life’s questions even if they’re scary, to have sense of it all. A place to meet and share in belief, joy, pain, sorrow and fears, to rejoice and to wallow together. Community. Something we are all craving. But then, there are the terrible consequences of absolute belief and devotion. Wars, discrimination, power mongering, estrangement from family, you know the list.
Over the years, I’ve sought and traveled many paths to faith. Tarot cards, psychics, astrologers, manifestation, The Law of Attraction, meditation, journaling, yoga, my “craft” (that’s an actor dig…). I’ve read a million self-help books. Started so many journeys. I consider myself an optimistic person. While sarcastic and a tad cynical (see: my last post on being crabby), I am also the lady who will watch a butterfly flit through the air. It made my year, that a squirrel (we call her Lisa) tore apart the rattan ottoman I bought for our porch to build her nest. I talk to myself constantly and I’m currently wearing a fuzzy robe with a hood that has little ears on it. Within the silly parts of myself, there is a certain magic, a connection to something light and exciting and ethereal.
My sweet friend, Annie, told me that from my last few posts she can tell I’ve been working through something. I sound frustrated. In truth, I haven’t felt much of a connection to my higher self lately. I feel detached, a skepticism towards the magic part of me who really wants to and so does believe in something bigger. A current or an energy, some sort of divine kinship to everything and everyone. With the state of the world in such literal bloody turmoil, is it maybe just impossible to find levity?
I do remain hopeful. It’s my nature. This morning, my alarm rang at 6:30. I got up and meditated for 25 minutes and then went back to bed. I’m not sure what it accomplished but it did feel good. In silence, stuck inside my own body, I prayed to feel connected again, to experience deep gratitude and appreciation. When I woke up an hour later, I felt lighter. I started writing this post in my head.
I miss believing in something. I want to find again what I believe in.
In the meantime, my favorite astrologer just posted a weekly forecast. I’ll listen to that while I drive to Pilates, worship at the altar of the reformer and keep the faith until faith returns.
Sending you love. Always.
Here’s the list:
WATCHING
Escaping Twin Flames on Netflix. I had already listened to a podcast about this so it was a bit anticlimactic for me but if you have no idea what this is about and you like documentaries about cults, you will love it.
READING
This article from Farrah Storr of Things Worth Knowing. About being in your 40s and deciding NOT to have kids. I loved it and the comment section accompanying it.
LISTENING
This is my favorite astrologer, in case you’re curious. I love the sound of his voice and his immaculate vocabulary.
Have a lovely week. I’ll be dog-sitting for my parents while they head down to spend Thanksgiving with my nephew, their first grand-baby. Alan and I are hosting a little Friendsgiving out at their house. It feels very high school, very “raid the liquor cabinet” vibes. I’m excited.
I will talk to you next Monday. Take the very best care of yourselves and your loved ones til then.
xoxo.
the best part of my Monday morning is hanging out with you, Boo!
A lot of Hope in this one. And a stunning painting, I must say! Good choice!