My roommate said, “if you have no faith in God, you probably don’t have a purpose.”
It made me cringe to start, but then it really made me think more about the idea of purpose.
There have been times in my life when I thought a life devoid of a clear purpose was not worth living.
I would walk around thinking that I owed life something, to Him, to the almighty God. And maybe some of that is my upbringing.
My parents weren’t exactly very religious but most definitely enforced their piece of understanding on me and my siblings. They essentially encouraged us to follow the 10 commandments — not too stressful or overall demanding.
But the church represented something more. It was a space that required that I act and behave in a certain fashion.
If I didn’t, I would learn to associate my behavior with shame.
And for a while, I didn’t think anything was wrong with that. Everyone probably knew and was okay with that culture. I figured it was a normal part of belonging to a society or community.
And then, my teenage years happened.
And then, eventually, weed.
And then I started asking some questions. I no longer wanted to walk with blindfolds on.
