and often it’s about nonsense. This time, it’s religious nonsense.
Right at this moment I’m thinking about how I tend to believe that religion has had very little to do with the shaping of my life. I’m realizing, however, that it comes up in conversation often enough – not that I am religious, but that I rejected the religion I was raised into very early on. I can remember questioning it directly at an early age, which was quickly followed by never wanting to go to church and never paying any attention to it while I was there. Church was painfully boring, even the children’s classes we did which were supposed to be ‘fun.’ I was a terrible mormon.
Now I don’t say that I am mormon, since I’m not, but if it comes up in conversation I will say that I was raised mormon. I never actually felt like I was one, but that is a difficult distinction to make in conversation. I used to think that the fact that I am not mormon meant that religion did not shape my life. I’m beginning to understand that the opposite is the truth.
My rejection of the faith my father tried to instill in me shaped my life as much as my acceptance of it would have; perhaps even more so. The faith I do have, if that is the right word, is an intensely private thing that I find extremely difficult to share in words, as it is rather nebulous at best. It’s easy to put words to what I am not. It isn’t so easy to explain what I am.