Religion wasn’t really shoved down my throat, and I was never really part of a religion. It wasn’t painful for me to realize the universe for what it truly is.

When I was young, we did go to church every Sunday. However, I never paid attention to what they were saying. Like most other children, I was just there for the cookies, not divine revelation. I did read my kids bible cover to cover when I was six, since even as a child I wanted to be knowledgeable. Religion wasn’t shoved down my throat despite this. My parents always encouraged my brother and I to read and learn – I remember reading lots of books about dinosaurs (my brother was into them) and science (everything else that I was interested in). There was never any question for me as to the age of the universe. The bible was wrong, science was right. I suppose my brain was “wired” toward science.

We moved when I was eight, and my grandparents sent me to a bible camp that everyone had gone to on their side of the family. I had a lot of fun, as there were a variety of activities, kind counselors, and entertaining songs. Interjecting all this were these “campfires” where they would discuss god. I cannot recall if it was that summer or one following where I came to two conclusions. One, god did exist. Two, he was a total a**hole.

I believed there was a god because I believe in Santa Claus and that my stuffed toys had souls. I was young, and I lived in a world of fiction and imagination. I didn’t like god because I was fiercely independent. I could take care of myself, I didn’t need someone to tell me what to do or look after me. All the adults in my life pretty much had a monopoly on that. I also needed something to throw all my hatred at. I was in a new town, away from my childhood friends, and every time I tried to make new ones they ended up stabbing me in the back. I was a very angry child, and I needed to get that emotion out.

Fast forward to when I was twelve. I had a few shaky relationships, but I was basically damaged goods. That year when I went to camp, the idea of someone who loved me no matter what was beginning to sound pretty appealing. I decided to stop hating and start loving. The minute I did, it was like this incredibly huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

After that, I wore a cross, listened to Christian music, and even prayed. I never really felt close to god, however, or remotely Christian like. I felt so fake. So three weeks or so after I “converted” I lay in my bed late at night, trying to figure things out. I looked at both options before me. Hating god felt wrong… yet loving him felt wrong too. What was I to do? 

Then, this tiny voice spoke up, “Maybe it’s because there isn’t a god”. 

It was as if everything just fell into place. I knew instantly that I had finally gotten it right. I felt elated, like yet another weight had lifted, and I was floating above all those believers and their silly beliefs. I soon came crashing down to Earth, as I also realized that my parents would not approve. I cannot explain why I knew this… but instinctively I figured out that I had stumbled onto something taboo, and forbidden. It filled me with sorrow momentarily, but I knew that I had every right to think the way I did. Yet I still kept the naïve belief that they were my parents, and they would love me no matter what. It was a constant battle between emotion and reason.

It’s been three years since then. My parents know my beliefs now, and I predicted correctly their reaction. I don’t trust them as much as I used to. I’m still dealing with a lot of stuff*, and my emotion constantly swings between being really happy about being free, and really sad my dad (for my mom has accepted it) doesn’t want to open his mind. I have come to terms with the fact that when I die, the universe will go on without me. For the moment, I am content to live my life to the fullest, because life is pretty sweet**; why would I want to squander it waiting for the next one?

“Was Carl Sagan a religious man? He was so much more. He left behind the petty, parochial, medieval world of the conventionally religious; left the theologians, priests and mullahs wallowing in their small-minded spiritual poverty. He left them behind, because he had so much more to be religious about. They have their Bronze Age myths, medieval superstitions and childish wishful thinking. He had the universe.”

*You know, teenage angst, depression, suicide. All that fun stuff.
**I think; logically I know I shouldn’t waste this life, but emotionally; well f**k, I don’t really have any emotion right now.