Twelve years of Catholic education and four years of ELCA Lutheran college has left me completely abandoned to the idea of something greater. My life has become a comedic series of half-hearted prayers while I sit in my bed crying, covered in marinara sauce. My view of religion has become more romantic, more idyllic than the fire and brimstone that Johnathan Edwards so enthusiastically proposed. I like to look for signs; the belief that serendipity is God’s work, and Jesus is John Cusack. My husband and I will meet in a cinematic way that we will tell our children about, and when I see a red cardinal it’s my favorite high school teacher saying hi. Deep down I believe that these moments are true prophecies of what is to come. However, when I see a man throw a cup of his own urine without regard to the people around him, it makes these beliefs much more difficult to sustain.
A lot is changing in our twenties, and it’s very easy to take a back seat and say that “God” will take care of it “God” has a plan. And maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. I am certain he does not give a shit about the scene I just did where I’m at 10 year old on coke, or the sketch I wrote about a guy masturbating to rare birds (I’m so sorry mom & Patrick Clair). And I don’t think God looks at that and says, hmmm she is on the path I set for her. People are on God’s path, and I see it everyday with people I know and love. I’m just not, and maybe it was a sliding doors situation. I just hope I’m on the path that hurts less, causes less heart ache, and will leave me looking like Gwyneth Paltrow.
The other day I was awoken by an email from USC, the top program I applied to in my journey to become Judd Apatow. It was maybe 7am, the sun was shining into my room straight to my vision board. I winked at the Judd quote I have on there, put my glasses on to make sure I winked at the right thing, and caught the gaze of my New Testament and Psalms that sits next to my bed (next to my succulents and “I’m a Fucking Lady” poster for good taste). All of my high school teachers underlined their favorite passage, and I often turned to it hard times in college. I thought to myself that this is it, that moment of pause, of reflection of adversity in my academic journey is culminating right now as I open my letter from USC. In a shocking turn of events, I was rejected, but encouraged to reapply in the fall, which honestly isn’t the worst thing since Iowa was just like NOPE, bold, underline, middle finger, fart noise.
I thought that the stars had aligned, and for the first time in seven months I was going to catch a break. I didn’t, and I probably won’t for quite sometime. Even after that happened my pleading with the unknown continued. Maybe it’s just because of the people I’m around but so many people are firm in their faith, or lack there of, but the conversation of “what the fuck is going on? I believe in ghosts, but how do they get there?” is so rarely had. Not that I really want to have that conversation, because my faith right now is explained in the quotation above. I think that we’re all reeling, searching, and hoping to grab onto something stable, or a stable if your a badass horse girl, neigh neigh. Most of us are sad and broken and not sure what comes next, if anything will come next. But we keep talking into nothingness, hoping that it’ll give us answers.