Member-only story
Death is more inspiring than eternal life.
I'm not sure if it’s a fitting story for an ordinary Tuesday evening, but I’ve been wanting for a while to drop some notes on this topic.
I wrote several stories about my struggle with faith and religion. This, for example:
I used to believe in God when I was a child. I prayed every night, before falling asleep. And now, no longer. Well, I still pray sometimes, irregularly. Sometimes two nights in a row, and sometimes once every other week. A prayer is calming. It’s like a cool-down mile after a hard workout. I love running, so I like running analogies. But there is a big difference: I run every day and don’t pray every day. Faith is not part of my identity. Maybe, maybe there is a very dim flickering light in the distant corners of my mind and soul, but I don’t need this light to see the vibrant colors of life.
It’s not that getting through life — its struggles and frustrations — has made me more cynical. Not at all. Even in my darkest moments, I usually manage to find a profound appreciation for being alive. I often get deeply disappointed in the human race, observing the atrocities it’s continuing to commit. But I also continue to believe and be touched by love and kindness — between friends, strangers, partners, and…
