I used to be certain.
Not just confident or comfortable, but certain in the way only a young person can be when handed a complete system and told it explains everything. I had been taught a theology that divided the world neatly into what was true and what was false. It came with answers for every question that mattered and, more importantly, it came with the assumption that those answers were final.
I didn’t question it. Why would I? It was what I had been given. It felt like truth because it felt like home.
When I listen to people argue about theology now, I often recognize something uncomfortably familiar. I hear the same tone of certainty I once had. I see people defending systems they didn’t build but have fully embraced. They assume their conclusions are objectively true and everything else is objectively wrong.
I understand that mindset because I once lived there.

Hidden chains need to be broken, so I’ve become a reluctant rebel
I’d forgotten what I said about her necklace, but she hadn’t forgotten
Confessing my ego’s old desires reveals hidden fears of my past
We all know fairy tales aren’t true, but maybe we need such illusions
Tribal hatreds around me mean detour on road to personal peace
Rational rules don’t apply when the state gives itself a monopoly
Don’t ever make politicians angry or they might assassinate you, too
Being alone allows us to indulge our worst flaws and avoid change
Goodbye, Molly (2008-2021)