If I made a dollar for every time some kid started their English essay with the definition of a word (e.g. fear, ambition, greed), I would have a lot of dollars. I’d also be more excited to read their papers. Coffee money aplenty! So, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself when I realized I was contemplating the same approach to my own writing project. Do as I say, not as I do, kiddos.
CONVERT (v.)
1. to cause change in form character or function
2. to cause to adopt a different religion (to convert the heathen)
Obviously, the second definition is the more literal process that I'm experiencing. It's slightly magnanimous, however, in that I had no initial religion to begin with. I am the heathen in the example sentence, except with better table manners than the average Neanderthal. My mom grew up very Catholic, my dad was Dutch Reformed. By the time they had kids, both were done with religion. My dad said we were "nothing," and my mom's rosier take on our religious status was that we "followed the golden rule." I went to a good number of masses, mostly because they came part in parcel with sleeping over Catholic friends' houses. I also did a stint at my neighbor's youth group, which ended abruptly when I found myself being asked to pray someone's gay away. By the time I got to college, I was firmly not religious.
Living in New York City in my 20's only furthered the case for agnosticism. Who needed church when there were bars to frequent on Saturdays and brunch to enjoy on Sunday? Community was the eight-million people who lived in Manhattan, then the hipsters that lounged in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park on sunny weekend afternoons. In the city, I could hear famous authors speak about literature any night of the week, see world-renowned art at the Met, run past gorgeous brownstones, eat food from anywhere in the world, and hear music from bands that weren’t even cool yet. East Coast liberal elitism was as much an organization as I needed.
Which brings us to the first, and maybe more important, definition: change.
Turns out, the things that are important to a 25-year-old aren’t the same things that matter to a 31-year old. And as cliché as it is, I feel like I know a lot less than I used to. What I do know is as follows:
1. I fell in love with a nice Jewish man.
2. I ended up falling for his faith, too.
3. My matzo balls are floaters, not sinkers.
And so begins my journey. Weekly classes, enough Jewish literature to require another new book shelf, meetings with the rabbi, services at the synagogue, new recipes to cook, the history of a people to learn, and, with any luck, a religious community that will become my home. On the off chance this adventure is a meaningful and entertaining one, I’ll be writing it all down right here.
CONVERT (v.)
1. to cause change in form character or function
2. to cause to adopt a different religion (to convert the heathen)
Obviously, the second definition is the more literal process that I'm experiencing. It's slightly magnanimous, however, in that I had no initial religion to begin with. I am the heathen in the example sentence, except with better table manners than the average Neanderthal. My mom grew up very Catholic, my dad was Dutch Reformed. By the time they had kids, both were done with religion. My dad said we were "nothing," and my mom's rosier take on our religious status was that we "followed the golden rule." I went to a good number of masses, mostly because they came part in parcel with sleeping over Catholic friends' houses. I also did a stint at my neighbor's youth group, which ended abruptly when I found myself being asked to pray someone's gay away. By the time I got to college, I was firmly not religious.
Living in New York City in my 20's only furthered the case for agnosticism. Who needed church when there were bars to frequent on Saturdays and brunch to enjoy on Sunday? Community was the eight-million people who lived in Manhattan, then the hipsters that lounged in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park on sunny weekend afternoons. In the city, I could hear famous authors speak about literature any night of the week, see world-renowned art at the Met, run past gorgeous brownstones, eat food from anywhere in the world, and hear music from bands that weren’t even cool yet. East Coast liberal elitism was as much an organization as I needed.
Which brings us to the first, and maybe more important, definition: change.
Turns out, the things that are important to a 25-year-old aren’t the same things that matter to a 31-year old. And as cliché as it is, I feel like I know a lot less than I used to. What I do know is as follows:
1. I fell in love with a nice Jewish man.
2. I ended up falling for his faith, too.
3. My matzo balls are floaters, not sinkers.
And so begins my journey. Weekly classes, enough Jewish literature to require another new book shelf, meetings with the rabbi, services at the synagogue, new recipes to cook, the history of a people to learn, and, with any luck, a religious community that will become my home. On the off chance this adventure is a meaningful and entertaining one, I’ll be writing it all down right here.
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