I was talking with a friend last night who decided to give me unsolicited advice. I, like most people, don’t take kindly to this. In fact, it annoys the shit out of me. In an effort to change the conversation to more neutral territory, I decided to fall on my sword and say, “Yeah, that’s just who I am. I don’t deal well with stress. Transitions kill me, but at least I know that.”

Immediately after I said it, I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I had just sealed my fate. Let me explain.

One of our greatest strengths is the capacity to grow, to assess our current situation and make choices that align with what we truly want. But it’s hard to do that when we carelessly “accept” false notions of ourselves.

And that brings me to the subject of acceptance...

I used to think that religion was for idiots and spirituality was for hippies. I was a teenager who wanted to believe that the only things that were real, were the things I could see. Perhaps I was spurred on by the fact that my brief stint with Wicca in the 8th grade did not bear the fruits I desired. More likely, being “atheist” was considered cool and I worked desperately to cultivate an air of calculated indifference on these matters. (I failed quite spectacularly at that, by the way. I care too much.) But more than anything, I felt abandoned and wanted to remain depressed.

Like anyone who naturally favors extremes, it was only a matter of time before I exhausted that and came to believe that a power greater than myself may indeed exist. The only problem was that no religion aligned with what I intuitively felt, leading...