What Do You Believe In?

I write this story by computer screen, candle light, and the soft glow of street lights just out of eyesight. There’s still plenty of power in my place, but the near darkness gives me a calm after a day of work. Calm that I desperately need.

I find myself easily overwhelmed, not to the point of anyone noticing enough to comment, but I can feel my grip and control slipping if I don’t get the chance to remove myself from being on. Living alone, in a pandemic does frequently afford me the chance to not be on but there are days that I can’t just separate myself from my thoughts, my to do list, and my chronic need to be there for everyone in my life.

As someone who regularly sneers (once a punk kid, always a punk kid) at tradition, it shouldn’t be shocking that I had a fairly religious upbringing. Raised Catholic, I attended Mass every Sunday and had a moderate religious education (I attended public school but had CCD classes either Sundays after Mass, Tuesdays after ballet, or for two weeks in the summer). I have all my prayers still memorized, more copies of The Holy Bible than I care to count, at least two rosaries, and an unending need to capitalize the correct words as this paragraph has shown.

I hated it as a child. I don’t think my parents were expecting much from me in terms of being Catholic outside of continuing to practice. There was no subtle hints that I should become a nun or even devote myself to a more religious life. This hands off approach kept me going to Mass through high school (because I lived at home with them) and even a bit through college (despite living away from them). I moved back home after college and the expectations for me to attend Mass were there, but after a handful of half hearted attempts, my parents stopped pushing the topic. I thank them for that. I was working 40 hours a week at my full time job, 8 hours on Saturday at a part time job, going to grad school online, and trying to get a career.

I don’t want to say I was caught up in grind culture, but I definitely wasn’t taking care of myself.

And this is how I operated for most of my 20s. Just trying to keep my head above water despite living at home with my parents.

After moving out and suddenly having the ability to structure my day, week, and life around the things I needed to do and wanted to do, I was able to prioritize religion right out of my life.

With that came my interest in novelty religious candles. I’m sure you’ve seen them. Tall, cylindrical candles that you usually find just inside of churches that you pay $1 or two to light with a very long match (or piece of linguine if you’re from NJ) and say a prayer to. But instead of an angel or a saint or the name of the person who donated the candles, these are adorned with the face of a celebrity. Meaning that any time my family comes for a visit, I must hide the candles for fear of a lecture about worshiping false idols.

My current collection includes Cher, Guy Fieri, Catherine O’Hara dressed as Moria Rose, Christina Ricci dressed as Wednesday Addams, Ol Dirty Bastard, Notorious B.I.G., and Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

Yes, I love all these people individually for their contributions to the world but I don’t look to them like Gods that can fix life for me. To say lighting candles is a religious practice for me is rude to my Catholic upbringing and rude to all religious/spiritualities/traditions/cultures that rely on the ceremonies of lighting candles but it would also be highly inaccurate for me to say lighting one of these candles is like lighting any of my other candles.

I light them with intention. I light them with the intent of being a better person by the time I extinguish the flames. I light them with the hope that if there is someone running the cosmos, they are able to cut through the noise of my day, ignore my internal requests for help, and hear what I’m truly asking for.

Cher: Confidence to say “Mom, I am a rich man” but also to be able to say what she says after that statement, surrounding herself with people she wants to be around.

Ol Dirty Bastard: Friendship and laughter

Notorious B.I.G.: Prosperity

Catherine O’Hara as Moria Rose: Resiliency and tenacity

Guy Fieri: Charity

Christina Ricci as Wednesday Addams: Family and healthy relationships

And Ruth Bader Ginsberg, the candle that started this all. I want to say I light her for truth and fairness but that boils it down too simply. And I don’t want to say I light her for hope, guidance, or faith. Because I’ll light her and think about your ailing grandmother. I’ll light her and think about a friend’s desire for children. I’ll light her when I need grounding during a moment of anxiety I can’t sooth.

In the realm of Catholicism, she is my Saint Peter.

Her patronage is vast but she is rarely lit. Partly because for so long I couldn’t afford to replace her (thank you Notorious RBG for taking off and making her more accessible) and partly because I feel like the spirit of Ruth needs a break. We called upon her so often during her time on Earth, that I feel bad disrupting whatever she’s doing out there.

I don’t care if it sounds odd to you, at the end of the day it is reassuring to me.

So I will sit here in the dark and reflect on my intentions, my hopes, my wishes, my fears, but also on what my friends and family have asked for directly and indirectly.

The soft glow of her candle is emanating from the center of my coffee table and nothing but the sound of my sobs (some times they are happy, some times they are sad, but mostly they are cathartic) and the occasional car driving by my windows accompany this act.

I sit in and with my feelings.

I guess if I’m going to believe in anything, this seems good.