For the first time in my life I look at the stars with wonder, not certainty.

There’s a decided beauty in not knowing, not having the answers to the giant existential questions.

The stars, which previously stood as a testament to the power of a deity, now represent endless mystery and possibilities. The world around me comes alive with wild intensity.

Leaving religion felt like the end. The night sky felt empty. Life felt incomplete. I had been taught and believed that there was no reason for living for aside from Christ. But now I’m discovering that I don’t need a reason. I’m alive. Be it by god, or aliens or chemical miracle, I’m alive. I don’t need justification for my existence. I don’t need to apologize for my humanity. Despite all odds, in defiance of abuse, in rebellion to depression, I continue to exist. And that, that my dear friends, is fucking divine.

My story is no longer dictated by a book, or a man, or a religion. It is an empty page with infinite possibilities. The certainty I lost is replaced with adventure. Stepping into the unknown was terrifying. IS terrifying. But the freedom of being able to dream without restraint is exhilarating.

Slowly, I’m reclaiming the wonder I felt as a child. Falling in love with the glorious, terrifying, beautiful mystery of life.

And when I sit and look at the stars, I see endless possibilities.