I am a twenty-two year old man. I live in an age where pronouns are a part of introducing ourselves, tolerance is pushed but disagreement is intolerable, and the most important things to the young mind are self-love and personal gain. I, along with the rest of civilization, have evolved from religiosity and moral adherence to something much more convenient to the mind: free thinking. I grab my ideological scissors and snip away at whatever doesn’t please me. If I don’t like what I read, I keep scrolling (yes, always scrolling, as papers have become obsolete).
I grew up as the last of a dying breed; the last boys to be boys. I played with mud and airsoft rifles. I carved sticks into spears and barreled through creeks. I played with G.I. Joe’s and they protected my sister’s Barbie’s, because yes, they needed protection. I chewed sunflower seeds. I spit. I collected pocket knives and shot guns without fear. I ate from the land without ever thinking of the deer’s helpless gaze into my rifle’s scope. I fished from the water without care of removing them from their natural habitat, even if it wasn’t catch-and-release.
I was a teenager when the movies weren’t riddled with women empowerment. I watched baseball on Sundays after church. I held the door open for ladies and said “yes ma’am” and “sir.” I would ask my parents if I could drive the car to hang out with friends before curfew. We wouldn’t drink or smoke, we just went to the shops. I played video games with violence in them before I knew what war truly was.
Coming of age, I got glimpses of life in the future. I got a job at sixteen, and worked for (almost) everything I have. Vine was the most popular app in my teenage years, and it was merely kids being stupid or funny. Books were my childhood and records were my life’s soundtrack. But things have changed.
Now, I do what I want. I listen to the music I want to. I watch the videos I want to. I say what I feel and expect immediate validation from my peers. Barbie’s can protect themselves just as well as G.I. Joe’s could. Guns kill people, and knives are unnecessary, even for opening boxes. The convenience of my mind is more important than the stress of work. I expect more things to be handed to me than labored for. I enjoy showing the world my highlights in life, but ignore help from anyone who tries to show me “tough love.” What is love, after all, if it makes me feel uncomfortable? What is help if it takes me from what I want to do? I only see danger in things that I want to see. Everything else is harmless.
My greatest glimpse of God is when I look in the mirror. I may not give myself the title, but I carry it in my pocket. The most deadly thing in my life is toxic relationships. The more potential to change my life and make me accountable, the more toxic they are.
I push acceptance at the disposal of truth. I am not accountable for my actions, it is always someone else’s fault. I have every right to establish my own ideas of justice, love, morality, and eternity. There are many convicting books, most of which are compiled into one that people call “holy,” but as I know, all papers are obsolete.
The Gospel According to Me is this: I make my truth. Even if I disobey my truth, I am not penalized for it. There is no real evil in me, so I need not be forgiven. I simply live as though I’m dying and when I do, I’ll find out what happens next.
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