Technically, I'm Jewish, but I still haven't found a religion.
My family is hardly religious. My mom is Jewish and my dad Christian, but neither one was knowledgeable or dedicated enough to teach my sister and me much. My parents settled on celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah as a bare bones way of giving us some sort of religious education.
Our Christmas celebrations extended little beyond a tree and presents. I knew that Jesus was born Dec. 25, but to this day I'm fuzzy on the details of the nativity story.
We celebrated Hanukkah by lighting our menorah, albeit erratically, and reading transliterations of the three essential prayers from a photocopied sheet pasted into one of my mom's cookbooks.
When I was in elementary school, my mom had a change of heart and decided that she wanted us to get a real Jewish education. We joined a temple and my mom enrolled us both in the Hebrew school.
I liked the classes, but never felt much of a connection to Judaism. My favorite parts were the weekly quizzes on Hebrew vocabulary words and the doughy challah bread we ate after services. I gave little thought to the subtle religious messages entwined in each lesson.
By sheer accident, I ran into a Mennonite youth convention in San Jose a few days ago. As the group of almost 4,000 teenagers waited to enter the worship hall, they erupted into cheers and applause. They threw beach balls and blown-up plastic animals into the air.
As I stood outside the door in the moist heat steaming off the crowd, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy that I didn't have a community like this one to call my own. Inside the worship hall, the Mennonites clapped and sang to the boy-band rock music that overflowed from the stage. They listened intently to a man speak passionately about finding God.
The Mennonites were self-assured, too. The young people I spoke with talked about their futures with a candid confidence that I find uncommon among people my age. They know that they want to remain chaste until marriage. They know that they want to do service in their communities to emulate the life of Jesus. Most importantly, they know they want to live their lives for God.
For a moment, I wondered why I had never rejoined my congregation or sought out another religious community. I found myself wishing I had a religion – some broad, overreaching philosophy that I could refer to so that I could determine what I should think about certain issues or how I should conduct myself in daily life.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I'm glad I don't have a religion. I don't have the same type of community that usually comes with it, but I have something else: the opportunity to come up with my own answers.
So instead of a religion, I've been looking for a philosophy on life. I try to find out how people around me choose to live and take their ideas into consideration as I mold my own set of beliefs.
Sometimes I visit with a group of people who invented its own religion, which science to discern value. I went to a nearby Buddhist center during winter break one year and attended a service. I read about a book about meditation and occasionally try to submerge my mind in nothingness. I frequently talk to my friends about their religions and what they think the meaning of life is.
Sometimes, I think I've found it. One rainy day last April after a long run in the hills, I was positive I had discovered the ultimate philosophy on life, but I've forgotten it now. I guess I'll just have to keep looking.