Losing My Religion

There was a time when I traveled on one of those buses, the bus of organized religion. For a while, it seemed like the right choice, basically I had no choice, I was baptized into it. So, it became familiar, comforting, and gave me a sense of belonging. I believed the bus was taking me where I needed to go, guiding me along a path to something bigger than myself. Surrounded by others who shared the same beliefs, it felt reassuring. But over time, I began to notice things that didn’t sit well with me. The driver of the bus wasn’t just taking us on a journey; they were controlling the experience, deciding which roads we traveled and how we saw the world outside the windows.

There were moments when the bus would veer onto dark and unsettling roads, roads that felt designed to keep us inside, too scared to step off. The fear of what might happen if I left kept me in my seat for far longer than I’d like to admit. There was comfort in staying on the bus, in believing that the driver knew the way better than I did. But eventually, I started to see something troubling. This bus, which was supposed to be about guiding people to something greater, often sped past those who needed help the most. It rushed through life’s messy, complicated places, avoiding the very people and situations that required compassion and care.

For a long time, I ignored the contradictions. I stayed on the bus because it was easier than getting off. I told myself that this was just part of the journey, that maybe I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. But deep down, something didn’t feel right. I started to question the roads we were taking and the way the driver seemed more interested in controlling the narrative than in guiding us to true understanding. That’s when I realized something: I didn’t have to stay on this bus. I could step off and walk my own road. So, I did.

Walking my own road wasn’t an easy decision. There was fear, fear of what I’d find without the structure of the bus, fear of the unknown. But once I stepped off, I felt a sense of freedom and relief I hadn’t known was possible. I no longer had to follow someone else’s path. I didn’t need a driver to tell me where to go or what to avoid. I could trust my own instincts, my own inner compass, to guide me. And as I began to walk, I realized that I didn’t need to be afraid of the dark roads anymore. I had the resilience to navigate them on my own.

This compass inside me, the one I had ignored for so long, became my guide. I didn’t need the fear that kept me on the bus, nor did I need someone else to decide what was right or wrong for me. I had the strength and clarity to make those decisions myself. And with that understanding came a new sense of power: I was free to walk my path, to take the detours, and to learn and experience inner growth from every experience.

Now, as I travel, I move at my own pace. I stop when I feel the need to reflect or when I see someone who could use a hand. I no longer rush past the difficult parts of life, nor do I avoid the people who need help along the way. I’ve learned that life’s most valuable lessons often come from the places we’re told to avoid, the places the bus sped past. Walking means I get to engage with the world in a way that feels real and meaningful. I don’t need a bus schedule, and I don’t have to be afraid of where the road will take me.

Stepping off the bus didn’t mean losing direction, it meant finding it. It gave me the freedom to chart my own course, to experience life fully, with all its beauty, challenges, and unpredictability. It’s not about reaching a final destination but about embracing the journey itself. Enlightenment, I’ve found, doesn’t wait at the end of the road, it’s revealed in the steps we take along the way, in the moments when we’re willing to wander and explore.

Sometimes I get lost, and that’s okay. Being lost has taught me more about myself than staying on the bus ever could have. It’s in those moments of uncertainty that I’ve grown the most, learning to trust my inner compass and to find strength in my own ability to navigate. I’ve come to see that getting lost isn’t failure, it’s part of the process. It’s where the real growth happens.

Walking my own road has given me something the bus never could: the chance to live with intention, to make decisions based on my own understanding of what’s right and wrong. I don’t need someone else to tell me how to see the world or how to experience it. I’ve learned that I have the power to create my own path, to stop and help when I’m needed, to reflect and learn, and to trust that even when the way isn’t clear, I’m still moving forward.

There’s a freedom in this kind of travel that can’t be found on a bus. When you walk, you get to choose your own pace, your own route, and your own priorities. You’re not confined by someone else’s agenda or driven by fear. You’re guided by your own compass, one that’s always been within you, waiting to be trusted. And beyond that, there’s something even more magical: the opportunity to connect with others who are also walking their own paths.

When you step off the bus and start walking, you begin to encounter people who are on their own journeys, each one with a story, each one taking their own steps toward wherever they’re headed. These moments of connection are profound. There’s something awe-inspiring about witnessing someone else’s path, the choices they’ve made, the struggles they’ve faced, the beauty they’ve found along the way. You learn to honor their walk or their seat on their chosen bus, to see their journey as valid and meaningful, even if it looks nothing like your own.

In these moments, compassion becomes a central part of the journey. You start to realize that, while we may all be walking our own roads, we’re not walking alone. There’s a shared experience in the act of moving through life, of facing challenges, of seeking meaning.

And when you offer compassion to others, you’re acknowledging that even though our paths may differ, we are all striving toward something greater. You offer a kind word, a helping hand, or simply a moment of understanding, and in return, you feel the richness of human connection.

In many ways, "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. captures the emotional essence of stepping away from something once so familiar and comfortable, much like my own journey of leaving the bus of organized religion. That song speaks to the vulnerability of questioning deeply held beliefs, the conflict of feeling exposed, and the courage it takes to let go of something that no longer serves you. In the same way, when I stepped off the bus, it wasn’t just about rejecting a system, it was about finding my own path, trusting my inner compass, and embracing the uncertainty of walking alone.

Like in the song, the moment of letting go is both freeing and frightening, but it’s also the beginning of something profoundly authentic. It’s about realizing that the path forward, though uncharted, is my own to walk, and in doing so, I find connection with others who are also walking their paths, each of us learning, growing, and offering compassion along the way.

This is the beauty of walking your own road. It’s not just about your journey, it’s about recognizing and honoring the journeys of others. It’s about finding awe in the diversity of experiences and offering compassion to those who may be struggling or celebrating something you can’t fully see. Walking allows you to engage with the world in a way that is authentic, kind, and deeply human.

So, as I continue my own walk, I do so with the knowledge that I am free to move at my own pace, guided by my own compass. But I also carry with me the understanding that the road is filled with others, each one on their own journey, each one deserving of respect, compassion, and honor. And that, perhaps, is the greatest gift of walking this path, the ability to connect, to learn from others, and to walk together, even if just for a short while.

☥