I fell into my religion by accident: I was born into it.

Accidents are not necessarily mishaps. Whether or not something is an accident depends on your perception.

As for my birth, I was a cesarean baby; I waited for someone to come and get me. I did not arrive with a splash but immediately responded to life as most of us do: I cried and sought solace. When I felt comforted, I regained my composure. Comfort brings calmness. We can become attached to what brings us comfort.

When you are young, winter does not seem so cold, summer not so hot, and articles of faith not so blunt. As I grew, I was indoctrinated into a belief system—before I could understand what a doctrine was or question why I needed one. I just followed the program. That’s what people do. We usually find ourselves in a group, a collective.

Yes, people are not born mature. We need shaping. We are influenced. We begin as a human silhouette and hopefully develop into a self—a person, an identity—by way of the formative forces that surround us: family, culture, society, and education. These authorities and persuasions become our roots. Roots help us feel we are not alone. Roots give us the strength to incorporate changes in our lives. Roots can also govern our lives.

Who was I? Like many, I grew up looking at my life and myself with eyes colored by a particular worldview, a particular platform, a particular religion, a particular culture. My perception was not produced by my thinking, my inquiries, or my solutions.

I had no awareness of this cultivation of faith identification, no understanding of why dedication and devotion to a faith was necessary, and no encouragement to develop my own inner sense of the sacred, my own inner sense of self. Curiosity about faith—supposedly the most vital part of your being and identity—was practically considered a disease in the Catholic religion, as is true in most religions. You did not ask questions.

I wore an interior and exterior uniform my entire twelve years of schooling. I was a reflection of others—inside and out. I never had to be concerned with staying in style, mull over what to wear each morning, or hear from my mother, “You’re wearing that?” Uniforms provide an instant identity. Uniforms are economical. In grade school, I had a mere two pairs of blue corduroy pants. I could fly by the seat of my same pair of pants for several weeks—nobody would know. I didn’t know. I didn’t think about it.

Uniformity is unconsciously comforting.  Group identification provides security.