An old etiquette standard states that one should never discuss religion or politics in polite company. Which, of course, tempts me to discuss just that. I’m not technically allowed to write about politics in this column, but please forgive me for breaking the religion rule this week.

Church-wise, I grew up in a typical Midwestern Protestant (specifically, United Methodist) fashion – big church, friendly people who knew your name and asked how your brother was doing, potluck dinners, youth group retreats, the whole deal. It was really nice.

Then I got to about eighth grade and, like many 13 year olds, grew both confused and disgusted by my church. Emphasis had shifted from worshiping God and enjoying fellowship to “witnessing” and telling our personal stories of how we had “sunk so low” and “found Jesus again” and “got saved.”

But I hadn’t found Jesus again, because I had never lost him. My faith simply had always been a major, unquestioned part of my life, and I had no reason to have any kind of crisis. Until now, that is, when everyone around me apparently had experienced some kind of requisite “seeing the light” moment and I hadn’t. Bottom line: I didn’t fit in, and for a 13 year old, no matter what the context, that’s pretty terrifying.

I’ll spare you the details of the next eight years, but in truth there aren’t that many. I’ve continued to question, to feel lost, to miss the carefree days when religion was a given and I had no reason to be afraid. And these religious questions keep moving further and further down my “To Do” list.

My questionable priorities have become an even greater source of guilt as I’ve had the opportunity at Northwestern to see firsthand what true religious devotion can look like. In my dorm sophomore year, I lived next door to two great girls who also happened to be Muslim.

It was incredible to see them observe cultural and religious traditions while they fully enjoyed their college experience – in between their five daily prayers, they studied, listened to music, stayed up late, laughed and had a great time just like any other college student. They didn’t drink or date, but there was never the sense that they were holding themselves back – resisting temptation and leading a healthy, pure, virtuous lifestyle was a given for them; their religion insisted upon it.

I know myself, and I’m quite aware that I’ve happily grown accustomed to a lifestyle quite different from theirs – one that doesn’t involve following mandates of an institution. I don’t feel any guilt about that, either. I respect that some people have it figured out, but I still can’t in good conscience live by a code that I’m unable to reconcile with intellectually.

I just can’t help wishing sometimes that things were still like they were when I was 12 years old, when the answers were there, clear, unquestioned. I might have been young and na’ve, but it sure was nice.

Medill senior Anna Maltby can be reached [email protected].