Choosing to Believe In Nostalgia and How it Improves My Life
An eulogy to the woman who shaped my existential curiosity
Growing up, I admired Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s fierce atheism and Christopher Hitchens’ iconic “hitchslap” to religious zealots. Ironically, my disbelief in the divine and my parallel rejection of norms, even the rule of law, filled my so-called godhole — or, more accurately, band-aided my godwound.
Ali recently converted to Christianity, shocking everyone, including her former atheist ally, Richard Dawkins. When Dawkins pressed her about the unscientific claims of her new faith, Ali responded that she “[chose] to believe.”
While astonished by her conversion, my true surprise turned out to be deeply personal. I had always construed willful faith as exclusively religious sectarianism. But as my rationality began to tremble, I realized my hypocrisy: much like Ali, I, too, was guilty of choosing to believe.
However, my belief revolves not around a deity but someone deeply personal: my late, old-world grandmother, Anna-Greta.
My beloved grandma embodied all that was bucolic and wholesome. Her mothering hand, always extended and unconditional, complemented her genuine interest in my peculiar, developing mind.
