Religion is like that one relative who shows up at every family gathering, loudly insists they’re right about everything, and still somehow gets invited next year. I’ve spent enough time on this planet to realize people cling to belief systems like comfort blankets—stitched from hope, fear, and whatever cosmic fabric they can get their hands on. I don’t judge it. I just prefer a blanket that doesn’t tell me what to eat, who to love, or how many times I should kneel before breakfast.

Being agnostic means I exist in this awkward middle ground between “there’s definitely something out there” and “we’re all just floating space dust pretending to have purpose.” It’s like attending a party and standing by the snack table, refusing to commit to dancing until you’re sure the music doesn’t suck. I’ve got nothing against religion itself; if your faith gives you peace, purpose, or the strength not to throw your coffee at your boss, great—keep it. Just don’t hand me your pamphlet while I’m in line at the gas station.

And yes, I’m technically an ordained minister in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Which, for the uninitiated, is basically a parody religion that reminds everyone how ridiculous it is to demand unquestioned belief in anything invisible. I didn’t join for the jokes (okay, maybe a little), but because it’s the only “church” where you can wear a pasta strainer on your head and call it sacred headgear without someone starting a moral panic. The irony is, it probably makes me the most honest minister you’ll ever meet.

I think people should believe in whatever helps them sleep at night—God, gods, the universe, karma, or a giant sentient plate of linguine. Just don’t weaponize your belief system. We’ve already seen what happens when humans mix religion and power: it’s the spiritual version of giving fireworks to toddlers. The world doesn’t need more preachers screaming about salvation; it needs more people who can admit, “I don’t know, but I’ll try not to be an ass while I figure it out.”

So yeah, I’m agnostic. I’m okay with not having all the answers. Faith, doubt, science, spaghetti—all of it can coexist. Just keep your sermons short and your pasta al dente.