They say 42 is your “meaning of life” year, at least if you subscribe to the doctrine posited in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; if you ask me, science fiction is as good a gospel as any. I decided to take on the framework for myself, joking about it with friends over text and face-to-face in November when I turned 42: "It's my meaning of life year!" and maybe, just maybe, I spoke that shit into existence.

I believe in the power of words (duh). Though I have many tattoos, I have been a bit cagey about tattooing words onto my body. In college, I had a calligraphic rendering of the Bismillah - Islam's core blessing - inked onto my back, just below my neck. As a religious studies major, I fell in love with Arabic calligraphy (how could you not?) and I resonate deeply with the meaning of the Bismillah, which essentially translates as "In the name of God, the Merciful, the Almighty." Pious Muslims (and some non-pious ones as well) will preface all undertakings with a Bismillah, a practice I find beautiful. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted everything I do to be worthy of the Cosmic Love I have known myself to be swimming in my entire life.

I don't write about God a lot - or rather, I tend to write about God privately, in my journal, and in texts to friends who I know are comfortable with that language. But one of the practices I have adopted in this Meaning of Life year is speaking more openly about and leaning into my faith. I realized that, by not doing so, I was limiting the scope of self I shared with the people in my life. Let me be clear; I don't need anyone else to believe what I do - most days, I couldn't even tell you what I believe, only that my experiences with death and pain and psychedelics and daily life have me certain in my bones that there is more in this universe than my human brain can fathom, and I feel that warrants worship.