April 21, 2025
by Miles Rennick

I think I might be Hindu. Or at least, I think I feel something when I read about it—something that settles in my chest in a way nothing else really has.

But I haven’t told anyone. Not my friends, not my family. Not even the people I know wouldn’t judge me. Because I don’t want to be that white guy. You know the one. The kind that starts burning incense, casually drops Sanskrit phrases, and talks about “energy” like it’s something they picked up at Whole Foods. I’m scared that no matter how sincere I feel, it’ll come across like I’m just collecting culture for the vibe.

And then there’s my family. Hardcore Christian, through and through. The kind that says “we respect your choices,” but still prays over your soul when you’re not around. They know I’ve drifted from it all, and they’ve made peace with that. Or, I guess, pretended to. But if I told them I was exploring a religion they barely understand and probably associate with yoga commercials, I think it would shake them more than they’d admit.

I haven’t even done a deep dive yet. Just bits and pieces. A few verses from the Bhagavad Gita. Some stories about Vishnu’s avatars. Concepts like dharma and samsara that somehow feel more like home than anything I grew up with. But I’m hesitant to go further. Because if I learn too much, I might not be able to stop myself from talking about it. And if I talk about it, I might ruin it. Or worse—turn it into something performative without meaning to.

So for now, it’s this quiet thing I carry inside me. A maybe. A feeling.

And for now, that’s enough.