FAITH (it’s not a dirty word)
I think a lot about this word faith.
What does faith mean? What are we having faith in service of?
We only tell someone they need to have faith when they are in crisis, say, sobbing alone on the corner of 5th avenue and 42nd street in Manhattan after having gotten fired for the fifth time from a job at the age of 35.
That was me. Nearly 20 years ago. Thank God those days are over.
Oh, another word in addition to the word faith we’re not suppose to say:
GOD.
(the room falls deadly silent)
Let me get something out of the way. I’m not someone whose going to throw around the word God when it comes to the word faith because, frankly, most people don’t like to use the word God. Too much baggage.

But in the work I do, coaching people (another word I’m not too keen on — ‘coach’ — the word is too broad — I’m not a licensed shrink but I was raised by such and spent my childhood reading Jung and Freud for fun, so I know how to go ‘there’ with people but in ‘coaching’ I don’t go there-there because that does take years of ramping up — it’s like pushing a 747 down the tarmac and screaming, “Jesus Christ — fly already!”)…bottom line, I don’t use the word God much. Heavier than an anvil for most of us.
Back to faith.
FAITH. Faith. Big word. Giant word. Need some fiber tablets to pass that hunk of a burger big.
Quick little search online defines faith as this: “complete trust or confidence in someone or something.”
And there is another dirty word: trust.
I used to love to say I was the kind of person who trusted everyone. Oh, I was Mr. Sunshine And Roses Out Of My Butt. Of course, anyone who proclaims they’re that person is, more often (most often) than not, not that kind of person but someone who really wants to be that kind of person.
I was an abused kid so I’ve had loads of time to work on my trust stuff. What I’ve come to learn is that I don’t always trust that there is this mysterious “Universe” looking out for me (an idea that has been hammered into me by the world of psychiatry/psychology/metaphysics/coaches/people who can’t stop reading Byron Katie).
I do trust that there is this mysterious ‘something’ out there looking out for me and covering my ass, but what I don’t have a natural ability (or do I?) to do is relax into that comfortable knowing that I keep hearing is the secret sauce to happiness.
All of the people I talk to in my coaching business all agree with me because, well, we’re human and not robots, thus, we grapple with these big ideas and always will grapple until we bite the big one.
Hopefully when I do croak I’ll be super skinny and in damn good shape for a 96 year old, so much so that when I meet whatever we call God and when she/he/they/it sees me she/he/they/it will say, “Damn fine job keeping that body up, Mike. Guess what? Didn’t matter one stitch. You wasted a lot of money on protein powder and trainers. But hey! All good. Here. Have some cheesecake. You won’t gain a pound.”
Interesting sidebar: one of my favorite movies of all time on that thorny subject of faith is “Defending Your Life”. Gosh, I hope you’ve seen it. It’s a fine example of how fear and faith battle hand-in-hand. You should see it. It’s got a very pretty Meryl Streep in it and Albert Brooks who I just want to spend a whole weekend with drinking scotch and playing Monopoly.

Faith is knowing, all the time, that our asses are covered by this mysterious Universe and that all we have to do is chill and go with this moment-to-moment ‘now’ living Eckhart Tolle seems rather obsessed with (I’m sure the Malibu beach house he paid for with his obsession makes it, in his mind, a worthwhile obsession to have — he always looks to me like an Amish farmer coming off an MDNA trip, and I mean that in a good way).
The truth is I am still a man who has, now and then, these mini-crisis moments of faith and I’m rather obsessed with figuring out why.
It’s about what I was taught, yes. Having a mentally ill mother who killed herself isn’t exactly the best platform to be taught trust in the Universe, I’ll give you that, but that aside — okay, see I can’t put that aside. Spiritual teachers have been yelling at me for years to put my past aside, but if I chose to come into this life to experience what I experienced than isn’t that fodder for my focus on the present moment? Hello?
Doesn’t that past give me the fuel to stay focused on what I can do in this very moment so I don’t succumb to the victim thinking my poor mother adopted?
Isn’t a crazy past a perfect set-up for a perfect present? I do think so, Mr. Watson. I really do.
It’s how I’ve begun to wrap my head around a more consistent focus on the feelings of faith. On trusting my ass is covered in life. In not fighting it all so much. In relaxing into my life and liking what is going on now. Yes, that dreaded ‘now’ word.
NOW one two three NOW one two three NOW one two three!
It’s like a roll call by some spiritual military sergeant whose footsteps I can never seem to fully mimic. But I’m getting better. Almost out of basic training.

I’ve been a New Yorker for nearly 30 years and I am because I love the adrenaline rush of living in New York. My life is now taking me to Los Angeles and New York for which I’m very grateful. It’s like the difference between a Starbucks Venti with four shots of espresso versus a Grande that goes light on the sugar and heavy on the almond milk. LA has the Grande lifestyle down and could use a shot of espresso and New Yorkers need to stop drinking so much espresso and guzzle almond milk and get to yoga a lot more.
I chose New York because it brims with vitality and life. It’s where things always happen. You want now? New York City is the epitome of now living. But it’s also a city that holds back it’s happiness until something comes, such as more money or the closing of the deal or the perfect apartment or the ideal weight loss or the career, career, career. Until those moments appear, we, as a city, are suspect on allowing any feelings of current contentment because we fear that will make us lose our edge and not go go go to get it all done and yeah, well, that’s fucking us all up.

I can’t live my life in service of waiting for this happy feeling to come after the things I want come. It’s wacko.
Look, don’t get me wrong — I love money. I love this word: wealth. It’s sexy. Awake. Happy. And I want more of it, and my life is manifesting more of it, but I’m not going to hold back this mysterious happiness the Universe is blasting at me everyone in every spiritual world talks about.
Chill is a good word and I’m embracing that word a lot now. I’m a New Yorker by nature so I’m probably not most people’s version of chill, but it’s working for me and what works for us personally is all that matters.
And it is working. Who knew? Me — a man who was beaten up as a kid, homeless as a teen, broke until he was in his 40’s, battled depression and anxiety and fears of going crazy like his mother is, well — so sorry, but I’m going to write it…I’m happy now. I am.
Jesus, why do I keep hearing that schmaltzy movie titled in my head “Little Gloria, Happy At Last”? Must be the gay 70s TV side me coming out.
I know all of this now because I came from shit. I was thrown around, I was forgotten and I was at risk to be one of the lost kids, and what do you know…I became one of the found kids. One of the survivors. And it’s awesome. Truly awesome.
Faith. The rising feeling that comes from having complete confidence that now, finally, everything is okay.
I’d like to write ‘drop the mic’ but I don’t have any faith that won’t be read as anything other than what a douche might write so I’ll leave it all right here.
