Alright, let’s wade into the wonderfully murky waters of “spirituality,” shall we? For many, the word conjures images of patchouli oil, crystals, or perhaps endless hours of meditation on a mountaintop. For others, it’s inextricably linked to dusty hymnals and stained-glass windows. But what if your spiritual journey looks nothing like a Pinterest board, nor a centuries-old ritual? What if it’s messy, improvised, and uniquely, delightfully yours? Because, frankly, the idea of a one-size-fits-all spiritual path seems about as practical as a universal recipe for the perfect cup of coffee.
Now, the cynic in me—and let’s be clear, that cynic often has a surprisingly valid point—might suggest that “personal spirituality” is just a fancy term for making it up as you go along. And to a certain extent, they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. But here’s the crucial distinction: it’s not about making it up in a void, but about making it work for you. It’s about recognizing that our yearning for meaning, connection, and transcendence is a fundamental human drive, one that doesn’t necessarily require a pre-approved doctrine or a celestial bureaucracy to validate its existence.
And honestly, isn’t that far more liberating than trying to squeeze your infinitely complex spirit into someone else’s pre-fab spiritual box? I certainly think so.
This isn’t an invitation to discard all wisdom traditions. Heavens no. There’s a staggering wealth of insight nestled within ancient texts, philosophical movements, and diverse cultural practices. The trick, then, is to approach this rich tapestry not as a rigid instruction manual, but as a meticulously curated buffet. You sample, you taste, you discern what nourishes your particular soul and what, frankly, gives you spiritual indigestion. Perhaps a dash of Stoicism here, a pinch of Buddhist mindfulness there, a generous helping of humanistic compassion, and maybe, just maybe, an appreciation for the sheer, glorious absurdity of it all. It’s about building a personal pantheon of principles, practices, and perspectives that genuinely resonate, that provide guidance when the path gets murky, and that fuel your capacity to engage meaningfully with the world.
The “living force” aspect of this kind of spirituality is precisely its adaptability. It’s not a static monument to unchanging truths, but a dynamic, evolving framework that shifts and grows as you do. It’s the inner work that helps you navigate grief, celebrate joy, make difficult decisions, and find connection even in isolation. It’s the kind of spirituality that manifests not in ornate rituals you don’t quite understand, but in the quiet choices you make every day: how you treat others, how you nurture your own well-being, how you confront injustice, and how you find beauty in the mundane. It’s the messy, beautiful, and utterly practical journey of figuring out what gives your life soul, independent of whether it fits neatly into someone else’s definition.
So, while your Grandma’s path might have been perfectly suited for her, and bless her heart for it, yours is allowed to be different. It’s allowed to be unconventional. It’s allowed to involve podcasts instead of sermons, nature walks instead of organized prayer, and philosophical debates instead of rote memorization. The only true measure of its efficacy is whether it genuinely works for you—whether it guides, connects, and inspires you to build a more meaningful world, starting right where you are. And honestly, isn’t that far more liberating than trying to squeeze your infinitely complex spirit into someone else’s pre-fab spiritual box? I certainly think so.
What unconventional aspect of your own “personal pantheon” do you find most surprisingly effective in your daily life?
Justin Lockridge 
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