In a few short days, I’ll be debuting a new show. To those who have followed my work, I understand that the topic (faith) and setting (a church) feel like they are coming out of left field. And that feeling couldn’t be more right — that’s why I’m doing this show.

Granted, I’ve written about Christianity a bit, both here and at It’s Pronounced Metrosexualbut it would be accurate to say that Faith is not my usual go-to topic when I hop on stage. In fact, I’ve never talked about faith on stage, and, if I’m being completely honest, I feel palpably uncomfortable in churches. But again, that is, in essence, why I’m doing this show.

Christian/Religious people don’t often engage in dialogue with Atheist people. Straight/Cisgender people don’t often engage in dialogue with Queer people. Don’t get me wrong: there is a lot of talking at these different groups, but that’s not the same.

There are a lot of “national conversations” led by members of all four of these groups, but so few actual conversations. And who’s leading those conversations? Who do we have speaking on behalf of us? Are we comfortable with everything those folks say on our behalf? Do we (whatever We you are) really feel that way about them? (whatever Them they might be).

There is this idea that there is no common ground, that we’re all at extremes, we’re against, at odds, “irreconcilably different,” fundamentally opposed. These are identities that are thought to have clear lines in the sand — party lines, political lines, permanent lines. Us. Them. And a big gap between the two.

But here’s the thing: I don’t buy it. Any of it. I think we’re getting duped, that an extremely vocal minority is misrepresenting the majority, and that we’re more alike than we are different — at least where it counts. From my perspective, it’s becoming more and more clear that’s the case. But I’m aware of how odd my perspective is at times. I’m hoping this show will help build a bigger Us and a smaller Them.

There’s this thing about me — about my identity — that mixes people’s signals

I’m not gay and I’m not Christian, and these are two things that people are surprised to find out (if this is news to you right now — surprise!). So many people assume the opposite that I’ve become accustomed to correcting people, sometimes even before they say anything — an anticipatory strike. And when I do that, I never hear “Oh, I didn’t think you were,” but instead “Really?!” or “How did you know I thought that?” or (the most common) “Are you sure?”

I’m sure.

“But what you’re doing with your life is so Christian.” “But you smell so good.” “But…” “But…” But…” The responses to both my not-gay-ness and not-Christian-ness are many and varied and not worth getting into here (so many for the gay assumption that I wrote an entire show about it).

I’m hoping this show to serve as this middle part of the venn diagram that brings these four distinctly different groups together

I’m an atheist who is often assumed to be a Christian, a straight, cisgender man who is often assumed to be queer.  As a result of that, or at least as a result of me engaging with those confusions, I’ve had a ton of conversations with people who fall somewhere into all four of these groups. And what I’ve found is there really aren’t four groups at all. Instead, there are a ton of individual people who align somewhere on, between, beside, or outside of each of those dimensions.

A lot of good can come from this conversation, if we do it in a healthy, non-threatening, safe way. It’s a conversation that’s already ringing in a lot of folks ears, but by no means the majority. I’m hoping InTolerance will help folks feel more comfortable joining the conversation in their own lives, and nudging that seemingly-silent minority toward a vocal majority.

Hell, or maybe it’ll just be fun to tell stories and laugh for an hour in a church. I know it’ll be a first for me. I hope to see you there.

I don’t believe in God. Saying this is easier now than it was when I was a kid, because I was struggling equal parts internally with my lack of faith and externally with the reactions of people in my life when they found out. Coming out as an atheist leads people to make so many incredibly definitive snap judgments about who you are as a person, many of which are less than warm and fuzzy. It’s usually easier just to let them assume otherwise.

Doing the work that I do, people often ask me if I’m Christian, and are surprised when they find that I’m not. Atheist + Humanitarian = Confusion, which I find odd. As a non-Christian, I don’t see the disconnect at all. Not believing in God doesn’t mean you don’t believe in people. In fact, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything more than I don’t believe in God.

For me, and I suspect for many others, not believing in a god isn’t a choice. I didn’t wake up one day, raise my middle finger to the heavens above, and say, “Big ol’ pile of nope, Bro!” then start sinnin’. For me, it’s quite the opposite. I spent many a night as a kid lying in bed, tears in my eyes, feeling rejected because I wasn’t able to believe. Believing sounds great, ultimately. I can only imagine how comforting it would be to believe that there is a sense of intentionality, or just someone looking out for you, in the universe. But, for me, believing would be faking, and I’m no faker.

I also find myself explaining with some regularity that not believing in a god doesn’t mean I lack faith, or that I don’t believe in anything. Where your faith might be bound by dogma and tradition, and your belief is in a definitive higher power, I find faith in other things, and have deeply held beliefs that keep move moving through my life.

Above all, I believe in people.

I believe that people, at their core, unsocialized and unmarred by negative influences, are good. And that with the right nudge they will tumble toward positivity. I have faith in the work that I do nudging, and have seen many a person tumble toward a life where they provide light and safety for others in their life. I love people, and am bound in my service to them — to you, I suppose.

I believe that if you can do nothing else, commit yourself to helping the people you love be unashamed of who they are.

I believe that the last spoonful in a tub of ice cream is where all the crack is located and that’s why it’s impossible not to start eating another tub.

I believe that the Golden Rule and many other things we were taught and internalized as kids are ruining our lives.

I wrote about the Golden Rule a lot in my book, and on my other site, but the short version is that the Golden Rule is based on the assumption that other people want to be treated how you want to be treated, which assumes everyone wants to be treated the same way. The Platinum Rule, “Treat others how they want to be treated,” is way better. But there are a ton of other aphorisms that are ruining us, too, like “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” and “The grass is always greener on the other side,” and “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” and “Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!”

I believe that the right song coming on at the right moment is the closest thing to Nirvana I’ve ever experienced.

I believe that pants are the work of The Devil.

Okay, I guess I don’t technically believe in “The Devil,” but whatever. You get it. I can have my lack of cake and eat it, too. Anyway, pants. Seriously. Beyond the simple discomfort of pants, pants are so often required for doing things that I don’t want to do, and don’t think we as a people have evolved to do. Like jury duty. We suck at jury duty. And time spent not wearing pants is generally time well spent.

I believe that nothing human-made will ever match the beauty of the naturally occurring art that surrounds us.

I believe that the internet is simultaneously the most unifying and divisive invention in human history.

And I have faith that someday (hopefully soon) we’ll find a way to amplify the unity experienced via the internet and marginalize the divisiveness.

I believe in focusing on the grey amidst the black and white.

I believe that humans can be connected to one another without ever having met, and when we allow ourselves to fall into this connectedness we are experiencing the best of what it means to be human.

I believe that intentionality is the soul of happiness, and effort the soul of contentedness.

I believe in ghosts.

Because I have real-life reasons, folks. Spooky reasons. Stories for another time. But spooky. Trust me.

I believe that you don’t have to ask for permission to smile.

And, finally, I believe that love is the answer to most of life’s great questions.

How can we end wars? What’s the point to being alive? How can I best be a good sibling, child, parent, coworker, friend, boss, civil servant, etc.? Why does the world seem to lose its color whenever I go three days without eating hummus?