Psychologists originally believed that attachment-—a strong emotional connection between two individuals—derived from paternal nourishment. After sufficient contradictory evidence, psychologists from the University of Wisconsin tested this theory by placing infant monkeys in a cage with two artificial mothers: one a bare wire cylinder with a wooden head, and an attached feeding bottle; the other a cylinder with no bottle but covered with foam rubber and wrapped with terry cloth.

Surprisingly, the infant monkeys chose the mother with foam rubber and terry cloth with no bottle. This is similar to how human children cling to their parents when anxious or how they develop an affinity to things that are soft and warm. The relationship between an infant and caregiver fosters a sense of basic trust and familiarity. What happens when this familiarity all of a sudden becomes unfamiliar?

Analogous to a relationship between a mother and child, my relationship with my church gave me a sense of security and comfort. Through my pastor’s eyes, I epitomized what it meant to be a “man of God” through my consistent attendance and commendable leadership. Then in the fall of my junior year of high school, my faith tumbled into a blinding abyss. Overwhelmed by an onslaught of responsibilities, my church life took a back seat, and my faith quickly followed suit.

Humans have an innate tendency to worry about upcoming events. Therefore, we plan ahead. But fate is annoying, cruel and above all, strong. Often times, fate can be much too overwhelming to overcome.

When my solid, God-fearing faith was challenged by secular, worldly influences, I quivered into a state of utter confusion. I never once envisioned a deteriorating love and dedication to the church. I always pictured growing old in the church, expecting my kids to inherit my faith. The more I contemplate this future now, the more squeamish I become, because I realize that this image was something instilled within me by the church, not something I genuinely yearned for.

Maybe I don’t want to pursue a religious career or take my kids to church when I’m older. What if I want to write about Emily, the radiant outcast, and Harry, the fallen heartthrob and their journey to find love, rather than a book on faith, or even let my future kids to pursue a faith (or even none at all) that best suits them, rather than imposing mine on them?

Even though my faith doesn’t entertain the conventional standards of Christianity, I’m still fighting for it. Each student here at South is fighting their own uncertainties. Freshmen may struggle adjusting to the new academic curriculum and cementing their identities. Sophomores and juniors may stumble balancing their school work and activities. Seniors may grapple with which major and college they’ll choose come May 1.

When faced with the unfamiliar, we’re inevitably going to have to make some difficult decisions. Even if it is just a log bridge, do you cross? Do you turn back? Do you look for alternate routes? South, in light of all these worries, I urge you all to remember one thing. Though we’re much too often faced with directionally adversity, the unfamiliarity in our lives doesn’t have to be a chaotic event. Rather, the chaos that ensues may just be life’s funny way of hinting that a new relationship, new outlook, new life, may just be in our midsts.