It’s the season for believing. The magic of Christmas is all around us, if we will believe in it. Friends, punks, readers of all ages, what we need more than anything is to believe in ourselves.

Trust yourself. Work to know yourself.

To know the you that is the real you.

Not what others tell you about you, but only what you tell yourself.

Because you are the way.

When Jesus said, “I am the way,” he was roleplaying with his disciples to show them what they should believe about themselves. Each one of us is the way, the truth, and the life. Each of us can repeat Jesus’s words for ourselves.

No one can choose your path for you. You are the way.

Look at yourself in the mirror and say, believe, speak into existence, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but through me.”

No one can choose your path for you, especially not your parents, friends, experienced leaders, school people, therapists, or well-meaning uncles.

They don’t know the real you or your way. You are your own way.

You may ask why I bring up Jesus’s words if all you need to know is yourself. For those who find comfort in Christian things, wise and self-satisfied thought-and-feeling leaders, like myself, need to find ways to make Jesus’s words say what we want.

Plus, it’s Christmas. The babe of Bethlehem did not speak at the time, but the sentimentalism we feel in Christmas can inspire us to believe anything. Don’t you agree?

(Between you and me, a quick read of the gospels will show you the primary message is that you’ve got this. Jesus knew, like so many of us do today, that you are all you need to be you.)

Banish the hesitation you may have about what you are able to do, and do that thing you long to do. Believe you can, and you can.

Do you believe in Santa Claus? He will be real for you.

Do you believe in mansions? Minecraft awaits.

Do you believe you’re a fish? Man, yeah!

You brought yourself into existence by your own mighty will and now you’re the awesome fill-in-the-blank you are today.

But who am I to tell you anything? You don’t need my words. You have your own.

Your way. Your truth. Your life.

Until it’s over and you return to the dust from which you came and your words waft away like a fume of stink.