I am not a spiritual person, but there’s an episode of Seinfeld that I consider a holy relic for the weird and awkward, and to which I am as devout as they come. George Costanza has an epiphany on a pier while looking out to sea, the seagulls screeching above, the wind blowing in what’s left of his hair. He is unemployed, living with his parents, can see no situation in which the opportunity to have sex will arise ever again; his life is exactly the opposite of what he wants it to be. “Every instinct I have in every aspect of life, be it something to wear, something to eat … it’s all been wrong.” He decides to change. If every instinct he has is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right. He orders the opposite of his usual for lunch. He tells a woman what he’s actually like instead of lying about being an architect or being in any way successful. By the end of the episode, he has a job with the New York Yankees and moves out of his parents’ house. George is on the up.
Why am I telling you this? Because, this month, Southbank Centre is hosting a new, year-long festival called Belief and Beyond Belief, which explores the role of faith in the modern age. It will feature talks by everyone from Stephen Hawking to druids, a programme of concerts by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, performances, exhibitions and debates. Basically, it encourages us all to explore the big questions. Why are we here? If God exists, is he really a she? And where do AI sex robots fit into the grand scheme of things? (Yes, those are real talks in the festival.)
I find the whole idea strangely inspiring. Twelve years of Catholic school proved that religion is no answer for me, but there still has to be something that keeps us all going apart from a strong Wi-Fi connection and a TV series from the 90s, right? So, in the spirit of George Costanza, a fictional man I feel more close to than I would care to admit, I am going to take my own leap of faith by doing the opposite of what I would ordinarily do – I’m going to do something spiritual.
Every day I will try a new way of being present. I will try things. I will sign up to a workshop I know will be horrifying. I will follow, so help me, some kind of spirituality that I found on the internet.
Monday: Ask the universe
The main draw of religion, as far as I can see, is the belief that a higher power has your back; that everything happens for a reason, rather than life being one great chaotic horrorshow. And in terms of admin, religion gives you someone to send your requests to. Without God, who do you ask for stuff? WikiHow says you can ask the universe through meditation. Since I’m doing the opposite of what I would ordinarily do because I usually like to hide how pathetic I am, I ask the universe for a date. As directed by WikiHow, I meditated for 10 minutes, asked the universe for the thing and wrote it down: “A DATE.” I didn’t even specify a good one. What desperation.
Tuesday: Live in the now
It takes no great genius to point out that technology has made us both connected and disconnected, that our attention spans have shrunk, and that nothing sticks and nothing matters. We are connected to thousands of people we don’t know and give them more time than we give the ones we do. There are photos of me on holiday and in each of them I am looking down, shading my phone from the blazing sun. I have no recollection of what I was looking at, but the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean is behind me so I know it’s not that. It was probably a picture of Joe Manganiello. Do you ever feel like you’re not really here?
I box, and it’s the only time I feel truly present because: a) If I think about anything other than what’s happening in the moment I’ll get punched in the face; and b) Because it’s physically impossible to scroll through your phone with boxing gloves on. So, today I’ve decided to put my phone away and see if I can “be present” without the immediate threat of concussion.
I noticed two things. I noticed cars as I was crossing the road when they were far away instead of when they were about to run me over. And I noticed that listening to podcasts of anxious Jewish comedians talking about their anxiety with other anxious Jewish comedians probably wasn’t helping the tension in my neck. I missed them and their anxiety, so I replaced it with my own: what was I missing on Twitter?
Wednesday: Laughter is the best medicine
“Laughter yoga” is a meet-up where you pay £10 to force yourself to laugh with a group of strangers. If you’re in a big city yearning for human contact, this is like friendship prostitution. Here you “fake it till you make it” – pretend you’re happy until you actually are, and treat laughter like a muscle that grows stronger with exercise.
Maybe it’s me, but there’s something deeply sad about having to force laughter out of thin air, to mimic the behaviour of a happy person in order to make yourself happy. There are exercises where we partner up and hold hands, look deeply into each other’s eyes without looking away, and laugh for two minutes straight. I can’t hold eye contact that long and keep looking away, but my partner never blinks, stares straight into my face, and laughs violently with his eyes wide open. He is desperate to be happy, to reach some kind of high that I cannot locate.
Thursday: Just say yes
Danny Wallace spent a whole year living as if the word “no” didn’t exist, saying yes to any opportunity that came his way. He wrote a book about it and then Jim Carrey starred in the film adaptation. If that comes from a year, what happens in a day? Answer: no Hollywood deals.
I ended up talking to every charity worker on Argyll Street – and by that I mean about 20 of them. It cost me £4.35, the entire amount of change I had in my pocket. When a man offered to show me how a machine worked in the gym I said yes, even though I already knew how to use it and he clearly didn’t, as is the nature of the man who tries to tell you stuff in the gym.
In the pub, my friend Olly asks if he can play on my Tinder and I say yes. Whether it’s because I put my faith in a higher power – be it the universe or Olly – or because I’m excessively agreeable today, when someone asks if I’m free for a drink on the Friday I say yes even though Fridays are when the terrible people go out and I like to watch movies with Jack Lemmon in them.
Friday: Be excellent to each other … and party on
Fortunately for the Tinder guy, he’s arranged to see me on the day when I am living by the mantra of our greatest modern philosophers, Bill and Ted: “Be excellent to each other … and party on.” On this day, I am excellent to everyone I encounter. I am excellent to the man in the dry-cleaning place who can’t find my jacket. I am excellent to the cashier in Sainsbury’s who puts the eggs at the bottom of my bag. I am excellent to the woman in the sauna who talks to me about WD40 and squeaky doors for 12 actual minutes according to the timer on the wall. I am excellent to the Tinder dude who doesn’t seem to like anything, but he knows what he doesn’t like and what he doesn’t like is Jimmy Carr. I am excellent for as long as I can stand to talk about Jimmy Carr, at which point I give him a totally excellent excuse and bail early – I said yes to too much beer the previous evening. The spirit to party on is willing, but the flesh is weak. Just say yes to staying in. I’m home by 10.10pm watching Flash Gordon, saviour of the universe. He’ll save every one of us. He’s a miracle.
The aftermath: After a week of being the 21st century’s version of spiritual, what are my very scientific findings?
No singular way of thinking or living is going to fix your life for the better, but trying a bunch at least makes you ask yourself why you do the things you do. I know I won’t become “more present” by being punched in the face more frequently – it probably has diminishing returns – and I’m not sure that the universe has ears. And yet I did get that date: by merely asking, your unconscious is probably working on it and will drive you towards situations more likely to make that thing happen. I know now that I am as allergic to the groupthink mentality of strangers forcing each other to laugh at nothing as I am to organised religion, but there is something to be gained from saying yes, just as there is something to be gained from being excellent.
Nothing revolutionary happens if you do nothing. Even George Costanza knew that.
Southbank Centre’s Belief and Beyond Belief festival, in partnership with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, runs from 16 January-17 December 2017. For more information and to book tickets, visit Southbank Centre’s website
