“I know you’re all waiting for me to make my announcement, so here it is: Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Thank you.”

The man driving my Greyhound bus back to Baltimore yesterday was, as far as I could tell, the funniest bus driver of all time. Where most bus drivers insert bland safety instructions and brand messages which noone listens to, this guy proceeded to ask the audience if anyone had been in Times Square last night for New Years. One person cautiously raised his hand towards the front of the bus and the driver proceeded to launch into a short diatribe about what a good time it was, then asked us if anybody was hungry and did he need to stop so we could get food. No one answered.

“We’re straight then?” No response again. The bus whirred to life, and I dropped down into my iPod shuffle (filled with ramblin’ music) and peeled away the last fifty or so pages of A.J. Jacobs book, The Year of Living Biblically. Referred to me by a friend, Jacobs’ project is referred to by author Tim Ferriss as a “radical lifestyle experiment,” in which he - an agnostic Jew - spends a year trying to live as literally as possible the laws, rules, regulations and restrictions included in both the Old and New Testaments.

What could have easily turned into a simple hack-job against religious fundamentalism turns out to be a really funny, personal, neurotic and sometimes touching and enlightening exploration of what it means to live Biblically. But more than that, the book - I think - is really just about what it means to live. Period. Which makes sense, since that’s what the Bible is all about. Living, in all its complexity, confusion, and abundant beauty.

Jacobs book, for me, was a window into my own spiritual journeyings these past several years which I’ve documented and shared on my website. What I’ve learned through my strivings and saw reflected in The Year is that people need something to fix their hearts to. Life is full of infinite possibilities, multiplied by just as many potential interpretations. Where that can leave you at times, I’ve found, is adrift.

Many years ago I climbed into my little boat and shoved off from shore. I’ve seen (and survived) raging storms, befriended mythological creatures, and set foot on foreign lands the likes of which most have never dreamed. Somewhere this year though, something changed. I learned how to navigate. Where once I let the waves and currents carry me where they would, now I’ve learned how to chart a course and stick to it. This is just what I liked about Jacobs’ book, his ability to do the same thing and to act as an example for other people to radically experiment with their life, and stick to it even when it seems difficult or absurd, and eventually come out the other side transformed.

Jacobs doesn’t come away a Born Again Christian, by any means, but he does describe some excellent mystical experiences - one at a snake-handling church and one at a bat mitzvah, where he finally is able to let himself go, surrendering into a state of mystical union with… whatever. One of the best questions raised by this book, I think, has to do with who you pretend to be. If you pretend to be a practicing Jew, does that make you one? If you act like a Christian, do you become one? If you feed yourself on prayer and thanksgiving and spiritual contemplation and devote yourself fully to acting according to time-honored principles, will it change you? Absolutely. That’s the whole point. When you fix your heart on something and devote yourself to it fully - whether it’s God or something else - you will have transcendent experiences. There’s just something about the human animal, that these drives and experiences are in-built into us as potentials, merely awaiting activation. It doesn’t matter if they come from DNA, chemical reactions, mechanisms of the human brain or an all-knowing Father in the sky; they’re real experientially. And that seems to be what counts.

This coming year for me will be a good one. I can already tell. I’ve learned so much and been given so much in my life, that all I can do is give back. Gifts are for giving. What you are given must be given, in turn, to others. My cup runneth over, as the 23rd Psalm says. Blah blah blah, as my bus driver says. So sit down and enjoy the ride, my friends. Cause this year we’re going home. Hallelujah.