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As a traditional Jew, it beats me.
 
That's because the word "religious" has literally never been part of Judaism's vocabulary.*  Defined in English, according to Webster, religious is relating to or manifesting faithful devotion to an acknowledged ultimate reality or deity and being scrupulously and conscientiously faithful.  Sounds like a pretty lofty goal.
 
When G-d gave us the Torah on Mt. Sinai, He never asked us to be "religious."  He asked us to embrace Him, be close to Him, through His Torah and mitzvot.  So none of us deserve that title, especially if G-d Himself doesn't use it. 
 
So if the Goal isn't to be religious, what is?  We're asked to stay balanced in the complex Goal of constantly searching, questioning, learning His Torah, but also doing its mitzvot, even if we don't yet fully understand them, or have perfect faith...to be close to Him. 
 
Consider this:  It's like getting the opportunity to connect with a celebrity.  How many people would eagerly grab the chance to fulfill a small request for their favorite celebrity?  To bring them a drink, get them their cell phone?  To connect in some way with a figure larger than life? 
 
A mitzvah is a way to do just that with G-d.  To connect with Him.  To be close to Him.  And fancy this:  He is always available for you to be close to Him.  Infinite G-d Himself yearns to be close to finite little me.     

And when we're reaching out to Him as one who doesn't yet fully understand, or have perfect faith…Judaism teaches that action itself leads to faith and understanding. 
 
We can't solely rely on the searching, questioning and learning to lead to action.  Because the search is the task of a lifetime.  Like the quest to fully understand the importance of eating healthy foods, which can also take a lifetime, we cannot wait to understand how every vitamin and mineral is needed, or we won't get the chance to benefit from them.  We have to start by eating them while we learn about them.  And the learning will inspire us to keep committed to a healthy lifestyle.  The searching, questioning and learning is there to infuse passion into our commitment to action, our spiritual vitamins and minerals, to have a more intimate, constant closeness with G-d, on this physical earth. 

But what if He's not your favorite celebrity?  What if you don't actively yearn to be close to Him?  What if we're not quite ready to fully embrace Him, intellectually, and perhaps emotionally?  Just as precious to G-d as those who fluidly dance and embrace Him are those who wrestle with Him, or perhaps even His very existence.  But we cannot remain still, in the theoretical, philosophical stage if we are to grow in closeness.

This is where the action, mitzvot, come in. It is the movement that brings us closer to G-d.
 
So start off with a small mitzvah.  You don't have to be worried about not being religious, because no one is.  Start with one that you like.  And search, and question, and learn, so that you can experience the joy in it, too.
 
And lastly, enjoy the satisfaction that you did something to be close to G-d, and that He feels close to you, even if it's not with complete conscientiously faithful devotion to an ultimate reality.
 
How un-religious.
 
*In recent years, it was added to more-modern Hebrew.  But the language in its origin never contained that word.

In our fast-forward culture, it is inevitably difficult for many of us to "be there" completely.  As you drive your brand new car out of the auto-mall, there is a 2009 newer rival waiting in the shadows.  When our child is talking to us, it's hard not to notice the work waiting.  When you purchase a new computer, you know it'll be a year at most before a better one will emerge.  So instead of living the moment, we're constantly looking ahead, looking to what we will buy, what we will do, what will happen.   
 
Which makes the concept a worn-out cliche:  Live in the moment, stop and smell the flowers, stop waiting for things to be over.
 
Certainly it is good to have a well-rounded perspective, leaning into the past for insight, savoring the present mostly, and thinking about the future to be prepared.
 
But what happens when we're too absorbed in our problems, waiting for things to be over, or living in the future?  What happens when we spend our precious time with our loved ones worrying about, or thinking of, what will be with this, that and the other thing?
 
We become like the little baby in utero at a symphony orchestra.  Wrapped in concealing layers.  There but not all the way there.  Perhaps hearing, but not fully experiencing, the music.
 
Needless to say, the worrying doesn't help the problems.  For me, they only start to grow bigger in my mind, bigger than my child's desire to have me dance-but really dance-with her all around the kitchen.  And she can sense that detachment.
 
Other times, the real way to live in the moment, to accomplish something, is to do nothing.  To sit on a park bench, with my earpiece off, my laptop out of sight, just being.  Simply present.  So that as my children climb up the bars, they will have the delight of knowing that Mommy is there, available to be impressed by their ability to get to the top. 

To actually do something as “ridiculous” as holding my son for an hour-while he sleeps unaware, during his afternoon nap, just savoring his baby smell and his fleeting babyhood. 

So my resolution is to try to retire from my constant absorption and worry.  To close my eyes to fully concentrate on the beauty of music, to open my eyes to the wonder of these precious moments with my children when they are still young, to enjoy the magnificent scenery as I drive each day, to live in the here and now.  It's not that I'll be naive, pretending that my problems don't exist.  It's just that life is too short to dwell on them non-stop, when I could be dancing-really dancing-with my daughter in the kitchen.

The chassidim gathered together to hear a chassidic discourse from their holy teacher and mentor, the Rebbe Rashab.  They were singing the preparatory song that creates the appropriate energy for a chassidic discourse.  But something was not right.  They were rushing through this deep, meditative song, eager to get to the discourse.

"Stop," commanded the Rebbe Rashab.  "This song is not to be rushed.  A real chassid, a real Pnimi,* is one who-wherever he is, whatever he is doing-is in that moment, and in that doing, completely."  And they proceeded to finish the song at a slower pace.

*A more complete definition:  An authentic, self-aware person who fearlessly looks at his world, and proactively knows which paths to follow.