A Love Letter

Author Homer Carroll

Writer, game developer, unschooling mentor & founder/board member of Shine Your Light Event : A non-profit aimed at helping individuals in medical crisis | @homercarroll

Since coming to the realization that I am an atheist and joining the community, diverse and knowledgeable people have poured into my life. While it is easy to say I feel close to all of them, and I do, because they all share a viewpoint with me, as well as now many memories and experiences, there are more than a handful who I have grown to cherish. This community I have entered into is more of a family than any other social group I have hitherto been immersed. I resist the strong urge to use the word ‘family’ exclusively, especially in regards to that handful, as I wish not to confuse any readers. There is an axiomatic contrast in the emotional and intellectual satisfaction I feel when I am bereft of this kindred kinship.

There are no conversations in my daily life, especially not drunken ones, where I am consistently more knowledgeable than before every subsequent sentence uttered by those around me. Though my kinship do their best to ensure me that the human race is worthy of hope and trust, I can feel that slip away when I enter back into Texas and feel the bitter bite of apathy, inanity, greed and arbitrary uselessness reality has fallen into.

An enchanting picture can only be made with a sharp contrast, at the very least a contrasting background. Ironically, that is the part that scares me the most. To me, the kinships that I have are the contrast to the uncaring background of reality. This is what causes me to stir in bed at late hours and write notes unending to cherished ones I rarely see, just to make sure I don’t forget what I felt so deeply in that moment because the worst thing that could ever happen is that no one might ever know how much I loved them. If I do not record these notes, no one will ever know that contrast in my life.

When I read a biography of my favorite historical hero, I feel a nagging tug of those obscure events which only the now dead hero would have known. I feel with inexorable assuredness there were events in their life of which I will never know about. Someone once posed the idea to me that the amount of time spent with someone was roughly equivalent to the experience one had with them, and I wholly disagree. I have found quality of interaction to be an immeasurable degree heavier than the amount of time one has spent. And so it must be that during our hero’s travels there were a few and more probably many encounters with kindred spirits the biographer will never have the pleasure or perspective to know. There are letters written but no addresses to send them to; rendezvous established and discrepancies unaccounted for; promises broken for altruism or death; life changing experiences hidden from public intrusion for fear of ostracization or political loss. I am lucky to have little to fear. Some of this will assuredly cause loved ones and friends to question me, arise feelings of jealousy, anger, or pain, but it is true. Besides Emily, I have little to no emotional ties to my daily life. She is the only jewel I have found that time has no ability to tarnish.

So I feel it necessary to write all this with hopes to let those I truly love as much as my own life know it. Though our temporal and geographical bonds may be weak, I feel as strongly connected to you all as I do gravitationally pulled to the earth. You all were the dog eared page in my journal whose significance mystified the reader, now to be revealed. You were a question never to be asked for lack of identity, the answer I now shout joyously.