Aug 6, 2009
I am trying to imagine you reading this. I am trying to choose just the right words. I want you to see me. I want you to know so much, and I don’t know why. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I make you feel exposed. I’m sorry that I push you to anger so often. I’m sorry I push. I get enthusiastic. When I meet the living in this dying world, I get excited. When their mind dances with mine, I get a high. It’s the greatest of all intoxicants, banter, but these notes are different. They will be my attempt to lay myself bare in language. To be vulnerably myself for you.
I will do this because I trust you. I trust you to be gentle but critical. I trust you to be compassionate and non-judgmental. I trust you to understand the weight of this gesture, and I trust you to care.
My trust in you is not a baseless trust. You have proven your integrity and character to me in a thousand little ways, but mostly with your willingness to admit when you’re wrong, and your sincere forgiveness when I am.
I wanted to get this preface out of the way. I wanted you to understand my motivation. I want to write an email memoir for you, because I want you to see me. I want you to know so much, and I don’t know why.