The love letter I can never deliver

Dear —,

I wish I could give you this love letter.  I wish, even more, that I could give you my love.

Instead, these words are all I have, here with you in my thoughts while on Pandora radio plays Quartet For Guitar & Strings No. 11 In B Major, MS 38, by Paganini, Niccolo.

I have held you in my arms in front of crowds, seen your stage smile, wanting it just for myself, wanting you all to myself, to sit quietly on a cold night, you and I on the sofa, warming by the fireplace.

Wants and wishes do not put food on the table.

I have not explored your body like a lover but I have held the body of a confident dancer, a complementary/complimentary follower who back leads, who, for fleeting moments, gave me confidence.

For you, I lost thirty pounds.

For you, I jogged and ran, my feet and ankles aching, so I could be a lighter, stronger dance partner.

I do not know what you see in me, what in your thoughts you think of me.

Do I want to know?  I don’t know.

Before I met you, I was unwilling to hunt and kill animals for food, thinking that the relationship with my wife was never strong enough to justify exchanging one life for the sake of another.

After I met you, I grew into the idea of a man who was willing to say that yes, I am a man who has the right to judge the value of a set of states of energy not part of our species, trapping or killing animals that had invaded the home “nest.”

What that means to you, I cannot say.

And while writing this, my wife interrupted me to say she couldn’t work on the computer in the living room because the cats wanted to sit on her lap; I took them to bed with me for a few minutes, letting them fall asleep on my chest before gently sliding them off and covering them with a fleece blanket so I could return to writing this love letter to you.

Yes, life is like that.

Now, Soundgarden’s “Pretty Noose” plays on Pandora radio.  Whoa!  Puts me in the wrong mood.  Type to change “stations.”

Where were we?

Better yet, where are we?

You do not know I love you.  Is that love?

You and I both know how to love the world but does that mean the world knows or cares or loves us in return?

Can I continue to hold your hands, to look you in the eyes, my thoughts tortured by idea of life after my first marriage?

Did I not get married in the sight of God in front of friends and family, “for richer or poorer… in sickness or health… till death do us part”?

Just because my wife doesn’t make me feel like a man doesn’t mean our marriage is wrong, does it?  Is the lack of physical desire for my wife sufficient grounds for divorce?  Does the omnipresent effervescent entity of a universe we call God recognise any human-based sets of states of energy we call thoughts, let alone reasoning for phrases like “irreconcilable differences”?

Marriage is not just about physical desire.

I’ve never been much of a touchy-feely person.

You helped change that.  I’m not as afraid to let another person inside the shell of my personal space as I was before I met you.

But it gets more complicated because I am not only in love with you but I am in love with [one of] your best friend[s], repeating a cycle that has told me (and which you already know in yourself to be true) I have always loved more than one person at a time.  Again, does that person know I love her?

Is this all I get in a relationship — a few hours a week with the women I love?

If the love is not reciprocated, then what is going on inside me and why do I torture myself so much that I would rather die today than face another tomorrow?

I don’t know if I can look in your eyes again or hold your warm hands in mine one more time.

I want to be more than your dance partner.

What do I do?

Do you see why I cannot give this love letter to you?

Instead, it exists here as a theoretical proposition written as an imaginary blog entry.

I don’t know much but I know I can post blog entries and live to see another day, the safety of my old life unchanged, as steadily unhappy as ever, comfortably numb.

The past is not indicative of the future but it’s a pretty decent fortuneteller, all things considered.

When I was ten, my ten-year old girlfriend died.  When I was eleven, my eleven-year old girlfriend moved away.  When I opened my heart again at sixteen, my fifteen-year old girlfriend broke my heart and my twenty-three year old married homeroom teacher, whose husband had abused her, invited me to her house by myself to comfort me in my loss, shaking the very foundation of my understanding of the role of authority and age in the thoughts and actions of love.

Perhaps I take love too seriously?  Or is it too traditional?  Perhaps my fear is too great to give another woman my love outside of marriage?

Perhaps I’m crazy.

There’s no one I can trust with these words so what better hiding place than the Internet to put them?

Yeah, I’m crazy like that.

I’ve talked about you too much to my wife.  She finally said to me, “where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” hinting that I’ve spoken too much of you to her lately.

The fact that I raced 90+ miles an hour on the freeway last night to get one glimpse of you before your costume party finished was also the wrong message to my wife, also, even though I told my wife that it was for her to see how you looked in your outfit.  Hey, I barely talked to you.  I danced with no one.

Well, I’ve said most everything in my thoughts I wanted to put down here so that, if nothing else, I’ve got a record of words to give a fictional character.

If I never hold you again, if I never look in your eyes, the loss is mine.

I have lived in quiet for so many years now, pursuing the peace and solace of a hermit’s life I sought when my ten-year old girlfriend died that I never expected to meet someone like you who would light a fire inside me to overcome mediocrity for something exhilarating, the exhibitionist’s life on the dance floor perfecting his moves to entertain crowds the way he used to love to make people laugh, smile and clap, gladly overcoming fear, trepidation and personal space issues for the thrill of extemporaneous stage performances.

I don’t know if I can keep on living with the only excuse I can make to see you is when you teach me how to dance with my wife.

I appreciate you giving me the space to walk through these thoughts in public knowing, as we both do, that you still love your last boyfriend and always will.

Do I want to be your dance partner?  Yes.  But I feel I cannot.  I let my guard down to let you in my personal space so we could show good chemistry on the dance floor and, in doing so, I fell in love with you.  I don’t blame you.  It just happened.

In my thoughts, I lead a swinger’s life.  But I didn’t marry a swinger, I married a monogamist.

To become a fully-devoted swinger, I would have to divorce my wife.  To divorce my wife, I would have to renounce my subcultural teachings of a life devoted to a monotheistic religion.

It’s not impossible to mate my thoughts with my actions so that I’m no longer a mental hypocrite.

But to do so would mean there’s a permanent divide between myself and my family, between myself and the ancestors who fought for the idea of a subculture that formed the governing body we call the United States of America which depended, in part, on the brothers of the Masonic Lodge who do not allow atheists as members.

So, regardless of how you feel about me, I have the future of my thoughts to consider.

Am I merely a set of states of energy that happens to exist concurrently with sets of states of energy that use the artificial constructs of memes to justify aligning the conditions of their existence for the sake of governments and religions…

OR am I a set of states of energy that belongs to the solar system and wants to overcome the past in order to make a future in his likeness which includes breaking away from old subcultural traditions to establish colonies on the Moon, Mars and beyond?

You see, it’s not just my love for you at stake.

But because of you, I’m willing to consider the option, to consider the possibilities that the only reason our species exists is to send a living blob out of our solar system to land on one or more habitable celestial bodies in our galaxy, thanks to my knowing and loving you.

You see, the very survival of life as we know it depends on what you and I think of us.

I don’t just want to be your dance partner.

Because of you, I want the whole universe.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what love is.

That’s why these words belong to the whole Internet, not just between us.

Yours truly,
Rick

Square pegs at a rectangular roundtable in a box

Chan Auditorium — 4th Entrepreneurs Roundtable: Innovation and Change in the Non-Profit Sector

Guest speakers:

  1. Dr. Deborah Barnhart — as of December 2010, CEO of U.S. Space and Rocket Centre
  2. Stephen Black — founder and president of Impact Alabama (and grandson of Senator Hugo Black)
  3. Chad Emerson — CEO of Downtown Huntsville, Inc.

Moderators:

  1. Caron St. John, PhD — Dean of College of Business Administration, UAH
  2. John R. Whitman, PhD — Associate Professor of Entrepreneurship
  3. ICE Lab (Innovation in Commercialisation and Entrepreneurship Lab in College of Business Administration, UAH)

Before program began, an introduction video played on a big screen behind the podium, the video contents flipping between quotes by and photos of the guest speakers, giving the impression of a camera zooming in on newspaper/magazine articles/headlines.

By the time the program began, the audience was composed of about half business people (as characterised by their clothing/fashion choices — men in suits and women in business blouses/slacks/skirts) and about half college students (as characterised by their age and casual dress codes); note: attending students received college credit for attending the roundtable program.

What is entrepreneurship?

Paraphrasing Dr. St. John, it is, in a nutshell, recognising an opportunity and, despite adversity and risks, taking action to seize the opportunity.

Let us read what the guest speakers of the roundtable (who were actually seated at a rectangular table) had to say for themselves and their organisations…

Chad Emerson, CEO of Downtown Huntsville, Inc.

Think of a city that doesn’t have a strong downtown and is otherwise thriving.  The key to most successful cities is revitalisation of their downtown districts.

Chad helped revitalise Montgomery, Alabama, and now is tasked with turning downtown Huntsville into a go-to location for both city residents and tourists, despite the usual entrenched interests that prevent change.

He helped kick off the view of downtown Huntsville a couple of months ago with a food truck “war.”  To showcase not only downtown but also their new Internet website/portal, Downtown Huntsville, Inc., plans a big party on Halloween night.

Chad’s vision for downtown Huntsville includes getting a diversity of ideas — basically, you shouldn’t like more than 75% of the ideas implemented in any downtown because there’s always 25% that appeals to someone else, such as hosting a zombie walk.

His challenges include people who want everything that they like and nothing else — a typical resistance to change.

As a trained lawyer, Chad has no regrets about his career path.  He could have stayed on the law firm track, with a beach house but enjoys what he does.

Chad asked the audience to send him constructive feedback about downtown Huntsville.  He wanted evidence of emotional connections people felt toward the area, not just functional transaction (like getting that red convertible instead a vanilla family sedan as a rental car).  Contact him at chad@downtownhuntsville.org.

Dr. Deborah Barnhart, CEO and executive director of the U.S. Space and Rocket Centre

Deborah recalled the origins of the rocket centre.  Wernher Von Braun wanted the world to know that it was the people of Alabama who were about to put people on the Moon; thus, the U.S. Army deeded part of the local military base to NASA to explain its mission, which has expanded through the years to include other missions such as U.S. military developments and government/private sector contributions to energy developments.

In the same vein, Space Camp opened in 1982 because of the perception there are summer outdoor camps, math camps, etc.

Today, Space Camp hosts students from all 50 U.S. states and 62 countries, with tens of thousands of students having passed through, including five astronaut graduates.

The Space Camp concept has expanded, with Adult Space Academy, Aviation Challenge and more recently, Robotics Camp (with programs for air, land and water robotics).

Space Camp has an outreach program which has seen an uptick in international students — 600 students from China, 500 students from India and even some from Libya as part of peaceful cooperation between peoples of all nations.

Deborah’s 10-year objective is to tell the story of the technical achievements and innovation spinoffs of the space program from the local perspective, turning the U.S. Space and Rocket Center into a centerpiece museum inside a large park, similar to Balboa Park in San Diego, California.  She wants to increase the education opportunities for Alabama children — she noted that China and the state of Georgia sent more people through Space Camp or visited the museum than did Alabama-based adults and children last year.

Ultimately, Deborah wants the museum to be the repository for a National Space Library, which would set the cornerstone for the establishment of the U.S. Space Academy as a training ground for astronauts and grounds crew in the public/private space community.

The main obstacles to achieving these goals is the will of the people as exemplified by the support for space programs by the U.S. presidential administration.

As a self-sustaining organisation with an annual budget around $22M, the U.S. Space and Rocket Centre is positioned for growth, having advised museum directors for museums established by Paul Allen, cofounder of Microsoft.

As a retired U.S. Navy captain, Deborah relishes the daily intellectual challenges of running a large organisation.

Stephen Black, president of Impact Alabama

Stephen’s organisation operates with a current annual budget of $2M.  The purpose of his organisation is serve the underserved.  His version of the idea is that everyone deserves access to higher education but to get there, it requires social support of children and families in poverty.

Americans spend less and less time amongst people different than themselves, with diversity especially tough for middle and southern U.S. citizens who, more and more, are sequestering themselves in suburban and urban enclaves.

To change this, ethics and community involvement is the key.

A junior at an Alabama university will be more educated than 72% of Alabamians; reaching out to all people with something as simple as tax preparation for poverty-level Alabamians by trained college students is good way to bridge the gap between those who have benefited from higher education and those who have not.

Typically, a low-income working family with children (often a single-parent household) pays $350 for tax preparation due predatory practice of unscrupulous/unethical people; those with higher incomes pay an average of $200 for tax preparation.

Impact Alabama provides tax preparation training for college students and recent college graduates who must take a test to be able to serve — last year, about 6200 mainly low-income mothers at or near $20K income were helped; most importantly, the tax preparers were amazed at the hard work the low-income people appeared, often showing up with three W2 forms, very few who have any interest in welfare, despite headlines that purport that citizens in states like Alabama are lazy welfare recipients.

Thirty-two employee of Impact Alabama are college students or one year out of college, with a GPA of 3.75, earning less than $1K per month.  Impact Alabama attracts the best and brightest because they want to make a difference in people’s lives besides their own, be part of the story and recipe for success of the organisation.

Impact Alabama also provides vision care — it screened 32000 children for vision care, which has set an example, teaching this vision care program to Silicon Valley, expanding to Tennessee and other parts of northern California.

Stephen stressed that social entrepreneurship must be held to the same high expectations of any entrepreneurial venture such as Facebook or Twitter — building five-year plans, and showing the same initiatives of professional for-profit organisations.

There are 4.7 million people in Alabama, which has at least 12 schools which reached the torchbearer’s list, honouring the schools with the poorest districts that have gone on to exceed educational standards, let alone expectations; however, 99% of Alabamians are unaware of these great achievements but should know about this great story if Alabama is going to climb out of the bottom of national educational rankings.

Stephen asked the audience, “What do you want your legacy of life to be?”  The story of progress is not a slow multigenerational change; it usually has a tipping point phenomenon thanks to thoughtful, engaged people who work rapidly for change.  We need practical solutions, not politics, for positive social benefits.

Shucks, Tom, it’s Huck!

“Tom, how are you doing, this fine day?”

“Not bad, Huck.  Not bad ‘tall.  Haven’t seen you in a cat’s nine lives.  Where are you living now?”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason, reason ‘tall.  I’ve been solving mysteries of all-seeing eyes for many years, though, I can tell you.”

“Private inspecturating, are you?”

“Private investigator!”

“Private eye is what you are.”

“And you…what are you going about?”

“Me?  Well, haven’t you heard?  I’m a politician’s politician.  Head of the City Council.  They want me to run for governor.”

“Are the you Sean Finnegan what’s holding up headlines?”

“The very same, I am.  Yes, indeed.”

“The one with an honest wife and three little ones?”

“So the Good Lord has made it out for me in His own sweet time, yes.”

“Lord a’mighty.  Who woulda thunk it, you and I, two successful businessmen.”

“Busy is the word for it, Tom.  Do you think our tales are any better with age?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  But they sure pay a lot more per word than they used to, don’t they?”

“Paid…or stolen?”  Huck winked at Tom and nudged his shoulder with an outstretched hand.  “Would you be interested in joining my campaign.  I could use a good man on the team, one who knows his way with the ladies, especially the little old ladies like your aunt.  They say I’m a shoo-in if I can nab the elderly vote.”

Tom motioned Huck over to a bench next to the entrance of the corner druggist’s shop.

“Huck, I’m not the man you once knew.”

“Aww, don’t be modest.  Your reputation is as good as gold, assuming we can keep a gold standard in this wonderful country of ours.”

Tom dropped his elbows on his knees and lowered his head, his shiny boots reflecting the passing carriages.

“Tom, it’s not like you to be silent.  What gives?”

“Huck, have you ever heard of Edgar Allan Poe or Victor Hugo?”

“Of course.”

“Do their stories appear as anything other than a child’s tale?”

“No, of course not.  These are troubled men, men in whom the light of God’s love is distorted, good for scaring kids and twisting an old morality tale into troubled plots, but they are not stories meant for good, law-abiding adult citizens.  Certainly not a decent voter like you or I!”

Tom wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping off a day’s worth of worry written in sweat and road dust.

“Huck, in my job…well…there’s more than conspiracies in what we see.  The rawness, the open wounds, the lies…”

“Tom, Tom, it’s all in a day’s work for an elected official like myself.  I completely understand where you’re coming from.  Have you been backed into a corner and forced to take a bribe to look the other way before a certain someone in a prominent position will let you loose?”

“That I have, yes, but…”

“Well, there you have it.  Nothing to worry about.  A job’s a job and you’re the man for it.  If you weren’t yourself, I wouldn’t be offering you this job, now, would I?”

Tom pushed himself to his feet.  “Huck, what say we find a saloon and talk this out some more?”

“You sayin’ you’re thirsty?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

They agreed to meet a few hours later after they both finished business for the day, joining each other at the Red Lion Inn, an old hotel famous for its saloon that sold ‘genuwyne’ moonshine in bottles labeled “Grandma’s Secret Recipe Cough Medicine.”

TO BE CONTINUED…