David McElroy

I will always feel like an alien trying to fit among humans, because I don’t know how to blend in. Not really.

I can move among groups. I can talk as though I belong. I can say the right things. I can even lead them to believe I’m one of them.

Inside, though, I will always feel like an alien among others. I will always feel as though I don’t quite fit. And I’ll always hate it that I care what they might think of me.

Earlier this week, I found a group of my school photos from my younger years. It turns out that I have almost every year’s photo from first through sixth grade. In the younger photos, I looked like a happy little boy. By the time I got to the sixth grade — the one you see here — I look older than my years and I look unhappy.

Maybe I simply know too much about what was really behind those young eyes, but I see unhappiness and alienation. I see someone who felt alone in the world.

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I was still 14 years old when I wrote the letter, but I sound older than that. How many ninth graders sit down and type a long and serious letter to an unknown future spouse?

The letter is an attempt to explain myself and where I came from to this future wife. It tried to explain how my confusing childhood had made me feel different from others — and I found myself assuming that the only sort of woman who could fit me was someone who could understand that.

“I figure you will have to be someone who has [been] hurt and been lonely just like me for you to understand,” I wrote.

Most of the letter is happier. It’s filled with joy at the prospect of finding someone who‘s enough like me — and shares enough values — for me to love. It describes in very clear terms what I want our marriage to be like.

I went though a box of unexplored things Tuesday night and found a number of interesting artifacts from the past, but two of them are on my mind tonight. One is this letter and the other is a handwritten application to a private school which asked what goals I had set for my adult life.

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Millions of lives are suddenly on hold lately. The crisis brought on by the new coronavirus has left many people jobless. It’s destroying companies — both large and small — and it’s forcing some of us to change plans that we had been ready to execute this year.

I didn’t realize how much this had affected me mentally until I put some things together Friday afternoon. Then I spent the weekend thinking about where I stood — and what I can do. I don’t have a new plan yet, but I discovered that the most important decision I could make was to take control back instead of waiting to see what others do to solve this crisis.

The audio embedded below is about eight and a half minutes long.

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