9. Note to self: stick out your chin. And grin.

So, yeah… The typical transition from closeted to open atheist is something like being the subject of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” – where I wake up, transformed into some hideous creepy-crawly thing that no one can bear to look at. People behaving as though they are “…in the presence of a serious invalid or a total stranger…”; mother in tears over my chosen state; dad throwing apples at me from beyond the grave; and I, in response, snapping my jaws at the coffee on the table and wishing those around me could understand my words.

But also, very occasionally, a person will express curiosity rather than exasperation, and a silly little glimmer of hope perks up like Katie Couric’s hair – all sun-shiney and cute – in the base of my gut.

(I’ll give you a minute for those oh-so-congruent images to marinate. Feel free to vomit, if you must.)

Sometimes it seems to stem more from an intrigue of oddities than anything else: “Look, dear! It’s the Unflappable Clone of Gregor, in the flesh! Whooooo-doggie! C’mon, Stinky, lets have us a convo!” It still pegs me as something of a mutant. But, by non-existent god, I’ll take it. Even in the poorest of terms, it’s an excuse to speak up, speak out, and lay bare the bones of nasty-ole-Moi.

Other times, the interest comes from someone who seems to be staring through the door themselves, wondering if maybe it isn’t quite so dark as it seems – there, on the other side. The number one question on their FAQ (not the most-asked, but the one to which they most desire an answer) is this: how can you be content without the promise of forever? The answer of course, is simple. Though often unexpected by the one bearing the burden of curiosity.

It’s never quite spot-on to say that I live knowing death is the end, and that is that; get up and get on with the getting of your life, else you’ll be gotten, and such – though that is the most-anticipated response. Yes, I once had the promise of forever. I had belief in an immortal eternity, the likes of which would make Connor MacLeod green with envy. (If you got that reference, you’re a damn geek, and I love you for it.) I had faith in more tomorrows than can be counted. And silly that is me; I threw it away, didn’t I? So what do I have now?

Well, as I said, the answer is simple: I have today. An honest day of reason and responsibility. A day free from hindrance and imposed-thoughts and waking up with the blinders on, screaming over the monsters in the dark that I could not see, but feared nonetheless – as though my very soul depended on it. A day of self-evolution, where I refused to sell myself short by hanging my life on a parable. I have today; and I have myself therein. In short, I have far more now than ever before.