I’m glad I know your story. It’s sad, but important. When I read Phil Bronstein’s piece in Esquire, I was moved to tears – and just a little bit befuddled.

Yes, it’s a travesty. A genuine American hero will be struggling to make ends meet and provide for his former wife and children, all while dealing with the monumental task of acclimating to life without a uniform. I do not pretend to understand the difficulties you face each and every day. I hope myself and my loved ones never have the chance to do the same, and am eternally grateful that this is a burden you have chosen to bear. And, as Bronstein’s piece, and countless other stories before his, has demonstrated, your story is the story of many of our nation’s veterans.

But – in that one, particular way – your story is unique. You didn’t just pull a trigger – you pulled the trigger. That half-inch movement of your forefinger may be – no, certainly is – the most important half-inch any finger of any human has moved in the past decade. It did not change the way millions of Americans and others around the world lead their everyday lives – but it changed our perception. It took away an enemy that has drawn us into a long, costly war. It helped re-elect a President that’s poised to lead the United States into an era of tolerance for all humankind. You have literally changed the course of history with your hands.

Anonymity, it seems, is sacred to you – or at least that’s what Bronstein’s piece would have us think. Without a doubt, there is something becoming about a modest man – someone who does the job he’s asked to do without need for extraneous praise or salutation. It is also hard to argue with the main thrust of the story: that revealing your name puts a price on your head. It further risks the life of you, your wife, your kids. I agree – giving up everything and everyone you know to drive a beer truck in Milwaukee? Impossible, and insulting. A stain on a department and administration that has struggled to show its support for the our nation’s servicemen and women – I cannot, and would not, argue with that.

But what the piece also illustrated is this: your identity, though sacred to you, is a secret easily found out. With absolutely no disrespect to Mr. Bronstein’s skill as an investigative reporter, a dedicated intelligence operator has nearly the same chances of discerning your identity or your location. The era of secrets – if there ever truly was one – is over. Yes, your name may have been kept out of the press, or overshadowed by more vocal and opportunistic members of the SEAL Team 6 Unit, but I challenge you to believe that you can remain “the Shooter” for the rest of your life. That half-inch was simply too important.

That leaves your other concern: your personal obligation to follow the omerta of SEAL Team 6. A code of silence that honors your fellow soldiers and belief that your country is more important than you. In the age of reality television and made-in-a-minute YouTube stars, it’s a laudable stance to take. But in effect, you’re martyring your family to honor your country. If we accept the fact that one day your identity may be compromised no matter what action you take – which to me seems almost impossible not to accept – then all that’s left is your willingness to place your obligation to your wife and child ahead of your obligation to a country that hasn’t been obligated to you.

The path to a comfortable life for you and your family, with an income to pay medical bills, mortgages, and put food on the table – and indeed, go much beyond that! – is clear. I need not enumerate the ways in which the man who pulled the trigger could share his story, and what value that story has. You may think no one is still listening. But I guarantee – they are. I am not a spectator of military engagement. I don’t know an AK-47 from an AR-15, but I know this – I’d read your story. And so would millions of others.

The question I ask the Shooter is this: At what point does being a martyr make you less of a hero? To me, that point has already passed. You have been a hero to your country. When you acknowledge that publicly, you’ll have the opportunity to be a hero for your family.

Take a shot.

While a predilection for John Irving novels and nebbish girls in polo shirts had him considering continuing his education in New England, the lure of state-funded scholarship drew him back to his home state of Florida, albeit a slightly more “country” corner – Tallahassee. It was there he learned nothing about writing and not so much about women, but a lot about barbecue, beer, and windsurfing. Fortunately for him, the windsurfing thing worked out, because in the midst of applying to law school, he unexpectedly got himself hired by WINDSURFING magazine, for the respectable-sounding title of Managing Editor. Entranced by the allure of the publishing industry (and, you know, a pay check) law school applications were deferred, and not three days after graduation, Josh sat down at the WINDSURFING magazine desk at what was then World Publications, soon to become Bonnier Corporation.

It was there that Josh felt his education as a writer truly began. The fast-paced, deadline-oriented world of the magazine business pushed him to learn, and learn quick. His writing became tighter, more creative, and more impactful. A keen eye for layout emerged, turning Josh into an editor who visualizes first, and writes second.