People

Eldon and Terry started the program that would alter the course of my life and allow me to live my purpose.

I met them when I walked into a personal growth program called Choices II. My friend Randy roped me into attending.

The program (seminar) was called Choices II because Eldon’s mother started the original program with Dr. Phil McGraw and his father. Eldon has memories of hanging out with Dr. Phil when they were both young adults.

This was my first personal growth program, so I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t expect much, because I thought I was smart and could figure out life on my own. As it turns out, I couldn’t. In fact, being smart gets in the way!

But I figured spending nearly five days on myself would do some good, even if I didn’t get much out of the course content. The first day kind of felt like that to me.

Then things got real. The program isn’t a “power of positive thinking” or motivational type of event. We got into the sh!t that gets in our way in life. We cleared much of it out. It created emotional space that we could fill with more of what we wanted in life.

If you want to know more, you’ll just have to attend a program yourself.

Eldon was the face of the program, the leader of a group of mostly volunteers. He was damn good at what he did. He had been involved in the program for many years and had a serious amount of experience and insight. There wasn’t a sticky situation he couldn’t handle. I really can’t overstate how much command, power, expertise, wisdom and impact he could have facilitating from the front of the room.

While Eldon ran the room from the front, Terry supported Eldon. I would often see them huddled in the back of the room, where they would go over notes or strategize. She would take care of the little details that needed to be nailed down in order to run a successful program.

I know all of this because I became a regular part of the presenting team. I got to know Eldon and Terry as friends.

Eldon has a heart to help people. He could be tough in the room (when it was called for) and generous outside the room. He inspired loyalty. He delegated responsibility.

Terry is fiercely loyal. She has a big family, and is very protective of the people she cares about, whether it’s actual family or the type of family created by our group of volunteers. She was always supportive and encouraging.

Eldon encouraged me to facilitate (speak) from the front of the room very early on. I was very nervous. I would insist that I get the video of Eldon’s (and others) facilitation so I could study what they said and how they said it. It was truly “on the job” training.

I eventually got very good at facilitation, but it took years of practice. I wasn’t very good at first. Years later, people would give me compliments on my fully-developed facilitation skills. Overhearing one such conversation, my friend Kondi put it in perspective. He said, “Oh, you should have seen him when he first got started. He was TERRIBLE.”

This story comes up a lot by people who like to rib me.

While I take exception to the term “terrible,” Kondi’s remark reminds me that in order to get good at something, we have to start out as a beginner. That means we have to suck at it for a while. Eldon and Terry were willing to let me suck as a facilitator in their program, and as a result I got crucial experience.

Imagine having a program, your “baby,” and being world class at presenting the program. Now imagine allowing a beginner to learn how to facilitate in your place, and standing back and allowing him to suck until he got better at it. That was Eldon’s gift to me.

Today, facilitating groups is an activity that makes me feel alive. I feel it is what I was put on this earth to do. I literally can’t get enough of it because I can’t find many opportunities to do the kind of deep work I love.

People like to get the “light” version—the lunch-and-learn or the one-hour presentation; maybe some yoga or listening to a motivational speaker or podcast.  And there’s nothing wrong with that. But what fills me is when people open up their hearts in vulnerability and allow me to touch them in a healing way. There are precious few opportunities for that. Eldon and Terry created these opportunities for me.

I still have indelible memories of the seminar, like sitting in the chalets socializing or the smell of the chemicals used to clean the carpets in the seminar room. The mood of the background music or the sight of a room full of lit candles. I can be in the shower washing my hair and the scent of the shampoo transports me to a different shower in a different place.

After a few years I had a parting of the ways with Eldon and Terry. I won’t go into details, because no matter how objective I try to be, it will always be MY side of the story. As Phil McGraw says, “It don’t matter how flat you make a pancake, it will always have two sides.” If Eldon and Terry wish to have a conversation with me about it, then I’m very willing. However, that conversation will be private.

I do, however, need to apologize. Not only for how my involvement ended, but for how my involvement began.

Early on, I started donating money to the program to help people who couldn’t otherwise attend. The program started to depend on these regular donations. When I abruptly stopped making donations, the organization crashed.

I didn’t realize it then, but it is possible to enable an entire organization. I use the term ‘enable’ in the same sense that a family can enable a person’s unproductive behaviors. In this case, propping up the organization so it would not fail was keeping the organization from taking its own hard steps toward self-sufficiency.

When I made the program financially dependent upon me, I sealed its fate. This wouldn’t be the first time I did this to an organization. The reason why I know this about Eldon and Terry’s program is that it happened with two subsequent organizations. Lessons are repeated until learned.

I also need to apologize for exercising power and control inappropriately. I consider myself to be a pretty humble guy. But when I get my back up, I can seek what feels like holding people accountable. In truth, it was more like revenge and intimidation tactics. I’m shocked at what I’m capable of when I feel like I’m right. I drove Eldon and Terry away with all the force I could muster.

So when I reached out to Terry as part of this project, I had no idea what kind of response I would get. I thought the most likely response would be no response. The second most likely response would be some version of F— off.

But Terry, as always, was gracious and courteous. She welcomed a visit from me. It’s a strong testament to her character.

I will always be grateful to Eldon and Terry. Their guidance helped me be the person I am today; with the passions I have to help others. Thank you.

Al was my long-time business partner at Universal Tax Systems (UTS), one of the earliest companies to offer electronic filing to tax preparers. I left active management of UTS 20 years ago. By the time I left, I was so burned out that I was a detriment to the company. Because of my burnout, I retreated from any involvement with UTS and all the UTS relationships I established over the years. So I went from seeing Al on a daily basis to hardly seeing him at all. I regret that.

How I met Al is an interesting story. It’s a bit long, but if you like corporate intrigue you might find it entertaining.

I founded UTS in 1986. After two years trying to market and sell tax preparation software to tax preparers, I realized I needed somebody who actually knew how to do it. I had eight customers, not enough to make a living for myself. So I wrote software for other companies in the industry and sold specialized modems designed to communicate directly with the IRS service center mainframe computers. There was no link through the internet or even AOL or CompuServe, so a direct connection to the IRS was the only way for tax preparers to transmit tax returns to the IRS.

My search for a marketer led me to a guy named Bob. He seemed very genuine, sincere, and even modest at times. He was full of ideas, and he had a knack for talking people into things. His wife was one of the kindest people I’d ever met. Getting to know him, I discovered he was also amoral, failed to come through on promises, and spent a lot of money he didn’t have but figured he could earn by the time the bills came due. He would show up hours late to important appointments. I actually believe he had the best of intentions, but he left a trail of failed business relationships and unpaid bills in his wake.

He recruited 8 to 10 individuals from across the country to become exclusive dealers of my software. Al was one of them, and that’s how I first heard about him. He was already a major, successful dealer for one of the most established software companies in our industry, and had a territory in Florida.

It didn’t take long for the dealership network to figure Bob out. They jettisoned Bob and decided to negotiate directly with me and my business partner Randy.

That’s how I found myself in a hotel room negotiating the future of the company. Randy and I were in one room; the dealer network was in another. One of the dealers owned a large auto dealership, and he sent a messenger back-and-forth between the rooms. It was the old technique of the power of limited authority: The messenger was like the sales representative who had to “check with his boss” about the latest terms of the deal. Randy and I were aware of this, and so we were careful.

The negotiations reached an impasse. The dealer network had always assumed that they would split the country up into exclusive territories. But Randy and I didn’t trust most of the dealers to effectively sell the product.

The breakthrough came when the dealers proposed that the territories be non-exclusive. UTS wouldn’t assign another dealer to their exclusive territories, but we could sell in those territories ourselves. In essence, the dealer network felt that we didn’t have the capability to sell enough in their territories to give them much competition. We quickly came to an agreement on the non-exclusive deal.

But Randy and I had an ace up our sleeve. Or at least we thought we could get one. That ace was Al. If we could peel Al off the dealer network and get him to agree to be our V.P. of Marketing, we could cherry-pick the one dealer we were confident could do the job.

We’d have to offer him a large piece of stock in the company. We negotiated a deal based on results: The more software the company sold, the larger his stake in the company. Our pitch was that he would either own a small piece of a small company, or a large piece of a large company. It would be a compelling argument for someone who is confident in their own abilities.

At one point Randy and I were reminded of what we were asking Al to give up. We were musing about how we’d like to draw $100,000 salaries every year. (Note that this was $100,000 in 1989 dollars.) Al’s response was that if $100,000 per year was the goal, he might as well stay where he was. Al opened our eyes to a bigger vision. It turns out he was just the person to lead us there.

Al agreed to join UTS and quickly hired a sales staff. He knew what he was doing. In a few short years, he met all of the goals we set for him and he maximized his stock in the company. The dealer network withered away.

The company grew beyond my wildest expectations. I could quote figures: sales, number of customers, number of employees, several moves and expansion of office space, number of tax returns transmitted, investment by venture capital firms, etc. We made the Inc. 500 list of fastest growing companies three years running (we peaked at #46 in 1994). It still blows my mind. I can say one thing with absolute certainty: Without Al we wouldn’t have had a fraction of the success we did.

So yes, Al made me and many others wealthy. By the time I left the company, I could decide what I wanted to do next to contribute to society without worrying about how much it paid. But this isn’t why Al was a meaningful part of my life.

Randy, Al, and I met almost daily over lunch to make the executive decisions for the company. It was true team leadership, which is extraordinary. We didn’t need to have a single chief executive because the three of us could almost always agree on a course of action. Our most difficult decisions always seemed to be where we would go to lunch that day!

We were so often seen together that employees started referring to us as “The Three Amigos,” after the film starring Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short. We were all on the Board, and our Board decisions were consistently as smooth as our day-to-day management of the company.

I believe a main reason for this is because of Al’s personality. He is easy-going, even-tempered, and reasonable. He is gregarious and amicable, yet he can make tough decisions when the situation calls for it. He has the vision to see the big picture, and still can take care of the details of managing a sales staff. I’d imagine salespeople are not the easiest people to manage.

He was also a master of managing customers. We accumulated many large customers over the years. (You may know our largest customer: Liberty Tax. They’re the guys who hire spinners to dress up as the Statue of Liberty outside their stores.)  Customers of this size demanded access. Al was the person they called. He kept them satisfied even through a few rough years when our software wasn’t working so well and they were losing money by the hour. Al had an amazing ability to soothe. Often a customer would call in angry and by the end of the call he would be thanking Al. It was remarkable.

Al became a close friend over the years. I could relax knowing that he had my back and had things under control. He was understanding when we wrote buggy software that caused him headaches. (I was the lead programmer.)

Al often complimented me as a programmer who could actually communicate with others. He came into my office often with a proposal for a new feature that would help him sell more product. After some thought, I would respond with something like, “that would be hard, but what if we did it this way?” We usually could find a way to get him what he wanted.

By the early 2000s, Randy and I were ready to sell the company. We wanted to diversify our risk. We had too much of our wealth in the stock of one company (UTS), and I had already burned out and left the company (which was for the company’s own good!)

We knew that Al’s dream was to run a “lifestyle” company. He’d explain that he wanted to get to a point where he could draw a fat salary and come in a few days a week just to keep his finger on the pulse. He had seen the owners of another company do this—the company that he was a distributor for down in Florida. So Randy and I knew it would be a sensitive conversation to bring up a sale.

When we brought it up with Al, he quickly assessed the situation and our desires. After verifying that Randy and I didn’t want to run UTS as a lifestyle company, he quickly and calmly agreed to a sale. No muss, no fuss. It was a business decision, and he gave up his own preferences so we could have what we wanted. I’ll always appreciate that.

I run into people from time to time who used to work at UTS. Everybody tells me that it wasn’t the same after we left. Before, it was like family. Afterward it was very corporate and management didn’t seem to care about their employees. At least that’s what they all tell me, usually in the same words.

Al gets much of the credit for this. People really liked him, and he treated them well. He cared about them. Because I was so often holed up in my office programming, Randy and Al were more often the faces of the company to our employees. Al, you are gentle, kind, and wise. I wish I would have made more of an effort to keep in touch, especially while you were still in town. Now that you’re back in Florida, I’ll look for more opportunities when I have occasion to go down there. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to make new friends when I wasn’t going into work. Now, more than ever, I miss hanging out with you.

I am Janice’s brother. A brother from another mother. Her BFAM. She is my sister from another mister. My SFAM.

Janice was raised as an only child. But she did have a biological brother who died shortly after birth. So she hasn’t had the full experience of having a brother in her life.

So when Janice calls me her brother, it’s a poignant reminder of what I mean to her, what we mean to each other. I’m so honored to be seen this way.

Janice and I met as fellow participants in our first personal growth experience in 2003. She immediately liked me. I don’t usually establish quick connections with people. I’m reserved around strangers and hard to get to know. Janice is pretty much the opposite: Strangers are just friends she hasn’t met yet. Her enthusiasm and attention to me coaxed me out of my protective shell.

Janice was an instrumental part of that personal growth experience for me. Our collaboration for the next decade would change the trajectory of both our lives.

Janice saw me as a genuine hero at a time in my life when I felt like a zero. She continues to see me in a better light than I see myself, and she reminds me of this each time we talk.

My wife Jamie accompanied me to that 2003 workshop, and Janice’s daughter accompanied her. I got to know Janice’s husband Jeff when he attended the next workshop after ours. (It was a three-part workshop; we attended part two when he attended part one). So our families know each other well.

I started to make regular trip to North Carolina to see Janice, Jeff, and the family. If Jeff felt the least bit jealous by my visits, he didn’t show it. He would even go to work, leaving me and Janice alone in their home. Some men wouldn’t be so secure. He was right to have nothing to fear, but he didn’t yet know me well enough to know my character. So my guess is that he trusted Janice’s character instead. It’s one example of the secure and trusting love and respect in which they treat each other. I don’t know any couple who is more loving and tender to each other than Jeff and Janice.

When I met Janice and Jeff, they had two teenage daughters. Each of them had a toddler son. Both of the toddlers had special needs. The boys’ single teen mothers were not equipped to deal with special needs. (Who is ever equipped for such a thing?) Jeff and Janice stepped into the gap and raised these toddlers as their own.

Because I attended the workshop with one of her daughters (Brooke), my original relationships were established with both Janice and Brooke. I would get to know Jeff much better later.

My relationship with Brooke became co-dependent. This term means different things to different people, so I’ll explain what it meant when it came to Brooke.

I got a lot of satisfaction helping Brooke. I refurbished a computer and gave it to her. I encouraged her to find a job and to go to classes at a local junior college. She respected me, so she made an effort to please me and do what I wanted her to do. I kept in contact with her by phone several times per week. Janice was seeing results, and she encouraged me to continue my efforts. I promised her I would.

Here’s the co-dependent part: I needed to be seen as Brooke’s hero, as somebody important and special in her life. I needed her validation. Eventually she resisted my help (as teens are wont to do). I pushed her too hard and she broke off contact with me.

The rejection and exclusion was very painful. It was like my own daughter had stopped speaking to me. I had a tearful conversation with Janice about it. She saw the pain it was causing me. She released me from my promise to help Brooke.

And here’s the significance of that: Janice had been codependent with Brooke her entire life. But Mom had done her own personal growth and realized that she needed to let go of control of her daughter. So she recognized how I felt, and the importance of detachment with love.

Janice’s detachment from the chaos in her extended family is a work-in-progress, but she has made monumental strides. She and Jeff moved out-of-state from the rest of her family, a courageous step for someone who worries so much she can give herself a stress migraine.

She is no longer so entangled in her family drama. Of course, the drama doesn’t go away because she’s not a part of it, and sometimes she’ll get dragged back in. But I saw a switch flip in her mind and heart, and now she can observe and decide when and how to get involved instead of simply being engulfed by the turmoil. I’m truly impressed. She taught me the same lesson she herself learned through hard experience.

I got to know Jeff much better though our mutual involvement with the personal growth workshops. Janice and Jeff were both hired by the workshops, and I was a volunteer. Jeff and my involvement was primarily through group facilitation.

Jeff is a natural at working with groups. He is perceptive and wise. His mind is a steel trap. Even with larger groups, he could remember everyone he talked to and their names. He had the courage to stand before 40-50 workshops participants, be the face of the program, and ask them to do or talk about things they’ve never done or talked about before in their lives. He put people at ease. He was a rock for many people in the room.

Unfortunately, he was also mistreated, a wound that has yet to heal. He was manipulated, discounted, and disrespected. As a final insult, he was made president of the organization just as it was about to fail and was tasked with turning it around. This was like changing the captain of the Titanic as it was sinking.

Janice and Jeff haven’t had it easy. I tell Janice that if she finds herself going through hell, keep going.

One particular form of hell is due to the special nature of their grandchildren, whom they’ve raised as their own, each with their own special needs

The most heart-shattering story is with their Jordi. He had muscular dystrophy. I don’t know how much I should say here, in a public forum. But I will say this: It takes a special kind of parent to raise a child when they know the child will not survive childhood.

Jordi passed last year. Jeff was his father, his fulltime caregiver, his best friend. He kept Jordi alive for as long as it was possible for him to survive. I hope to be able to talk more deeply and freely (but privately) with Jeff and Janice when the emotions are not so white-hot and soul-crushing. Maybe that time is now and maybe it’s later. There is no timetable or roadmap for grief.

But here’s something Janice already told me, and it’s worth passing on. Many people know Jeff and Janice because they know Jordi, whether it be caregivers, medical professionals, pastors, etc. Many of them have reached out to Jeff and Janice to tell them how inspiring Jordi was and how it changed how they now look at life.

They told him how Jordi would never complain, always had a positive attitude, and was such a gentle spirit. I’m not doing this part of the story justice because I have to paraphrase what I remember about what Janice told me. She was much more detailed and eloquent than I could be about who Jordi is.

Jordi lives here on earth in the hearts of every person who has ever met him. Janice says that Jordi taught her and Jeff what it means to love.

Janice, Jeff and I have a relationship that’s been tempered in fire. Because we were all involved for so long in a personal growth program, there isn’t much we can’t talk about. They know my secrets and I know theirs. I can tell them anything, and often do. They know my faults and love me—not despite them, but because of them.

BFAM. SFAM. BFF.

There are two Robins.

One Robin is a real-life, flesh-and-blood person who has her own complex feelings, relationships, hopes and dreams. She has a circle of friends who know her intimately and share her passions. They know and love Real Robin, with all her wonderful strengths and flaws.

The other Robin is a fantasy of my own creation, and exists only in my imagination. This Robin is unrealistically perfect. She exists only to serve me. She is one-dimensional and has no other relationship other than with me.

Before I go on, I must tell you that I have never confused the two Robins. I know I cannot turn any unrealistic relationship fantasy into reality. To say it plainly, just because I have a fantasy about what a perfect woman might look like, that doesn’t mean I am tempted to cheat on my wife of 34 years.

I’ve heard of others who have tried to fill an emptiness within themselves by chasing after fantasy relationships. After a short infatuation phase, the real relationship completely ruins the fantasy. Though many try repeatedly in vain to find the “perfect partner,” I do not. I don’t claim any moral superiority here. Nor do I deny having these fantasies. It’s just that I’m well aware that chasing fantasy relationships cannot be satisfying in the end.

Let’s back up a bit to ground which may be familiar to you: The Romance Genre. It’s been around since before some author came up with the phrase “…and they lived happily ever after.” I’m talking about romantic comedies, “chick-flicks,” romance novels, love songs, and so on.

These stories lie to us in fifty different shades. Some poor souls actually believe the lie, and spend their lives chasing their own Endless Love story. Others know it’s a lie but can’t shake the yearning for it to be true. I place myself in the latter group.

Movie crushes are innocent enough, and I suppose most people leave the theater entertained and let go of the fantasy they just saw on the screen. But some of us start to long for a real person out there who exists only to make us happy, just like in the movies.

There’s a reason why they don’t make sequels to most romantic movies. Nobody wants to look behind the curtain at what “happily ever after” really looks like for our romantic heroes and heroines. The love object in a romantic movie, novel, or song has little to no “back-story,” inner life, or human flaws.

A few people have told me about their own stock romance character they yearn for in real life. For example, a female friend told me about her “man on a white horse” who would come and sweep her off her feet.

My particular susceptibility is for a stock character in romantic movies called the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Trying to explain this would take up too much space, so here’s a link to the Wikipedia entry.

Now, my wife Jamie will tell you that I’m not demonstratively very romantic. She would tell you that I don’t believe in soulmates (the mere mention of it makes me gag). She can tell you that falling in love isn’t anything like real love. In-love is about easy infatuation while real love is all about commitment and hard work. After 35 years, we’ve certainly had our share of commitment and hard work. It is grounded, saturated in reality.

No, my fantasy relationships have nothing to do with my actual relationships, and everything to do with an emptiness within myself. I have a chemical imbalance of the brain called depression. It often leaves me in chronic emotional pain.

I respond to this pain by numbing it. It works in the short-term, but there’s a heavy price: We can’t selectively numb negative emotions. So in an effort numb pain, I also numb joy. A fantasy relationship allows me to imagine what it might be like to feel alive. Ironically, the realization that I’m only fantasizing causes more pain and yearning, not less.

But when I was younger, I believed pixies were real.

I met Real Robin in college. As I’ve written before, as an adolescent I had a very poor self-concept, few to no friends, and poor socialization. Even now I feel awkward around people and have social anxiety. It’s not as bad as it used to be.

I thought Robin was the most feminine person I had ever met. She was girlish and energetic. She was precocious and wise. She was kind and gentle. She was generous with her time. I would come by the lobby of her dorm and she usually had time to come out and spend time with me. She listened. She was a confidante.

I still firmly believe that these are qualities of Real Robin.

Around her, I felt alive. I wanted to act on my crush, but I lacked the confidence and didn’t believe I had the social skills. I only dated one other girl up to that point, and it ended almost before it ever began. That first failed relationship fueled my sense of inferiority and unique defectiveness. I was fragile and the thought of being rejected again kept me frozen in fear. (Even today, I marvel at how easily some young men can confidently woo and attract young women.)

So I slipped into the “friend zone” with Robin. My friendship was genuine, and her friendship was genuine. But you know the cliché: It wasn’t enough for me. I needed to be more than friends with her.

She talked to me about a guy she had a crush on. He seemed to have only one foot into his relationship with her. So I was her platonic male friend who listened to her heartache. I even let her borrow my car once so she could go see him. The next time I got into the car, I noticed a single, long blonde hair on the steering wheel—evidence of her presence. The fact that I wasn’t stepping up was more than a little humiliating.

She told me about a guy she had a crush on in the past. She told me about reading Shakespeare to him and letting him rest his head in her lap.

Fantasy Robin was born. I put Robin on a pedestal so I could worship her. Up on the pedestal, she was perfect, like a stone Roman goddess. Her granite arms couldn’t actively reject me. She had no choice but to look at me from her perch with her unblinking eyes and judge me as unworthy. I would never measure up to her, or so I reasoned.

I was aware of Fantasy Robin right away. I knew she was unrealistic and completely fabricated. Even through the pain of feeling undeserving of her, I knew I was being unfair to her. I was objectifying her. I was using her.

Robin, I am sorry. I’m sorry for not seeing you. I’m sorry for trying to fill my empty spots with a perfect image that neither you nor anybody else could ever live up to.

Dear reader, although I’ve told you the relevant part of this story, I suppose you want to hear how it ended. I did finally screw up the courage to ask her out. I invited her to a canoe trip as part of an on-campus group. I don’t know if she realized it was a date until she discovered that she was mostly talking to me. She picked flowers on the bank of the river to bring home with her—so girlish and feminine. She got a tremendous sunburn on the tops of her fair-skinned legs.

She also read Shakespeare to me. She let me lay my head in her lap. She seemed to be desperately trying to conjure up the types of feelings I wanted her to feel for me.

I was determined to go in for a kiss at the end of our date.

But when the time came, her hands were full of flowers and she turned her back to me to allow me to hug her. I believe she knew my intentions, or at least the possibility of my intentions, and headed me off.

I was pretty sure she didn’t want to pursue a relationship, but I also didn’t have a clear and definitive answer. I agonized for almost two weeks before finally arranging to see her again to ask her on a second date. To her credit, she let me down easy. She was gentle and compassionate. She was Real Robin. I was initially relieved because at least I had my answer.

Although Robin was on campus for another year, I didn’t have much interaction with her. I arranged to see her once to thank her for letting me down easy. I told her I was over it or some such utter nonsense. Real Robin was out of my life, and Fantasy Robin was what I had left.

As a grand gesture, I had one more interaction with Robin, one where I would remain anonymous. I sent her a flower along with a poem by e e cummings. The poem was about somebody who was handed a flower by a clown. I left the note unsigned. Like the clown in the poem, the flower could have come from anybody. It was my good-bye to her. I did not expect to see her again.

Fantasy Robin was hard to shake. I can safely say it took years. This is because I had to change the way I saw myself before I could let go of the fantasy. I would dream about her (actual dreams, not daytime fantasies). Eventually I lost the memory of exactly what she looked like in detail, so she would show up in dreams more as the idea or spirit of her.

Which is ultimately what I fell in love with. The idea of her. I call it “chasing ghosts.”

In some ways the fantasy is still with me. My depression sometimes leaves the world black-and-white. I still yearn for someone, or something to color my world. It’s something that nobody can give me, though I can give it to myself on my best days. When I see a person who superficially demonstrates the traits of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, it fires that fantasy again. It feels physically and psychically painful.

Then I remind myself of what I have: a lovely grown-ass woman who calls me her husband and who has been committed to me for most of my life. She tells me that if I died first, she probably wouldn’t remarry. It would be too much of a hassle. How could I ever trade her for pixies, for ghosts?

Robin, Real Robin, I look forward to meeting with you again. It’s been a long, long time. There is healing in seeing your human-ness. I just wish I could spend enough time to get in touch with the real you again. Or maybe it won’t take any time at all.

You are my friend. I want to know about YOUR life: your passions, your hurts, your dreams. After all, that’s what real friends do.

Jamie is the love of my life. She is my partner, friend, confidante. We’ve been married 34 years—more than half our lives. I can’t imagine my life without her.

I met Jamie at a Catholic retreat for college students called SEARCH. I thought she was cute with a petite French nose. She had a pleasant and sociable disposition. I didn’t know much about her but I felt attracted to her. I asked her for her address so I could write her (no emails or cell phones back then!)

Then I failed to write her.

Or so I’ve been told. I actually don’t remember asking Jamie for her address. But she most certainly remembers, and she never lets me forget it every time we tell the story of how we met. It does sound like me though. It was hard to put myself out there with girls, so follow-through wasn’t my strong suit.

She was a year older than me. (Still is. Always will be.) When she graduated college at the University of Mississippi (Ole Miss), she moved down to Jackson, Mississippi, near where I was still in college. She wanted to have a housewarming party and asked a friend (Claudia) to invite people. Claudia invited me, and—remembering how cute I thought Jamie was—I attended.

But she was dating someone else, somebody from her time at Ole Miss.

Another SEARCH retreat was scheduled shortly after the party. Somebody arranged to fill a car with Catholics and make the trek to Ole Miss from Jackson. I managed to snag a spot. I wanted to get to know this Jamie more than ever, and I wanted her to notice me. I figured a three hour drive each direction would be a great opportunity. Oh yeah, I also wanted to attend the retreat.

Jamie’s apartment was the gathering point. I managed to run a little late, so I sped along County Line Road toward her apartment. County Line Road crossed a double-line of railroad tracks. I was stopped by a train that was crawling by at a rate of one or two miles per hour.

Time passed. Five minutes. Ten. By the time the train cleared, another train was crossing the road on the other set of tracks going in the opposite direction. It too was going one or two miles per hour.

Did I mention there were no cell phones?

Finally, finally… the second train cleared, and I raced to Jamie’s apartment. No sign of anybody. I was left behind. I had missed my chance.

It turns out I was lucky not to have made the trip. That weekend Jamie’s boyfriend broke up with her, and apparently it wasn’t pretty. She still refers to him as “jerk-face.” She was so distraught during the ride home that I wouldn’t have been able to grow closer to her or get to know her as I’d like. She certainly wouldn’t have been interested in me. She still wonders whether we would have ever started dating if I was part of that whole scene.

But I felt cheated. So much so that I overcame my own shyness and asked her out after she got back. I invited her on a hayride. She said yes.

Our first date was on October 30, 1982. Problem was, she didn’t realize it was a date. She saw it more as hanging out with a group of people. Gradually she realized she was only talking to me.

I kissed her at the end of the date. I put my hand under her chin and lifted her lips to mine. I had never used this move before, or since. She still remembers how sweet it was, and I do too.

We dated regularly, but not exclusively. By this, I mean that she went on a date with another guy. She was reluctant to jump back into an exclusive relationship after just getting out of one. I had to be patient. But she came around, and we started dating regularly by around Christmas.

I would go to her apartment and we’d watch M*A*S*H on her tiny black and white TV and then make out during Johnny Carson. For once, I didn’t get stuck in the “friend zone.” It was my first long-term dating relationship. It would be the only one I ever needed.

Finally, I found somebody who loved me. I had two prior hard crushes where my attraction was not requited. After those devastating blows, Jamie’s love allowed me to finally understand that I was loveable, that somebody could find me attractive, special, The One. I was filled with gratitude.

I graduated in June and got a job in Virginia. I wasn’t ready to propose, so the relationship would have to go long-distance if it was to survive. Did I mention there was no email? The telephone company still charged by the minute for long-distance phone calls.

So Jamie wrote me a letter EVERY DAY. She also sent cookies and other treats through the mail. I knew the post office was running behind when I got three letters from her at once. I still have every letter she sent me.

I knew she wanted to get married, and by late fall I agreed. I wish I would have made a bigger deal proposing to her. It was more like “let’s do this.” I even had her find her own engagement ring and our wedding bands. I know, I was terrible. She married me anyway, despite my utter lack of sense when it came to romance.

We’ve had three wonderful, beautiful, capable, intelligent and mature children. It’s like she makes up for all of the faults I had as a parent, and vice-versa.

We’ve built a life together. I’ve felt completely secure in her devoted love. She’s told me that she couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to cheat on me. I completely believe her. She tells me she doesn’t think she’d remarry if I died first, that it would be “too much of a hassle.”

I’ve talked a lot about my own journey of personal growth. She’s done her own personal growth as well. It doesn’t look like mine. Hers looks more like the serenity prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Her growth has made a huge difference in our relationship. Even though our marriage was very satisfying from the start, I feel so much more free and intimate with her compared to earlier in the marriage. The only thing that holds me back at this point is me and my fear of vulnerability.

She doesn’t guilt or shame me, a big deal because I grew up being guilted and shamed. Now, she simply asks if I want to do something and then accepts my answer. Usually. I allow for the occasional “silver bullets,” those things that are very important to her when she can simply say “I don’t care, you’re doing this.”

She no longer blames herself or tries to “save” me from my own depression. When I snap at her, she usually doesn’t snap back. She doesn’t try to change my behavior unless I ask for help. In short, she does a good job determining what belongs to her and what belongs to me. Then she gives what belongs to me back to me and doesn’t try to caretake me. This is such a gift!

Of course, 34 years of marriage doesn’t come easy. We’ve had our difficult times. I’ve written about the difference between true love and infatuation or “in love.” I believe the measure of our true love is the extent to which we’re willing to stick with each other through the hard times without losing who we are.

In this, we’ve been very successful. I’ve hurt Jamie deeply. She’s hurt me. We continue to love each other when it’s hard to love. Especially when it’s hard.

Unlike me, Jamie is very social. Facebook was created for her. She encourages me to spend more time at parties and dates with other couples. This is hard for me, but I know other people are my path to true happiness, so I appreciate her gentle nudges and I make an effort.

I’m a “deep diver” who loves to have profound conversations with a few close friends and talk about life and what really matters. Jamie is a “dancer” who maintains contact with everybody and is happy making others happy. So I’m a personal coach. She volunteers at the local soup kitchen. I schedule one-a-month calls and lunches with a few people. She’s texting or calling others most of the day.

I don’t know if this is a case of opposites attracting. What I do know is that there isn’t much overlap between our interests. So she does her thing and I do mine, and we admire each other for it. We complement each other.

Jamie, we’ve each done our own personal work, and as a result we’ve grown together as a couple. It’s hard to believe we’re only in the middle of that growth. When I married you I had little idea what true love would be and what it would involve. I am tremendously lucky that you picked me. It has made all the difference.

I love you, and I always will.