Be Careful Of Each Other

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 12.02.2020

 Last spring I wrote about Dave, my former spouse. I told the story of our courtship, our subsequent marriage, and the dissolution of that marriage. https://graciewilde.com/2020/05/05/dave/ There was much to tell, many facts and many feelings. Most importantly, I wanted to acknowledge that we were both young and that there was no blame to be had in how the marriage ended. I concluded the piece by writing about how I would like to re-connect with Dave. I wanted to know how his life had turned out and I wanted to ask for forgiveness for the pain that any of my behaviors might have caused him.

After I wrote that piece, as often happens, one thing led to another and I did re-connect with Dave. The communication with him has been rewarding. I appreciate how two people can look with compassion at their younger selves and can be open and forgiving of long ago discretions. The conversations have made me think about those days and that young woman that I was.  There was a whole other tangent to the initial story that, in the interest of space and privacy, did not get told. It’s time to tell that piece now.

Dave and I were married on January 21,1973. We were both students at the local state college and Dave was graduating in May.  For six months we shared a house with another couple but when summer arrived they relocated for graduate school and Dave and I took an apartment for two months. By late September, Dave had secured a position in his field at a well known and exciting tech firm in Santa Clara County. We moved up there and lived in a motel and with friends for about a month while he started his job and while we looked for housing. Unfortunately we arrived in Santa Clara County too late for me to enroll in fall classes at San Jose State University, the local state college, but I used the time to get a part-time job and to get familiar with the area.  

It wasn’t an easy year for us. I turned 20 that fall and Dave was 23. The wedding had been a bit rushed  (see previous piece) and I had a hard time adjusting to the relatively quick shift in my life.  Several moves in a year would challenge anyone but maybe especially 20 year old me.  I was still overwhelmed with the wedding that had happened too fast for me.  My head spun, trying to absorb the changes that kept coming that year. Our move to Santa Clara County was the first time either of us had lived far away from our families. Dave was starting his first career type job and I was waiting for spring classes to start.  In the quiet moments I missed my parents and my close family.  I wanted to be grown up but to get there would require letting go of so much. It was too late to go backwards and so I did what people do. I put my boots on, grabbed my backpack, and moved forward.

I remember our first wedding anniversary. We had a quiet dinner in a railroad car that had been converted into an upscale restaurant. It was a spurge for us but I also think we had a coupon that gave us a two-for-one deal. Yup, that’s how we were able to afford it. I can still run the video in my head of that evening. I remember the candle on the table and the white table cloths.  I remember the Pullman car interior with the wooden walls and the green and brown seats. I remember the conversation too. Dave gently acknowledged that it had not been the greatest year for either of us. I couldn’t disagree. There was kindness but there was also some discussion about whether this marriage was going to hold. I still remember the resolve I felt to fix the tensions, to fix myself, to grow into this new life. I recall leaving the restaurant determined to make our second year together so much happier than our first year had been.

Classes started the first week in February but first there was the matter of registering for classes. In pre-computer days, they had arena registration. You went to the gym at your assigned time, waited in lines at different tables for different academic departments, and took whatever class still had available spaces. Because I was new to the campus, I was in one of the last groups to register. Pickings were slim. I had to take a public speaking class to graduate so I went to the Speech-Communication Department table to see what was available. I wasn’t excited about a public speaking class but I didn’t particularly dread the idea either. I just wanted to get the units. The person who was on the other side of the table would take your request and look through the lists and see what was still open.  The guy who was there that afternoon was a sandy gray haired guy who was friendly enough and seemed to know what he was talking about. I explained what I was trying to do here and he immediately recommended a class called Contemporary Speaking. Turns out he was the instructor but he did a good job of pitching the class to me and I needed the units so voila! I registered and showed up for the 4:30 class the following Monday afternoon.

I was young, I was excited to be returning to school, and I was happy to be on a campus where nobody knew me. The speech class was a small seminar class - maybe 15 students. This was the 1970’s. SJSU was a large, progressive, California, mostly commuter, college. There were conservative profs but there were also touchy-feely Esalen type profs. Guess what this guy was?  The texts for the class included a more standard text as well as Alan Watts’s book called The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are and Robert Pirsig’s book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values.   The assignments included weekly response papers. One of the requirements for the class was to schedule two conferences over the course of the semester with the instructor during his office hours. I remember my first conference with him. It was awkward. Picture this: I’m smart and attractive AND I’m 20 years old. I want to impress because I’m 20 years old.  Even at that time I was into dream analysis and dream analysis had been a topic of the seminar that week.  One month into the semester, I go to my scheduled meeting with him and I bring along a dream I’d had that week.  He appears captivated with the dream and my analysis of it. He seems interested in me. He says flattering things to me. I walk away smitten. 

I don’t think I need to elaborate. Over the remainder of the semester, I become part of his group, one of the students that he routinely invites to his home for wine, pot, and conversation. By the end of the semester, I have become the Chosen One with all that that implies.  This man was 47 years old at the time. He was newly divorced (for the second time). I was 20. I was tender in so many ways.  I was homesick for family, I was in a relatively new marriage that was somewhat on the rocks. I was vulnerable. He swooped in. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not excusing myself. I could have been a better person.

So where did that leave Dave? I think he must have been so hurt, so confused, so unsure of this person with whom he was now living. Yes, his temper got the best of him as he tried to sort out what was going on with me and with us. I am sure I was of little help. I know I was torn. I never meant to hurt him. This predator came out of nowhere and I didn’t have the tools to deal with him. I was youthful, impressionable, unguarded.  I was enamored with the attention from an attractive, powerful person. He could have picked anyone but he picked me. How sad that is to me now, but how real it was to me then. 

The marriage floundered and fell apart, of course. Infidelity can do that to a marriage, right?  In her 2017 book, The State of Affairs, iconic couples’s therapist Esther Perel discusses some of the reasons why infidelity occurs. One prominent explanation she gives refers to the lure of unlived lives. This speaks directly to the desire to explore unrevealed identities, roads not taken, lives not yet lived. I was so young when the marriage was made, I hadn’t had time yet to live any life, let alone explore more than one.  Certainly I could, as well,  cite the attention of the powerful person. I think the #MeToo covered that pretty well.  This was my #MeToo moment. One of them, anyway.

In the end, I’m not sure the why of it matters so much. I have come to terms with my own younger self. I am ashamed of her behavior but I am compassionate with her. I think she was doing the best she could do at the time.  Dave and I have communicated and we both have a fuller understanding of those days.  As the earlier post indicated, we did launch out of that marriage and into rich and rewarding lives so I can be grateful for that. 

I still marvel at the mysteries of life, the way we learn the lessons that we need to learn. And need to learn for what purpose? I don’t know.  Is it to be more human, more compassionate, more real in this life? If that’s the case, then I am always open for more lessons. The thing is, that wisdom doesn’t come easily and it doesn’t always come without involving other people. Be careful of each other. I wish I had been more careful, once upon a time. That’s all I can say.