Meaning of Success? 04
Success? Dream — The Girl I First Loved!
I have taken several days (and most of my life) thinking about what to write here. This has been one of the hardest things I have ever tried to write. I think the reason for that is that this is one of the things that I am most ashamed of. If I wanted to be flip I could have finished this entire paper in less than a page. I could have said that to be successful I would like to never say NO to the will of God and left it at that. YES I am a mystic and believe in signs and God’s presence in our daily lives.
I do not accept the traditional definition of Sin. To me the word sin means to say NO to the will of God. I have done my level best never to say no to what I felt God is calling me to do. I will write more about those times later. I have even had the experience where I have felt called and started working toward something just to have God say—forget that, I just wanted to see if you would try.
In this case I SINNED and I have regretted it to this day.
It is important to remember where I was coming from. When I entered junior high school I was an extremely damaged person. My life in grammar school was a living hell. Everyone “knew” that I was mentally retarded—my teachers told them so. I was the constant butt of jokes, and the only way I had found to survive was to kill my own emotions. So I was totally unprepared to enter Jr. High. I was totally unprepared to meet HER.
SHE and I were involved in many of the same things, and sat next to each other often. But there was something about her that called to me in a way I had never felt before and have never felt since. You may think: a young teenager—he’s horny. But no. It was not about sex.
What I felt was so much more: a homesick pull I couldn’t name, a sense of recognition and belonging. As Gonzo sings in The Muppet Movie, “We can hold onto love like invisible strings.” That’s the closest I’ve found to what it felt like.
I am not saying she wasn’t attractive—she was. Even in Jr. High, and as she grew, she became one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Speaking to friends later, many thought she looked HOT as well. What drew me most was her smile—kind, caring, happy, loving. I’ve known many smiles since; some nearly as lovely. But hers felt like a safe harbor—if only I could have trusted my eyes.
If I’m honest, my “Vulcan” dream played a part too. Spock was loved by at least one woman with the same name and a similar caring disposition. That echo stuck with me.
I spent almost all of Jr. High fighting myself. I had feelings for this person, but I “couldn’t” have feelings: I was a Vulcan. I tried to ignore her and my feelings—all the way until April 1977. That month my uncle and aunt had their first daughter and gave her HER name. Somehow that moment broke the dam. I loved HER. But what could I do?
Like a quadriplegic wanting to run an Ironman, I found I could think about it but not do it. I had no idea how to ask her out. Worse, I couldn’t believe she’d say yes. Why would this wonderful, beautiful, brilliant, caring young woman want to go out with a fat, brain-damaged outcast? I feared she’d laugh—or run.
I made plans again and again. It was the era of Star Wars. John Williams was in town; she was a huge fan. I wanted so badly to ask her to go with me, but never found the courage. Hundreds of moments came and went like that. Three years I wanted to ask her out, and three years I could not. I could barely speak to her.
Graduation day came. I still couldn’t ask. I remember her parents didn’t come, and that made me mad. When it was over and she was gone from my life, I wanted to cry and couldn’t. All those years of being Spock had locked my feelings up.
That night was Grad Night at Disneyland. I hadn’t expected her to go, but there she was—on my bus. All I had to do was ask. I fought myself the entire night and never found the courage. On the ride home I tried to stand and speak—and didn’t. Then she was gone. I wouldn’t see her again for ten years.
The week after graduation I was at work, in the darkroom, meditating about HER, when I had my first mystical experience. A brilliant Light appeared, and I knew that God wanted us to be together—and that if I had patience, He would make it happen.
Note: In total darkness I was processing sensitive motion picture film. If a light that bright had truly appeared, all the film would have been ruined. It wasn’t. That thought didn’t occur to me until years later.
I spent the next several years waiting for HER to return, devoted to her. I wouldn’t even look at another woman. After about five years I tried to help Providence along. I meditated on a single day that would change everything and bring HER back to me, visualizing every detail for weeks.
One night, during meditation, I “heard”: “You can have this, but it is not what I want.” I stopped at once. I didn’t want my will; I wanted God’s will. If that imagined day wasn’t His way, I would leave it to Him. I didn’t give up on HER—only on my scripted day.
Years passed. Doubts grew. I was so alone. Therapy led to another angle: maybe SHE was a defense mechanism—my way to avoid being hurt by anyone real. I reached out to a few women, but the calling toward HER remained.
At our 10-year reunion I had a miserable time—my auditory ground dysfunction made the noise unbearable—and SHE looked miserable. No smile. I tried to reach out and couldn’t.
Months later I got her address from the reunion organizers and wrote. Reading the letter now, I see it wasn’t truly aimed at getting together, but at getting over her. It worked, in a way. She never wrote back, and I felt rejected.
I moved forward. Six years later I found love and got engaged; it didn’t last. Later I married; that ended with my wife’s death. Even in those relationships I can see HER shadow—my fiancée’s middle name matching hers, my wife’s younger photos looking strikingly like HER.
After my wife died I found HER on a “find your classmates” site—successful, across the country. One more reason I sometimes call myself a failure. At least now I can cry for what might have been.
Trying to encapsulate what HER taught me about success:
- Success is saying yes to the will of God—or at least trying to.
- I have a deep need to care for someone—and be cared for in return.
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