With the wobbly bravura of a child, I looked ahead with wispy, flimsy optimism. I had no idea what I was being optimistic about so it's a damn good thing no one asked me to explain myself. Of course, to admit that I had no future unless I pulled my head out of my own ass would have meant suicide. My head was unquestionably stuck firmly in a dark, rank place. And like most lost souls, I was the last to recognize this sad fact.

Not surprisingly, typically in fact, I was able to mask the fact that I felt no sense of place in society. I knew I wanted to contribute positively to that society, but I had absolutely no idea how I was going to accomplish this. Still, I made a point of projecting that positive outlook, and that threw off all but the most observant--and they weren't the prying types anyway, so I was safe for a while. After all, I was only eighteen, about to turn nineteen, so I had some time to figure things out. Or at least that's what I told myself.

I was lying to myself of course. Lost is lost and no amount of faking it was going to change the fact that I had very little confidence in myself. I had left home when I was fifteen so I had no parents to guide me, to help me find my way, to suggest that I go to college no matter what the cost. All I had were some screwy, half-baked ideas about staying out of debt and working hard and being a good, honest citizen--influences left over from John Kennedy's inauguration speech which suggested I should ask what I could do for my country rather than what it could do for me, and from The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Not a bad foundation for someone in my position, mind you, but hardly the careful, well though-out guidance I really needed from a loving parent or two. The bottom line was that I didn't know what to do next, and I probably would have never figured out what to do if I hadn't met Carol.

FAITH
For whatever reason, it's still a mystery to me, when I met Carol, she believed in me. She made it clear from day one that she thought I had potential. It's such a simple thing, and something I wanted desperately to believe as well.

Being a male of the species, I was of course, easily convinced that I was a diamond in the rough, ready to go forth and make a difference in the world; to go from one success to another while making a positive contribution. I still had no idea how I would do all these wonderful things, but Carol helped me believe that I truly could, and that's all that mattered.

The difference was that before I met Carol, I kind of believed my own lies when I expressed optimism about my future. After I met Carol, I no longer lied about my optimism. I knew we would have happy life together and that we would make a positive contribution. Looking back on it now, it doesn't seem like a subtle difference; yet I wasn't consciously aware of the changes she wrought in me until much later.

LEARNING FROM MY PARENTS
I remember as a child watching my parents trying to hide their troubles from my brother and I. It still amazes me that parents think their children are easily fooled. Nothing could be further from the truth. Kids know what's going on around them. Kids know when their parents are weak, stupid and foolish. Parents are the most important thing in a child's life, so why wouldn't they know that mom and dad don't get along--even if they only argue in code and never raise their voices to each other in their children's presence.

It makes sense then, that even as a child of ten I was determined that I would not repeat my parent's mistakes. I would chose a companion that would afford my family the best chance of success. And if I had confidence in nothing else, I knew with absolute certainty that such a choice would unquestionably ensure success.

Turns out I was partly right. The right companion did result in a successful long-term relationship, but I was wrong when I thought that the choice would be mine--at least not directly anyway.

THE MECHANICS OF GOOD FORTUNE
I had met Carol about a year before. I remember I was over at my buddy Mikey's place on Tenth Avenue. He lived in a wooden apartment building that was even then ancient and rickety. (It still stands, nestled between much newer, but not better, apartment buildings in Coronado, California.) Back then, on a warm summer day everyone opened every window and door in the entire building trying to catch a bit of the cool sea breeze. While walking through Mikey's downstairs neighbor's place, I met two lovely young girls sitting there. One of them was Carol, and the way she looked (and looked at me), well ... I took notice.

For whatever reason, nothing came of that first meeting. Later though, Coronado being a small town, when I met her again, she just plain made damn sure that in spite of my oafish, cloddish ways, I wasn't going to miss out on getting to know her better. Of course, she let me think I was the one in charge. Of course, I thought I was. How silly young men sometimes are.

Shortly thereafter we set up house together. We immediately had to figure out how to feed and clothe ourselves and keep a roof over our heads. Not an easy adjustment at our age. In fact, those first three or four years were the most difficult ones. Seven years later to the day, on September 13th, 1980, we got married.

This past weekend, the 13th and 14th of September, 2003, marked the thirtieth anniversary of our relationship. We've been good to each other. We figured out how to treat each other well--seems simple enough in retrospect, but judging by how many couples manage to fail at this fundamental task, it apparently isn't.

Carol saved me. It may sound melodramatic but it's true. There is not one scintilla of an iota of a hint of doubt in my mind that I would have continued on my way to personal as well as financial failure had she not welcomed me into her arms.