shyness

My earliest memory is of water. Learning to swim.

I am four or five. The indoor pool at the Y. The warmth of the water against my skin. The vastness of it—stretching beyond my reach.

I remember floating near the wall, small and weightless.

Then, a moment of panic. I lost my grip.

The deep end swallowed me whole. My arms flailed, my breath caught in my throat. Then, I saw her.

She was close—my instructor, a girl in her late teens or early twenties, afloat in the deep end.

I don’t know what gave me the courage, but I leapt.

I wrapped my arms around her, clinging to her like my life depended on it. She steadied me, her arms firm, unshaken.

My heart pounded against her shoulder, but she didn’t let go.

I was safe.

But something else lingered. Not just relief. Something deeper.

Something I wasn’t meant to have. I wasn’t supposed to know what it felt like to be held. To be protected. To be cared for.

And even at four or five years old, I knew that.

That is the birth of shame.

The First Lessons in Isolation

When I was a toddler, I was terrified of firetruck sirens on the firetruck that my parents bought me. My parents told the story often—laughing as they described my panic. I don’t remember them ever soothing me.

I have no memory of them saying, "It’s okay, you’re safe." I suspect they didn’t.

Now, decades later, I find myself instinctively comforting my own cat when he startles at a loud noise. I kneel down, stroke his fur, whisper, "It’s okay, everything is okay."

Something in me knows what I never received. I give to a pet what was never given to me.

The House of Unspoken Rules and Child Abuse

I don’t remember my parents ever holding me like that.

I was abused, physically. I was assaulted. That didn’t start right away when I was very young.

In my family, affection was something distant, implied rather than given. Love was duty. Gratitude was expected. Respect was mandatory and not earned.

My father, Bruce Sr., was a man of unshakable silence. He believed actions spoke louder than words, but his actions were cold efficiency—he provided, and that was enough. My mother, Kathy, was a storm you learned to anticipate, never knowing when lightning would strike.

But there was a chill in the air, a tension that wrapped around me like a vice. It was the kind of silence that demanded submission, not understanding.

I never looked directly at my father’s face. I kept my gaze down, or slightly averted, as if instinctually avoiding something dangerous. The thought going through my mind was that I should not expect an easy explanation of what I did wrong. I was wrong.

I felt that I was being met with a general sense of disapproval for being.

Later in life, I would become incredibly skilled at reading people’s body language. I had so much to learn because I was purposefully choosing to avoid observing the looks of general disapproval.

Our maternal grandparents were our refuge, our shield.

I remember Grandma standing up for me—her frail voice telling my parents, “Don’t hurt Bruce.”

That small moment, that whisper of resistance, was the only time someone tried to intervene.

Grandpa would worry about me lifting too much when I joined him to take out the garbage once a week and stack the garbage pails in a way that would ensure that dogs couldn’t get into them.

And then they died.

With them went the thin barrier between us and our parents’ unchecked cruelty.

What haunts me more than any specific moment of cruelty is the void—the absence of tenderness.

We went on vacations to Disney World. We had an in-ground pool. Yet, I have no memories of joy with my parents. They did things for us, but never with us.

It was not love. It was obligation. And obligation demanded respect, not warmth.

The First Vow: To Never Be Like Them

With no one left to shield us, the full weight of their anger fell upon me. Each harsh word, each slap, each moment of being made to feel small carved deeper into me.

I made a vow in the quiet of my childhood bedroom:

• I will never become like them.
• I will never lose my temper.
• I will never let anyone feel unsafe because of me.

I would spend my whole life keeping that promise.

The arrival of a protector

Paul and his family moved into the neighborhood in 3rd grade. He and I became friends. And I saw him increasingly as a protector. I had come out of my shell for a while in school during 3rd grade. Laughing and joking.

When Donna said she liked me in 3rd grade and kissed me, I felt like I had to put on a show that I didn’t like girls. Obviously, these rules change later.

By junior high, I didn’t have Paul in my classes but I hung out with him in the neighborhood.

I did have another protector in junior high school. Thomas from the neighborhood where we lived earlier said that the 9th graders might pick on the 7th graders and I should tell him if that happens.

No one really did pick on me. There were a few minor incidents that were handled by Paul. I didn’t have to go to any great effort to convince him to help me.

It might have been a few years later but Paul even sensed my fear when a dog came out to chase us on our bikes as we were going riding and peddling up a hill, moving slowly. I must have appeared frozen with fear. Paul got off his bike and chased the dog across the yard that was the dogs home! This was the dogs territory and yet it was running away in fear.

The Arrival of Family – And A Deeper Shame

In junior high, something changed.

My mother and her estranged sister suddenly reconciled, and a world I had never known opened up: extended family.

I met my first cousins—Linda, Sharon, and Karen. They were adults, but their children, Barbara and Dan, were my age.

I was drawn to Barbara.

I told myself it was because I preferred talking over roughhousing.

Dan played tackle football—a game of brute force. I didn’t want to tackle or dominate or crush someone to win. Winning had never felt good to me.

Even in childhood games of kickball, I remember the uneasy feeling in my stomach when my team won, because it meant another had lost.

The elation of victory never came.

Yet, I wondered: was something wrong with me?

The world told boys to compete, to fight, to dominate. But I wanted connection—not conquest.

And so I gravitated toward Barbara. We talked. We laughed. We hugged.

And then, shame crept in.

It came in the form of my mother’s jealousy.

"Do you think they’re going to let you live with them?" she snapped, her voice dripping with scorn. She was referring to Karen or Sharon who were the only cousins who could have taken me into their home.

I had never thought about it before, but now the thought seemed… wrong.

She planted a seed—a toxic, gnawing thought that I was a burden.  That I was wanting too much.

I had already learned that needing comfort was shameful. The pool memory had taught me that.

Now, I learned that even wanting closeness with my own cousins was wrong.

And so I learned to doubt every warm moment, to question every innocent connection, to second-guess every embrace.

Another aspect of the family get togethers that I truly enjoyed was the opportunity to spend time with the kids. Dan and Barbara were the first cousins once removed that were about my age but Tracy, Jaime and Wayne were little kids, relative to my age. I would be available to watch them and spend time with them… somehow I gravitated into this role. If the kids needed or wanted to go outside (maybe go for a walk or go somewhere nearby) and no one else was available to go with them or watch them.

I suppose I was always meant to be a parent. Even while I was just a teenager, a child myself, it was evident.

Had the events of this book not come to pass the way they did, I would have surely found a way to be a parent. This was on my mind later in this story.

An Invisible Shell: The Complete Silence of Selective Mutism

By junior high, my selective mutism was complete.

At school, I couldn’t speak. Who knows what I feared. Perhaps the scared part of me that hid behind my chair in Kindergarten instead of walking up front with the milk money. What was it that I feared?

That part of me that was hidden in my unconscious knew. Later in studying psychology, I would learn ideas like the wounded inner child, ego states, and parts that were frozen in time. Growing up, I just didn’t speak.

The silence was suffocating.

Speaking felt like exposure. Like a spotlight on shame itself. And so I withdrew.

I wandered the woods, hiked Ragged Mountain, disappeared into nature.

I was aware of the yearning for contact when I saw my cousins..

And yet, in the neighborhood, I had a paper route. I could talk to customers. I worked at the Medical Mart for my neighbor, where I had to speak to strangers.

Outside of school, my voice existed.

Inside school, it was buried beneath layers of shame.

As I grew, I became aware of the power I had—the power to hurt. When I fought with my sister, I would raise my hand or my foot to strike her—but something always stopped me.

Then later, I saw her fear. And that changed everything.

I made another vow:

• No one will ever fear me.

In a home where fear was a weapon, I rejected it.

With my mother’s jealously over my desire to prefer my cousins and aunt over my parents, this created a toxic sense of shame in which I had to second guess how things might look.

But it wasn't just physical touch that I craved. I relished in playing with our youngest cousins, dreaming of being the loving parent that I never had.

After my elementary school years with Paul in the same class with me all day, I existed inside an invisible shell. My selective mutism was complete at school. I often retreated into the woods, spending so many hours alone, hiking, enjoying the view from Ragged Mountain, throughout my childhood through age 18.

Despite this, I did gain a degree of limited confidence in the neighborhood.

I had a paper route and had to collect payments from customers in the large and extended neighborhood. I shared this with my friend Paul and my sister Carrie. I developed a confidence that allowed me to do this.

I also got a job working for the Medical Mart - a store owned by my neighbor Jack Donlon - it was a family business. He and his wife lived directly across the street from us.

I did come out of my shell as required for this job. I had to meet with customers and deliver products to them.

I also nurtured a very strong bond with my cousins.

This was the opposite of what my family created for me. I had been coming out of my shell.

I also learned that I didn’t want to be like my parents. I knew that fear of a parent is different from respect.

My mother revealed her jealousy over my preference for my cousins and aunt then my parents. She asked if I thought they were going to let me live with them. Kathy would also say, “they have their own lives” making me feel less valuable or less worthy of being included in the lives of my cousins and aunt.

This would have been occurring in my later teenage years.

The Final Realization

My mother called me a house devil and a street angel.

She meant it as an insult, but she was right. At home, I was silent, tense, wary.

Outside, I was kind. I saved my kindness for those who deserved it.

Because I had wanted parents.

Just not mine.

We're playing a game.

Does everyone know
we're playing a game?

Does everyone like the game?

If you play the game,
it shows you care—
when you first meet people
in a social situation.

I need you to play the game.

Because I’m nervous,
and the game helps me feel relaxed—
when we play the game.

And it shows you care—
enough
to play the game
with me—
until we know each other.

But I don’t even know you.

Wouldn’t it be fake
to act like I care about you
by playing a game
with you
in this social situation
that helps me feel more relaxed?

Don’t be so serious.

Just play the game.

In the last chapter, I spoke about attending the poetry readings at the Coastline Convention Center. It was April of 1992 when I arrived in Wilmington, North Carolina. I started attending the poetry readings on Sundays.

This was part of my new identity that I was discovering.

Somehow, at these poetry readings, I felt a sense of belonging. Everyone was so welcoming, and the atmosphere was serene and accepting. However, I was aware of the fact that most of these other poets had a degree in English.

I wanted to understand a poet and the ideas that poets have - these poets. I wanted to connect with people who express themselves through the written word.

Martin, my poetry mentor, gave me enough courage to believe that I could be a poet. As a reminder, I had been visiting him and his wife (I might have left her out of the story earlier) for coffee, tea, and reading poetry – his, mine, and that of famous poets. He was a professor of English.

Some of the craft of poetry would allude me, such as meter and rhyme, but I learned that there is a form of poetry called "free verse" that doesn't require as much effort to be expended in the craft and I could get to the point of communicating ideas and sharing ideas, which was the most important aspect of what I wanted or needed.

I'm only saying these things because I have always had some insecurities about my talents.

At this point, as I started this phase of my life, I noticed that for the first time, those insecurities were virtually gone. I know this because I was making friends and connecting with others. I was a part of something that was important. Something special was happening on those evenings and at those poetry readings and other events.

There was something serene about the setting that made it easier for me to get up in front of a group of people and read my poetry. The sun would reflect across the Cape Fear River casting the soft rays of sunlight into the room.

My ability to get up in front of a room of people every week was an amazing accomplishment for me. Again, I have always been shy, fearful, quiet. I NEVER put myself at the center of attention anywhere EVER... until I started coming to the poetry readings.

This ability to be the center of attention would have a profound impact on my choices and my future as I built a career for myself. I would reflect upon the struggles and accomplishments that brought me to this point.

Dusty, the emcee for the poetry readings, made it easier too. She worked at the lounge on the fourth floor of the Coastline Convention Center, where we had the readings. She had a magical quality of attending to the guests of the Convention Center whether they were there for the poetry or not.

Something about Dusty made you feel welcome and comfortable. She was a motherly figure in a way because she was older than some of the other regulars who were like me in our twenties.

I also had noticed this other girl that was coming every week for the poetry readings. There was something about her that got my attention. Her name was Lynn.

She was very thin. She had a cough and that's related to her condition, Cystic Fibrosis - a genetic illness. I must have overheard Lynn talking about that. It's not the kind of thing that you ask someone about... like "why are you coughing all the time?"

Lynn was quiet but I didn't think she was as shy as I was.

She did share her own writing and she would share or read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot. I'm not sure when I first noticed this.

There are so many little things that you observe when someone intrigues you.

Lynn definitely intrigued me.

What was it about her? Did I already think that she was the most beautiful girl imaginable? Do I dare admit to myself that I am entertaining such irrational thoughts? I don't think it was love at first sight but something about her intrigued me. I was a bit surprised that I was thinking about finding a girlfriend after the loss of Celta.

When I had previously "dated" someone in 1991, the year following the death of Celta it was at a time when I was still in shock – something akin to what a heavyweight boxer must feel right after he has just been hit with a few blows to the head, he staggers, trying to stay on his feet, stumbling about, dazed, confused, disoriented, not thinking clearly at all, on the verge of passing out. That was me for most of 1991 and into 1992 in the wake of the loss of Celta.

Back then, if you had asked me if I was ready to date or find someone meaningful to love, I would have said that the question makes about as much sense as it would to the boxer in that state of mind.

I had not been thinking or feeling for so long ... until sometime in May or June of 1992.

This was different. Undoubtedly, being on my own and living as an adult had allowed me to grieve normally and heal.

I wish I had known about my weakness and vulnerability around losing someone important. That would have been helpful later in life. But at this point in 1992, I was blissfully unaware of this coming darkness.

I should add that it wasn't only Lynn's looks that made her attractive to me. There was something that united all of us who were regulars that came to the readings and I held everyone in high regard. There was a connection that I felt to the people I was meeting.

That being said, Lynn was stunningly beautiful. Her voice was hypnotic and alluring. She had all the things that one considers in feminine beauty and shape or so it seemed to me very early on. She seemed perfect.

I loved her voice both when she was at the microphone and when I was close to her. And her face, her skin, her legs seemed like gentle features I might have created in my own mind if I had the imagination to do such a thing.

Yet, I noticed she was alone.

I would come to the readings and try to get a sense of whether or not Lynn had a boyfriend. I didn't want to risk rejection.

Asking a girl out was a very difficult thing for me to do. I would calculate the possibility of rejection.

To avoid that I was trying to come up with a plan for seeing her outside these readings that would be something easy and without the burden of her having to size me up to determine my value as a male companion when she heard the question that I was trying to pose or the request. 

I was wanting to see if she would want to spend some time with me - as in just me.

I was like a shy person in recovery. That's a phrase I just made up. It's the best way to describe the way I thought of myself and my fear - my concerns, my judgments about how to proceed.

We were coming up on July 4th and nearly 3 months after I started going to these readings. My social life involved going out a few times with my roommate, Donna, who was nice, but we were not making a connection like I was making at the readings. Plus, I wasn't into Donna romantically.

A big poetry reading was coming up this Sunday the day after the 4th of July. I thought of Fort Fischer where Jean Jones works. Fort Fischer is a historical place. There's also the aquarium nearby. And there is this jetty that goes out to some tiny island which is a mini-animal conservation spot of sorts.

Anyway, the poetry reading was a big deal. Flyers were everywhere it seemed. Maybe I just noticed them in town because I was into that kind of thing.

Yeah, we (Lynn and I) could go together. I was pretty sure she wasn't seeing anyone else.

How it was possible that she didn't already have a boyfriend, I didn't know.

On the last Sunday before the 4th, I found myself at a table by the window at the lounge where the readings were held. She seemed receptive to me. Sure, why not. At some point, I found the courage to ask her "do you want to go to the poetry reading next Sunday with me?"

"Sure," she said.

"Oh, my God," I thought. "It worked. Okay, I need to do more."

"Can I call you?"

Before long I was getting her phone number. 

The sun was still above the Cape Fear River and reflecting back into the room a kaleidoscope of orange and blue. It seemed that my awareness of a room full of people had departed and I was only aware of us.

While this was happening, I added, "We could go down to Carolina Beach on Saturday too. There are things to see down there."

"Okay," she said in a voice that was soft and warm.

I was surprised too... not because I expected to be rejected but because of how much I wanted this. I wasn't reflecting on matters at this point. I was just acting on instinct.

In the back of my mind during the next week, I was thinking about what to do. I wanted to have lots of suggestions to offer Lynn. I wasn't sure what she would like.

I had called her and said that I knew of a peaceful and scenic spot where we could go. Maybe we could go to Fort Fischer and see if Jean was working there, or to the aquarium.

So, now, it was July 4th of 1992. I picked her up at her home on Wrightsville Beach. We drove through Wilmington and continued toward Carolina Beach. It was somehow amazing just how easy the conversation was going for both of us. I would have expected that I would have been nervous.

There is a jetty that runs out to a tiny island south of Carolina Beach where the Cape Fear River meets the ocean. It's the farthest point south if you drive down Highway 421/Carolina Beach Road from Wilmington, North Carolina.

We decided that we would go to this spot.

This is our first date. I think it's a "date." I don't have much experience dating and so if you are wondering, dear reader, what I mean by saying I was shy, these are just a few examples of what it is like. I don't think Lynn had a great deal of experience with these kinds of things either.

Since I was driving, I double-checked to see if this was where we wanted to stop first. She agreed.

So, I parked the car near the beach near that jetty that I mentioned.

The jetty is not on the open ocean, so the waves only gently lap against the beach and the rocks that form the jetty. It's just a bunch of rocks that have been stacked against one another to make a bridge of sorts. On top of the rocks, they put pavement to make it into a bridge that could be crossed.

We walked out there toward the jetty together, but we were both shy a bit about the nature of the relationship that was developing.

As we started walking onto the jetty, I noticed it was a bit slippery because the saltwater had washed over the bridge recently.

I had not expected this to be slippery. I could not let her slip and risk anything bruising or scratching her perfect skin... not to mention the fear I would feel if I saw her fall.

But I was so nervous.

I had to do something. I reached out my hand to her.

"Wow!" I thought, "She took my hand. Wow! And why am I repeating this thought?"

My fingers crossed over her palm between the thumb and the first finger on her hand. I felt a tingling sensation beginning in my fingers and rising up my arm, like the small soft waves beside us. The sensation came to rest in the center of my chest.

I took a breath as if I needed air. It was a lightness that I felt in my chest as if a weight had been taken off me – as if my own weight was pressing down with less force than previously.

I wasn't expecting to feel anything like this. I was just catching her to keep her from falling.

"Do you want to keep going?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, pausing to take in the scene with me. Her straight blonde hair swayed in the gentle wind. The gentle waves washed against the rocks below us. It was peaceful.

There was something interesting that I was feeling. Holding her hand was "exciting" - like I had never felt excited before (which isn't true) ... AND this moment was also relaxed and peaceful. It might not make sense because being excited and relaxed are usually different feelings.

We walked for a bit further but then decided that this was getting too slippery.

"What's next," I thought. Then I said "Jean works at Fort Fischer and they have a tour of the historic site. We could go there."

She agreed.

I guess I was eager to spend as much time as I could with Lynn. I didn't want the day to end. I didn't want to drop her off and leave.

We let the windows down and Lynn eased back into her seat, letting the wind blow softly – we weren't going fast. She looked comfortable and dreamy. I wasn't sure what that meant other than that she was "comfortable" or relaxed as she sat back in her seat looking out the window. I didn't have much time to see if she was looking at me at this moment.

That same feeling continued as we walked the grounds at Fort Fischer – a Civil War historic site. We spoke to Jean for a bit.

It's hard to recount everything that we did that day, but I wanted to say that while I was coming up with things to do, Lynn was contributing to the conversation and helping come up with ideas. She wasn't just saying "sure" or "okay." For one, that would have been discouraging to me and secondly, Lynn didn't seem like the type who went along with things.

I was desperate to find out that Lynn wanted to spend time with me and was therefore an equal participant in these decisions about what we were doing together. 

I had a feeling then and later that the reason she didn't already have a boyfriend was that she didn't need a guy to complete her nor was she looking to be in a relationship. That would happen to both of us but perhaps neither of us was looking - to be honest, I was more inclined to desire a relationship with a girl than she was... but I am getting ahead of my story.

The day faded into the night and we made our way to downtown Wilmington.

We saw the fireworks that night, over the Cape Fear River and near the Battleship.

After the fireworks, we were walking back to the car and we walked by the place where she worked at a historic home that had been converted into a shelter for youth runaways. A co-worker of hers asked her if I was her boyfriend. I heard her say "No, we are just friends."

Darn. I thought this was a date. Actually, even if it was an all-day date, we were still just friends.

I could wait.

The next day I picked her up again and we went to the poetry reading down in Carolina Beach.

There must have been a few dozen people when I read my poetry. This was a major accomplishment. I had an awareness of being nervous and I wondered if others picked up on the shakiness in my voice. There could have been a hundred or more people and I would have felt equally anxious.

Lynn took a seat on the side of the stage facing where I was standing after I read. She took the microphone and read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot.

I was taking photographs, including photographs of her.

As I reflect on these two dates or days spent together, I realize that I cannot fill in any more details. Decades have passed.

Looking back at the nearly three months when I was sharing my poetry, it's interesting to note the subject matter of my poetry... It had been about grief and a special friend named Celta. Yet here I was totally focused on this new girl named Lynn. It's hard to overstate the meaning and importance of this.  

In the last chapter, I ended with the announcement that I was moving to Wilmington, North Carolina. I had a six-month contract to work at Corning Glass. I was working as a technical writer. They needed someone who had a technical background, and I was told that my engineering degree and experience working as a software engineer met the requirements.

I was a bit nervous or had some uncertainty since this was just a six-month contract. What would happen after the contract ended in six months? The past year and a few months had been extremely difficult. I was not doing well, and my self-esteem had plummeted or so I thought.

As it turns out, I only had to move out on my own and get my life back on track. I had to resume my quest and continue with my career journey. 

It also is obvious that the only problem I had had was that I chose to live in an environment that had become toxic in terms of my relationship with my parents. 

I had spent over two years thinking about how unacceptable I was in the eyes of my parents. I could NOT make them happy for me to save my life.

What do I mean when I state that I was living in a toxic environment? I constantly worried that I wasn't good enough... I wasn't making my mother happy... My mother had made it known that she believed that I was stubbornly unwilling to work as an engineer. That nearly constant psychological and emotional abuse hung over me like a dark cloud... Other than when I was with Celta.

When I was with Celta, I felt acceptable... loved... special. I felt good enough. I could just be.

Prior to coming to Wilmington, I had been writing poetry and sharing poetry with a friend of mine named Martin Kirby. I give my mother credit for introducing me to him. It was interesting that she noticed that I might like poetry.

At any one time in life, there are things that stand in stark contrast to everything else that was going on. I mean, my parents had seemed to be completely unaware of everything meaningful that was going on in my life at that time. They were not at all interested in knowing that Celta existed and had played a role in my life. They didn't care to know why I had been so sad for the past year. My family showed no interest at all in my career plans or what I had done to move forward with those plans.

None of that ever seemed to matter at all. That was so exasperating but then my mother introduced me to a poet and English Literature professor because she knew that poetry was interesting to me. Yes, I am grateful that she noticed that but why could they not notice all of the other things that mattered to me?

The subject of the writing that I shared with Martin, my poetry mentor, was not something that either parent cared to know about. So, I'm grateful that my mother cared enough to introduce me to this talented professor of English literature but that was the extent to which either parent demonstrated an interest in anything that interested me or that would make me happy.

Anyway, this new interest of mine in poetry would prove to be important as I started to build a life as a young adult.

Before I moved to Wilmington, I had found a roommate who had a room for rent and her name was Donna Bender.  She was a thin pretty woman who had been in a domestic violence relationship and had been involved in the domestic violence community.

When I moved to Wilmington, I obviously didn't know anyone, other than my roommate. I did socialize a bit with my roommate. I remember going downtown to a gay bar with her once. Apparently, a guy was interested in me and I remember Donna telling that person that I was straight. It was interesting.

This wasn't my main source of entertainment or enjoyment after work and on the weekends.

When I first arrived, that first week, I had in mind that I needed to make friends. I thought I would see what activities are available in the city. So I picked up an entertainment weekly paper. I had in mind looking into the poetry reading scene in the area. I believe my poetry mentor Martin had suggested this to me.

This is how I would build a social network and a social life.

That first week when I arrived, I decided to call the contact person from the announcement in the newspaper. That person's name was Jean Jones. He would go on to be an important friend of mine for many, many years.

I had asked Jean on the phone if people read their own writing and he confirmed that this was the reason we gathered for the poetry readings. Yes, people read their own poetry.

So, I made a decision to attend, and I had in mind that I would share my poetry with the group. This was something for which I had to prepare mentally before showing up. The choice to share my own writing was based on two factors. One was the fact that I truly wanted to share my experiences with others. I had been through an amazing series of experiences and I wanted to make a connection with my stories. The other reason was the fact that I wanted people to know me.

Somehow, I found the courage that very same first poetry reading that I attended to share my poetry. I cannot overstate the courage, effort, and conviction that was required to do this. I had been a very shy person as you know, dear reader. The mere concept of being the center of attention in any group had never occurred in my life. I had avoided that.

I had tried to speak in class at Georgia Tech but never found the courage to do that. 

So, if I did find the courage to read my poetry at the poetry reading, this would be a first for me.

I can only imagine that my experiences with Celta were so very transformative. There was one other thing that was very important to consider which I haven't mentioned yet. I had done volunteer work at Georgia Regional Hospital in Augusta, Georgia. 

The experience as a volunteer at Georgia Regional Hospital was important because I had a specific plan for my career and the rest of my life. I knew I was meant to work as a social worker but that would require that I go to graduate school. The undergraduate degree was in engineering which would allow me to enter graduate school in social work. However, I figured I was going to need experience in an area that is closer to my field of interest.

I knew I wanted to be a mental health professional and more specifically a psychotherapist. Georgia Regional Hospital was a state psychiatric hospital and so that was perfect for me to get experience. I volunteered with the social work team. I also knew that I would need letters of recommendation to get into graduate school in social work.

So, volunteering at Georiga Regional Hospital helped me to advance my social and communication skills as well as give me the experience that I would need to make the transition to social work. 

In addition, this experience was very helpful in my ability to gain a great deal of self-confidence. I did interact occasionally at some staff meetings with perhaps 8 or so people there. They included social workers, a psychiatrist, and some medical students.

None of that involved being the center of attention. However, I did feel like I had been helpful to others. I knew that I had a great sense of empathy and respect for others. People opened up to me without any hesitation for the most part. Some patients had problems that made it hard for them to communicate - this was related to their being admitted to the hospital.

Still, it seemed that so many people were happy to share their stories with me. I was able to get them to open up. I got a sense that I was helping them. Sometimes people just want someone to listen to them and to try to understand them and what they are experiencing.

While those experiences were helpful in increasing my self-esteem and self-confidence, I have also described the painful experiences that were so destructive to me and my sense of self-worth and self-confidence which only increased following the death of Celta.

With that background, I found myself in a different place emotionally and psychologically having moved to Wilmington and out of the situation in which I was living. It truly was like magic and it was like night and day when you consider just how different everything was when I settled into that first week in a new city.

There was another theme that exists in this book. First, when I went off to Georgia Tech as an adult and lived on my own away from my home, I found that experience to be transformative. Now, I moved away from living with my parents, and again almost like magic life is different, better... more healthy.

I don't mean to call my parents bad people, it's just that I needed to be an adult and make my own decisions. 

That is the situation that describes me when I showed up at the Coastline Convention Center at 7 PM Sunday, the first Sunday I had in a new city. Shortly after 7 pm, the sun was setting on the Cape Fear River with the red, orange, and then blue light reflecting into a room with the lights turned low to create a peaceful atmosphere. Large windows lined an entire wall from the ceiling down to nearly the floor. We were on the fourth floor.

A small group of people was there... perhaps 10 to 15 people moving about quietly, each taking their turn to read. A woman named Dusty was the emcee. She was such a special person and that probably had a factor in my choice to summon the courage to do something I had never previously contemplated.

I somehow found the courage to walk to the front of the room after getting some directions from Dusty. She had an air about her that was motherly and serene. Peaceful. Welcoming.

I heard my voice on the microphone and it was an unusual experience. I had never heard my voice amplified. "Is that what I sound like?" I wondered. If you had asked me a few years earlier, when I was in my first two years or more at Georgia Tech if I would ever do this, I would have said it was impossible.

During my last two years at Georgia Tech, I knew I would have to do this - put myself at the center of attention in a group setting - but I also knew that finding the courage and self-confidence to do so was something that would take a tremendous amount of work and effort. 

I had NEVER done what I did this first night at the poetry reading!

Something special was happening that evening. This was the beginning of my life as an adult. This was my becoming. My greatest accomplishment! Finally! I did it. It almost seemed like a test. This was a very, very different test for me. And I passed. I did what I had wanted to accomplish.

I recited a few of the poems that I had selected. I was nervous and I hoped that it wasn't too obvious. I liked the applause and the recognition. Dusty was standing to the side of me as I was finishing up. Her smile was comforting. It said, "thank you for sharing." "You did well." It was accepting. She was about a generation older than me and I realized that this acceptance from a mother figure was something that I had wanted for so long.

The feeling from the experience overall, as I stepped away, from the group was, "you belong." "You did well." I felt like the nervousness that I felt could be contained within the warmth of the room and the welcoming nature of the setting. I belonged. Yeah, I felt like I did belong. This soothed my nervousness and helped me relax.

There would be more Sunday nights just like this. Dusty called this sharing of our personal poetry a sharing of a gift to the group. I liked that idea. I had personal poems about Celta that I had wanted to share.

On the second night that I attended I approached Jean. I knew he had a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree with a specialization in poetry. He was the contact person that I found in the weekly paper announcing the group. I shared with him a poem I had been working on about a memory I had with Celta. I called it "The Swing."

The poem was about a memory I had with Celta when I had gone to the park in the summer of 1990, less than two years ago. She was on a swing.  I had been pushing her away knowing she would swing back to me. First, she would pause at the farthest point from me, her brown hair backlit against the early afternoon sun. 

She had asked me to take her to meet a male friend of hers. I left that out. I noticed how her look had been transfixed upon me. Her friend's voice had faded as if whatever he was saying didn't matter at that point. I could tell he was looking at us. Out of my periphery, I noticed his movement that said he felt awkward and maybe intrusive. Yet at that moment despite the fact that I am incredibly sensitive to the feelings of others, I felt mesmerized.

As I write this in 2021, decades later, there are aspects of this memory that are new along with my ideas for the poem. Back then I was using words like the undulating motion of the swing and I had the notion of pushing Celta knowing she would come back to my arms. 

Jean was friendly and helpful, crossing out large parts of the poem.

It's funny how memories flow back to us like waves when we least expect them to do so. Celta's movement on the swing was wave-like in nature. I had mentioned that in the poem. But my poetry mentor, Martin Kirby, had said that it would take ten years for me to write truly good poems about Celta and our experiences.

Somehow, I would find a way to move on with my life. I was going to meet another special girl named Lynn. I had hardly noticed Lynn, yet. I had still been processing the loss of Celta... and when I shared poems about these things, which was such a challenge, Dusty called our poems gifts! 

So, sharing our hearts and memories with someone or a group is a gift! Nice. I liked that! I liked that very much!

This was the beginning of a quest to pursue a set of goals, dreams, and aspirations. I knew I was going to be tested again in the career I had chosen. I would have to rely upon skills like this and courage like this.

Friendships and Family...

There were a number of regulars that came to the poetry readings. This was where I would build friendships that would last a lifetime. I am about to describe one of those individuals, Lynn Denise Krupey who will figure prominently in this book.

Another important friend who was coming to these readings is Thomas Childs. I have considered him to be part of my family of choice. Thomas, along with Celta, Lynn and my second wife Elee are the four most important people to me – those individuals who have been most dear to me in my life.

This section of my book covers building a family as an adult. Beginning in April of 1992, I would move out on my own leaving the life I had living with my parents. You will notice that the "problems" that I had described when I was living with my parents and dealing with grief will almost magically disappear. 

The environment in which I was living with my parents had become unhealthy because of a misunderstanding. It would take me decades to find out that my mother and perhaps my father had expected me to work as an engineer. I knew they were encouraging me to do so with arguments about how much better off I would be financially and how it would allow me to pay part of my graduate school costs but I didn't know that they expected me to do this. 

I didn't know that they felt I had wasted the investment they made. I had honestly thought they knew and understood my plans to go into social work and that engineering was as wrong for me as anything can be wrong for any job seeker. 

For a brief moment, before I moved out on my own, I worried about my own mental health and whether my "problems" would have an impact on my career plans. In many ways, this was caused by the death of Celta and the impact that had on me. That was where things were left at the end of the last section.  Never again would I wonder about this.
 

In this section, I am writing stories that read like a love story when taken together. When I speak of starting a family, I mean sharing my life with another person, eventually as husband and wife. So, this is about falling in love. I had dated a little but no one other than Celta played a role in my history. 

There was a moment when Celta and I almost kissed – do you remember what I described?

I suppose some of it can be confusing. Nothing "sexual" happened. That being said, I never held hands with my male friends, or cuddled with them, or stared into their eyes, felt the need to repeatedly tell them "I love you." You get the idea.

This section of the book will begin to focus on Lynn who is the subject of this book and who is mentioned in the book's title.

It's important to note that the same efforts involved in overcoming shyness in order to be able to find someone to love were helpful in my career journey. So, this section is a very important part of my overall autobiographical story.

Regarding shyness, I would say that I was a "shy person in recovery." I made up that term and you will come upon this later in this section of the book. I use that phrase to indicate that I had accomplished so much with regard to overcoming the paralyzing effects of shyness, but it has been an enduring aspect of my life story.

Cystic Fibrosis and My Life with Lynn Denise Krupey

It's also important to note that the girl of my dreams, the love of my life, the one person I would fall madly and passionately, totally and completely, in love with, had a chronic illness called Cystic Fibrosis. 

This would have an impact on the decisions we made about life together.

The Role of Religion As A Toxic Influence

For the longest time, I was still a believer in religious ideas – the ones I had been exposed to growing up. God, spirituality, heaven, and sin of course. We can't leave that out. I would come to feel such great shame for things I said to Lynn when we were living together. 

Normally, I would have chosen to get married before moving in with a girl. Things were more complicated by the genetic illness with which Lynn was born.

Where the Story Begins and Where it Leads

I pick up the story when I turn twenty-six and move to Wilmington, North Carolina - my home. Things are much different than when I arrived in Atlanta Georgia for college. It's true that I didn't know anyone in Wilmington when I first move there. However, I am not paralyzed by shyness and social anxiety – I had developed social skills as well.

The experience of being in love was more amazing than I had imagined. I could not have known what it is like to be in love until it happened. I suppose no one does... but no one tried to convey the happiness and serenity that comes from being loved and being in love.

Please join me... this promises to be exciting. 

I mentioned in the previous chapter that I was able to find a way to ask a girl out and I had a date with a girl finally by my senior year. Yes, it took that long. I had not dated in high school and I had not had a date during the first four years of my college education. There might be an exception as I did go out with the cousin of one of my best friends. It's been many years and so I am not sure if that happened during my senior or junior year. I'll describe that below. 

I want to describe what I was learning with the help of my counselor. 

In the sessions with my counselor – my psychologist, I learned ways to speak to people and to listen. For example, I learned about "free information" – the weather, something a person might be wearing, a shared experience like something from class. Then to keep the conversation going, I learned about active listening. That could mean summarizing what someone just said, rephrasing it in different words to confirm that you understand... asking follow-up questions and the best questions are open-ended, that way you don't get a "yes or no" or short answer. An open-ended question invites the other person to speak at length.

In addition to being given reading material by my therapist and discussing things in therapy sessions, my counselor facilitated a therapy group. It turns out that a number of people have similar problems and needs. We used role-playing and other techniques to learn and practice different skills. 

I was learning social and communication skills. 

I also learned a technique for dealing with social anxiety. Suppose I want to meet someone or just be more friendly. I was challenging my fears as opposed to not trying or telling myself something will go wrong. I learned a three-column technique based on Cognitive Behavioral Therapy techniques. This is something I did all week actually. I had a pad of paper, a pen, or a pencil all the time.

I would imagine scenarios and ask myself "what is it that I fear if I acted instead of avoiding what I feared." It wasn't actually those words that I asked but there were so many examples that no single example can capture the essence of the fears. I mean if the fear is that I approach someone I don't know and say something foolish or incoherent, then avoiding the action avoids the negative emotions that might show up in the form of a racing heart.

That is just one of the countless examples and probably not a good one. Anyway, in column one, I write our automatic thought. He/she won't like me. She won't be interested in ME! Then in the middle column, I write the name of the "cognitive distortions that I can recognize. Maybe, for example, I am "predicting the future" which is a cognitive distortion, or I am "discounting the positive" – positive aspects of myself. There are common cognitive distortions that people use. In the third column, I wrote challenging statements. Depending on the situation, I might write about evidence of how I am liked by the friends that I have.

This is something I did every week, frequently, for years. See what I mean when I say that picking any one example might not convey the breadth of potential negative thoughts. To be clear, this happens to all kinds of people not just shy people. I was trying so hard. A simple way to figure out what the automatic thought was is to think about asking oneself, "what's the worst thing that can happen?"

Despite all the improvements I made, I never met girls directly at the parties at the fraternity house. What I mean is that I met girls that were friends with some of the guys that I knew. I did make friends with females in my classes and in other settings but they were just friends. 

My best friend Thomas could trust me completely to hang out with his girlfriend, fiancée, and later wife, Jo-Lee but she was one of my best friends and we spent a great deal of time together when Jo-Lee was here at Georgia Tech after Thomas graduated and moved up north. I had another male friend and I was friends with his girlfriend as well. In fact, she came down to Florida with me on a break between class quarters and we went with my sister to Disney World. 

I have no idea how Thomas got engaged. I cannot imagine him asking out Jo-Lee. This is heartening because, to me, it means that the entire burden doesn't lie upon the guy to ask out a girl. I grew up on shows like "Happy Days" where it was announced that it isn't proper for a girl to be calling a guy and asking the guy out, and etc. This spells certain serious problems for a shy guy. 

Who made up that rule anyway? I know, dear reader, you have heard me rant about this in other parts of this book and the topic will come up again. It has been a great source of incessant pain for me to notice that no female has asked me out. No matter how much the "rule" might make sense to you, that is no comfort to me. I still feel unattractive and undesirable when I think of this.

Oh, and all the things I was learning about social skills, dating skills, intimate connections... it seemed so artificial. I like it better where you just start talking to someone as a friend and find that you have some things in common and then you realize that you are also attracted to that person.

A Date With Jo-Lee's cousin Marleesa

This is my favorite part, next to the story about Donna liking me in 3rd grade. This is an instance where a girl was definitely interested in me and it was obvious.

My friends Thomas and Jo-Lee got married when I was either a junior or senior. Thomas had moved to Massachusetts for a job but they had the wedding down in the metro-Atlanta area near Georgia Tech. 

I was the best man at their wedding. It was interesting. I have one more story to tell here. 

I mentioned earlier in this book the date with the girl I met at the post office. That was hard. I mentioned the subtle things that attracted me to that girl... but all I knew was that she didn't have a boyfriend and she seemed nice. I had no idea if she was into me, though. Yet, asking for something that you want is an important goal for someone like me seeking to overcome shyness, social phobia, and/or social anxiety.  

Around the time of their wedding, Jo-Lee asked her friend whose name I cannot remember, to show me how to dance for the required "dance" the best man would be forced to do. I felt sorry for Thomas who also had to engage in this ritual of a similar "dance" that he would hate as much as I did, I imagine. The only thing that stands out is the dresses that the brides' maids and maid-of-honor wore. The maid-of-honor held my attention though in the very revealing low-cut dress that made it hard to not notice her breasts.

So, here I am talking about Jo-Lee's maid of honor. 

She seemed friendly and kind as she tried to guide me, and she was acting considerate of my discomfort. Right now, I cannot even form an image of me trying to dance with the maid of honor. I suppose, now that I think of it, I had been making a parallel between the way I thought of her and that character Tommy from the movie "Carrie." Tommy asks out Carrie who is the shy scapegoat in high school. This isn't a perfect parallel since, at this time, I wasn't a scapegoat and I had done so much to come out of my shell by this point. 

Anyway, after the wedding, there was some event with many people over at the home of part of Jo-Lee's extended family. Jo-Lee was from the area. I was thinking about asking Jo-Lee about her bridesmaid, trying to find the courage to do this. I don't remember the details about how I came to find her attractive and I hate that the only thing that sticks in my mind is that she had nice breasts.

Anyway, then Jo-Lee pointed out how much her cousin Marleesa was interested in me. I noticed she was pretty too but don't ask me to describe her for this story. I just remember noticing that and I am considering what followed. At first, I was in denial, still doubting that any girl would be interested in me. I was a junior and this was before I asked the girl out from the post office, which I described in an earlier chapter.

Eventually, I started noticing everything that Marleesa was doing to be nice and show her concern. I remembered they had a dog at that house that was annoying. Marleesa noticed my annoyance and got the dog away from me. I then looked up at Thomas and Jo-Lee who had a look like "see, I told you she is interested in you."

Okay, so I started talking to Marleesa and she invited me to an Easter play in which she was acting through her church. Marleesa was definitely someone who was very forward. Who asked who out? I can't remember how it occurred. I am sure that I started making conversation with her and indicating that I was infested in her. 

She seemed sweet and pretty. 

For some reason, I am now thinking of the words "flirting" and "hitting on" someone. I wonder to this day if this is one of those ways that two people figure out in a less threatening way whether someone is interested in them so as to gather information before asking the person out. 

If I was flirting or she was flirting, I wasn't sure of that. I suppose I can concede that what I had observed indicated that she was infested in me. However, I needed the help of Thomas and Jo-Lee to make it known to me. I imagine that Jo-Lee explained what was happening in a private conversation with Thomas because I imagine he was similarly lacking in "dating," "flirting" and other skills. Again, I cannot imagine him asking Jo-Lee out.  

Anyway, getting back to Marleesa... It was interesting to be meeting the family for this first date after the performance. She seemed so interested that I thought I should kiss her.

She turned her head away and I was silent, and my face was red with shame. I had not done anything wrong other than read a signal wrong. The one time I had not invested hours doing my Cognitive Behavior Therapy homework with the three-column technique and I got it wrong. I felt like the air had been sucked out of me. I was frozen and silent.

For a while, I would reflect on this with shame as if I had done something wrong or broken a rule that I should have known. I had not been forceful at all and as soon as she turned away, I had shrunk within myself. I was just so confused.

She had been far more "aggressive" at the party with others around and here we were outside after dark where privacy might allow such things.

That was the last time I saw her. I wasn't mad - just confused. I don't want to give the impression that she owed it to me or that she was playing games. A girl can change her mind at any time. I just felt shame for MY mistake, like I needed to learn more about making a connection or how to deal with rejection.

The next section and chapters will describe my first experience of feeling "love." 

There are many things I learned in college, but the most important learning came in the form of social skills and how to overcome shyness.

I had a psychologist/counselor for the entire time period I spent at the Georgia Institute of Technology, aka Georgia Tech. All five years. From the beginning of classes in August 1984 through graduation in 1989. This was at the Counseling and Career Planning Center and the services were free to all students at Georgia Tech.

It would take me most of the entire five years of counseling to ask out a girl for the first time.

I started going for counseling so that I could learn how to make connections, which required building social skills and confronting anxiety.

The details about how I did this will be discussed in a later chapter. I just wanted to illustrate how shy I was and how social anxiety held me back. The point of this chapter is that I did finally go on a date during my senior year and that this was a major accomplishment.

I was learning how to start conversations, how to engage in active listening and so many other communication skills.

I didn't realize it for some time, but these skills later would be very valuable both in my career as a psychotherapist and in acting with empathy toward others in my life. It turns out that these skills can be learned.

So, while I was at Georgia Tech, I discovered that learning social skills and overcoming shyness requires practice and homework just as it was with my classes. It turns out that there were other students at Georgia Tech who also were lacking social skills and needed help. My counselor facilitated a therapy group where we could practice our skills.

Of course, shyness isn't just about learning skills. I had a tremendous amount of anxiety. Social anxiety.

I was given an education on how to deal with these issues. So, I don't repeat myself, let me repeat that I will describe this in greater detail later.

It didn't take me long to start making new friends but meeting a girl was different.

If you are asking me if I was afraid and if so, what was that like, I would say that I avoided situations that might provoke anxiety. So, I wasn't blushing. I didn't have situations around girls where my heart was racing due to fear/anxiety. I was avoiding a situation where I might want to get to know a girl. If I didn't know for sure that someone was interested, I wasn't going to take a chance on rejection.

So, I was avoiding the actions that might trigger anxiety and thus I was avoiding anxiety but doing that meant being all alone.

By my senior year, I had come so far, and I was a totally different person. I cannot overstate how amazing this transformation was and how great therapy can be. I saw changes that I never thought were possible. Take the times when I was working at the post office. I made friends fast. I felt comfortable with my fellow students talking and joking as we sorted mail or waited on customers at the window.

The goal of asking a girl out was something that was particularly challenging. The fear of failure or rejection was immense. It's important to note that as much as I had changed this had been a long journey. It took years.

I did see a girl that I wanted to get to know when I was working at the post office during my senior year at college. She was attractive to me. She always wore these John Lennon/airline pilot glasses. I am not sure why I associate these glasses with aviation or airline pilots. They were small and round with an almost black color to them.

There was something mysterious about her. She seemed intriguing. She also seemed "quiet" - like me. She seemed friendly.

I had made friends with girls through that job and could feel comfortable with them. Sharing stories, laughing, being very open about myself and my feelings. If I knew I just wanted to be friends with a girl that made it easy for me to talk to her, to laugh with her, to smile with her.

I had the tools to conquer my fear of rejection. For example, I would ask myself "what's the worst thing that could happen if she says no?"

This was a goal and so I had to try. The goal was that if I was going to find a girlfriend, which I wanted - I knew that much - I knew I had to ask a girl to do something with me. To go on a date. Otherwise, I would remain the extra friend of other friends who were paired up. I had friends who were male and female who I met through friends that I already had.

I wanted something different. I knew at some level that I wanted a relationship that would be exclusive. That is the key aspect of why this goal was important to me and it demonstrates that still my self-esteem and my sense of self-worth were low. Still.

Being friends with someone who has a boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse means that there is someone more important in their lives than me. The ridiculous fear I had was that no one would choose to consider me the most important person in their lives.

Getting back to the girl at the post office that interested me... I would notice that she never seemed to have any boyfriend showing up with her for work or after work. I would stand outside the building where the post office was housed and attempt to build up the courage to ask her out.

This was a popular place on campus for people to congregate. The post office was in the same building as the student union. There also was a cafeteria there for grabbing a meal if you don't have time to go elsewhere. When I say elsewhere, I am thinking of the restaurants that were just off the campus or across the street from the campus. Most of our classes were in buildings that were very close to the student union.

If you had a little more time for lunch, there were places right off-campus. I usually found a way to eat at one of those places every day between classes. There was a pizza place near campus. The "Varsity" was a popular hamburger and hotdog joint, but it was a bit greasy and a bit more of a walk. There was another place that was like a diner. The waiter/waitress would take an order and shout it to the cooks using a vocabulary that all the staff there had to know.

I don't remember this girl's name. She was medium complexion - neither light complexion nor dark complexion as skin color goes for black girls – for guys also but I wasn't checking out the guys, obviously.

She was thin. I had said a few things to her but she had not been saying much in response. I felt I could recognize her reactions as a sign of shyness and not a sign that she was blowing me off – demonstrating disinterest. This was a significant memory and event and that's why I am filling in these details.

One day I found the chance when we both ended our shift together.

"Do you want to go for lunch?" I asked her.

"Okay." She agreed. I noticed she was struggling like me to make eye contact.

I said "or we can go ..."

"Pizza's fine, she said."

"Cool."

So, we started walking together.

While it is true that I felt shy about speaking in classes where people were gathered in groups of 20 or more people, I had walked this busy path between the student union and the next large building with classrooms many times with my head held up high or looking around for friends with whom to stop and talk.

This time I felt like if anyone saw me, they would see me with a new girl. I felt confident. I suppose that there is something that I have noticed that is common about the way any guy and girl walk together whether they are shy or not.

We made some small talk about incidental matters... when we were graduating... what we might do next. I noticed that we were both a bit nervous, but we occasionally held each other's gaze longer and longer. Had I been walking with a girl that I knew as just a friend, I might not have been scanning the crowd looking for other friends, but I also would not have been nervous.

I was turning over in my mind "is this a 'date?'" and all the evidence that it technically was a "date." This experience was both about the girl and about the goal of making a "date."

It was funny what happened though. I could not believe it. I had not brought enough money.

I was fumbling frantically with my pockets trying to find some money. "I have to have some money on me, somewhere," I said. In my mind, I thought "Oh, my God, this is pathetic!" I didn't say that to beat myself up out loud.

She said, "It's okay, I have some money."

In retrospect, the concerns I had were exaggerated in my mind. I am not saying she didn't deserve to have some guy make her feel special. I should have just said that.

She didn't even sound angry or anything but that wasn't enough to soothe my nerves. My heart raced. My face turned red.

Let's just say the theme of this chapter is "boy meets girl" and leave it at that. It was a "date" but I had felt such shame for forgetting to bring enough money and I had asked her to lunch. I guess I felt like I had broken a dating "rule." I wasn't thinking independently enough yet. I let the inner critical parent voice recordings play out in my mind over and over – actual words I had heard from my parents... and because of that I never asked her out again. That's probably worse than having forgotten to bring enough money.

In case you are wondering, the photo below is not of her. I found a free photo online to use. The girl in the photo has a smile that reminds me of the smile that I got from that girl that I asked for a lunch date. What I see in the photograph is a sense of comfort. For a few brief moments, I saw that same comfortable smile on a shy girl that joined me for lunch. I truly believe that was because I also found enough of a connection to share a similarly comfortable smile with her.

Overcoming Shyness and Dating

There are many things I learned in college, but the most important learning came in the form of social skills and how to overcome shyness.

I had a psychologist/counselor for the entire time period I spent at the Georgia Institute of Technology, aka Georgia Tech. All five years. From the beginning of classes in August 1984 through graduation in 1989. This was at the Counseling and Career Planning Center and the services were free to all students at Georgia Tech.

It would take me most of the entire five years of counseling to ask out a girl for the first time.

I started going for counseling so that I could learn how to make connections, which required building social skills and confronting anxiety.

The details about how I did this will be discussed in a later chapter. I just wanted to illustrate how shy I was and how social anxiety held me back. The point of this chapter is that I did finally go on a date during my senior year and that this was a major accomplishment.

I was learning how to start conversations, how to engage in active listening and so many other communication skills.

I didn't realize it for some time, but these skills later would be very valuable both in my career as a psychotherapist and in acting with empathy toward others in my life. It turns out that these skills can be learned.

So, while I was at Georgia Tech, I discovered that learning social skills and overcoming shyness requires practice and homework just as it was with my classes. It turns out that there were other students at Georgia Tech who also were lacking social skills and needed help. My counselor facilitated a therapy group where we could practice our skills.

Of course, shyness isn't just about learning skills. I had a tremendous amount of anxiety. Social anxiety.

I was given an education on how to deal with these issues. So, I don't repeat myself, let me repeat that I will describe this in greater detail later.

It didn't take me long to start making new friends but meeting a girl was different.

If you are asking me if I was afraid and if so, what was that like, I would say that I avoided situations that might provoke anxiety. So, I wasn't blushing. I didn't have situations around girls where my heart was racing due to fear/anxiety. I was avoiding a situation where I might want to get to know a girl. If I didn't know for sure that someone was interested, I wasn't going to take a chance on rejection.

So, I was avoiding the actions that might trigger anxiety and thus I was avoiding anxiety but doing that meant being all alone.

By my senior year, I had come so far, and I was a totally different person. I cannot overstate how amazing this transformation was and how great therapy can be. I saw changes that I never thought were possible. Take the times when I was working at the post office. I made friends fast. I felt comfortable with my fellow students talking and joking as we sorted mail or waited on customers at the window.

The goal of asking a girl out was something that was particularly challenging. The fear of failure or rejection was immense. It's important to note that as much as I had changed this had been a long journey. It took years.

I did see a girl that I wanted to get to know when I was working at the post office during my senior year at college. She was attractive to me. She always wore these John Lennon/airline pilot glasses. I am not sure why I associate these glasses with aviation or airline pilots. They were small and round with an almost black color to them.

There was something mysterious about her. She seemed intriguing. She also seemed "quiet" - like me. She seemed friendly.

I had made friends with girls through that job and could feel comfortable with them. Sharing stories, laughing, being very open about myself and my feelings. If I knew I just wanted to be friends with a girl that made it easy for me to talk to her, to laugh with her, to smile with her.

I had the tools to conquer my fear of rejection. For example, I would ask myself "what's the worst thing that could happen if she says no?"

This was a goal and so I had to try. The goal was that if I was going to find a girlfriend, which I wanted - I knew that much - I knew I had to ask a girl to do something with me. To go on a date. Otherwise, I would remain the extra friend of other friends who were paired up. I had friends who were male and female who I met through friends that I already had.

I wanted something different. I knew at some level that I wanted a relationship that would be exclusive. That is the key aspect of why this goal was important to me and it demonstrates that still my self-esteem and my sense of self-worth were low. Still.

Being friends with someone who has a boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse means that there is someone more important in their lives than me. The ridiculous fear I had was that no one would choose to consider me the most important person in their lives.

Getting back to the girl at the post office that interested me... I would notice that she never seemed to have any boyfriend showing up with her for work or after work. I would stand outside the building where the post office was housed and attempt to build up the courage to ask her out.

This was a popular place on campus for people to congregate. The post office was in the same building as the student union. There also was a cafeteria there for grabbing a meal if you don't have time to go elsewhere. When I say elsewhere, I am thinking of the restaurants that were just off the campus or across the street from the campus. Most of our classes were in buildings that were very close to the student union.

If you had a little more time for lunch, there were places right off-campus. I usually found a way to eat at one of those places every day between classes. There was a pizza place near campus. The "Varsity" was a popular hamburger and hotdog joint, but it was a bit greasy and a bit more of a walk. There was another place that was like a diner. The waiter/waitress would take an order and shout it to the cooks using a vocabulary that all the staff there had to know.

Anyway, I don't remember this girl's name. She was a thin medium complexion black girl. This was back in 1989. Interracial dating was still a big thing and not generally accepted. I knew that on campus it was "safe" for a white girl to date a black guy or vice versa. 

I had a different female friend who was white and she was dating a black guy. She mentioned that it was not safe to drive outside metro Atlanta. I was not thinking that far ahead. 

Anyway, getting back to the girl that I wanted to ask out. I had not thought far ahead to consider safety concerns. I just liked this girl and found her very attractive. Her shy/quiet manner, friendliness and obvious beauty were some of the things that made her attractive.

I had said a few things to her but she had not been saying much in response. I felt I could recognize her reactions as a sign of shyness and not a sign that she was blowing me off – demonstrating disinterest. This was a significant memory and event and that's why I am filling in these details.

One day I found the chance when we both ended our shift together.

"Do you want to go for lunch?" I asked her.

"Okay." She agreed. I noticed she was struggling like me to make eye contact.

I said "or we can go ..." and started naming some restaurants starting with the pizza place.

"Pizza's fine, she said."

"Cool."

So, we started walking together.

While it is true that I felt shy about speaking in classes where people were gathered in groups of 20 or more people, I had walked this busy path between the student union and the next large building with classrooms many times with my head held up high or looking around for friends with whom to stop and talk. I had come a long way in overcoming my shyness.

This time I felt like if anyone saw me, they would see me with a new girl - or actually I would be seen to be going on a date. I felt confident. I wanted to run into one of my other friends... to show that I finally was going on a date and with a very pretty girl. I would feel lucky to be seen with a very pretty girl.

We made some small talk about incidental matters... when we were graduating... what we might do next. I noticed that we were both a bit nervous, but we occasionally held each other's gaze longer and longer. Had I been walking with a girl that I knew as just a friend, I might not have been scanning the crowd looking for other friends, but I also would not have been nervous.

I was turning over in my mind "is this a 'date?'" and all the evidence that it technically was a "date." This experience was both about the girl and about the goal of making a "date."

It was funny what happened though. I could not believe it. I had not brought enough money. Back then, I must not have had a debit card on me, either.

I was fumbling frantically with my pockets trying to find some money. "I have to have some money on me, somewhere," I said. In my mind, I thought "Oh, my God, this is pathetic!" I didn't say that to beat myself up out loud.

She said, "It's okay, I have some money."

In retrospect, the concerns I had were exaggerated in my mind. I am not saying she didn't deserve to have some guy make her feel special. I should have just said that.

She didn't even sound angry or anything but that wasn't enough to soothe my nerves. My heart raced. My face turned red.

Let's just say the theme of this chapter is "boy meets girl" and leave it at that. It was a "date" but I had felt such shame for forgetting to bring enough money and I had asked her to lunch. I guess I felt like I had broken a dating "rule." I wasn't thinking independently enough yet. I let the inner critical parent voice recordings play out in my mind over and over – actual words I had heard from my parents... and because of that I never asked her out again. That's probably worse than having forgotten to bring enough money. 

I just assumed that I had failed to show her that she was special and to follow the dating rules where the guy pays for the date especially if he asks her out. I therefore didn't go out with her again because I was too embarrassed to ask to see her again. I could have just explained that I intended to take her out and buy lunch and with us both being college students it would have been possible. 

Maybe? I would have been too shy to explain that I wanted her to feel special and that she was pretty. 

In case you are wondering, the photo below is not of her. I found a free photo online to use. The girl in the photo has a smile that reminds me of the smile that I got from that girl that I asked for a lunch date. What I see in the photograph is a sense of comfort. For a few brief moments, I saw that same comfortable smile on a shy girl that joined me for lunch. I truly believe that was because I also found enough of a connection to share a similarly comfortable smile with her.

There are so many other important aspects of my education at Georgia Tech which I left out. So, in the next chapter, we will go back and fill in those details.

When I think about this time, I realize how little preperation was offered to us as high school students. I was choosing to enter an engineering school without any idea about whether that was a good match for me... I had not thought about the activities performed by an engineer. I had not considered alternative activities available in other professions that would better match my personality, my interests, desires, goals, values or motivations. 

Growing up, I always knew that I was going to go off to college one day. I surely knew this as far back as Elementary school. My parents encouraged me, beginning in 6th or 7th grade to join the band so that I would have extra-curricular activities which would help me get into a good college.
 

I think that being in the band was seen as an extra-curricular activity that even a shy person like me could do. I'm not sure what the thinking was on that. I had been retreating into the proverbial shell that characterizes the life of a shy person. I was becoming something of a ghost or invisible. I wasn't very assertive.

It's interesting that the most valuable things that I learned in college came from psychology. I was an engineering major. That was all I knew when I set off for college. Unfortunately, at my high school, they did not offer anyone any guidance in high school to help them decide what is a good match for them to study in college. That would have been possible and in many TV shows, I have seen this happening.

My father was an engineer but as much as I wanted to impress my parents and be recognized, I don't think I was trying to emulate my father in terms of a career direction. I did want to and expected that someday I would live in a nice home like we had growing up and I would have a wife and children.

It's also interesting to note that I never remembered my parents telling me what they thought would be a good career direction for me or what they expected... just that I would go to college.

I had no idea how that was going to happen for me. I had trouble meeting people, making friends, I never dated.

I selected the Georgia Institute of Technology (Georgia Tech) in Atlanta because I thought I wanted to be an engineer and I had heard that Georgia Tech was a prestigious engineering school. All the colleges to which I was accepted were far from where I grew up and had been living. This caused me some concern because I would be leaving behind a place that was familiar to me and where I had friends and an extended family.

I felt comfortable with my extended family, including my aunt and cousins. I liked them. I liked seeing them as often as possible.

I wasn't sure I would be able to make friends far away at college.

I had virtually no social skills and I was very shy.

I would end up building a career around helping others with problems or issues like shyness as well as emotional and psychological issues or problems.

I didn't want to leave and go so far away. My friend Paul had moved out of the neighborhood and I wasn't hanging out with him as much. So, the only sense of comfort came from my extended family.

Paul and I had been best friends but when he had to move we drifted apart. It seemed like nothing lasts in life.

I felt lonely when I went off to college.

It was late August when we drove from Southington, Connecticut all the way to Atlanta, Georgia, and the campus of Georgia Tech. We were arriving early for orientation before classes begin.

Parents are invited to join the students for orientation.

The south overall is much less populated than the north but Georgia Tech is situated nearly in the center of the city of Atlanta, GA. I had grown up in a town that had a population of roughly 30,000 and now I was in a city with a metropolitan population of about 5 million. To call this a culture shock would be an understatement.

I felt a mixture of pride and fear as we turn into the campus. Dad was driving and Mom was sitting in the front seat next to him. My sister, Carrie, and brother John were at home back in Southington. Carrie was in high school now.

We were looking for the Student Center. The first things we saw were some athletic fields and the Basketball stadium. Then we came across the fraternity houses - I just knew that was what we were seeing. They all had three Greek letters on the outside.

There were a few sororities too, but I know that males outnumber females by a ratio of more than two to one at engineering schools. That's okay, I was too shy to date.

Maybe I would get to know some girls. Maybe college would be different. I guess I wasn't thinking that it would be far more challenging to meet a girl and to date when one attends a university where males outnumber females by a ratio of two to one.

In the back of my mind, I had been thinking that as an adult, I would also want to form a family and so that would involve dating. That was part of the life plan that I had.

I noticed how Georgia Tech fits into downtown Atlanta like a small hidden or forbidden community within a larger city that was filled with traffic, skyscrapers, and a huge metropolitan area.

Yep, this was going to be a very new experience for me.

For the most part, as part of "orientation", they separated the parents from the new kids, the incoming freshmen. I'm not sure what the thinking was on that. The parents were about to leave and go back home. I was thinking that having parents attend "orientation" was pointless – they would be going back home soon.

I could feel how different this was from what I had known in life – It was unfamiliar. Don't get me wrong, growing up there were not many rules during high school. I can't think of a rule come to think of it. I didn't have a curfew. I just had to be home for dinner.

Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, I had known for many years I was going to go to college after high school. I was encouraged to save money for this but from a practical standpoint, it was obvious that most of the cost of my education would be paid for by Mom and Dad. That included tuition, books, and various living expenses.

The idea that one could be a full-time student at Georgia Tech and have a job didn't seem like something that would be expected of me.

Now, I would be completely on my own. I was about to discover how great that would be.

During orientation, there were daily activities (forced activities) like the first day we went rafting on the Chattahoochee River, and I suppose the goal was to help us to start to connect to others. When I say, we went rafting, I mean I went with other incoming freshmen. I don't know what the parents were doing.

You don't have to travel far to get out of the city with the skyscrapers and find yourself in the country where you could go rafting. That's where I really felt like a misfit. I tried so hard to connect. It seemed like the others were talking to each other and connecting but I could never think of anything to say – to anyone at any time. That left me with a constant feeling of being "different."

I am describing this so that you, dear reader, will understand what shyness is like for me.

I was thinking that if I appeared "different" then it would become increasingly more difficult to connect because I imagined there would be more time for people to notice that I was "different." I wasn't scared or nervous, but nothing was coming to mind to say. I felt a sense of urgency to speak – to seem "normal."

I wanted to make connections and make friends in this new environment. That meant I wanted to appear to be "normal" and just like everyone else. So, I felt an urgency to connect right away.

I didn't want much time to pass by where people might start thinking something like "what's wrong with that guy, he doesn't speak to anyone, he has nothing to say."

Yes, that was exactly what was going through my mind. I didn't want to stand out as a misfit, an outsider. It seemed like such a person is viewed negatively and it makes it harder to later appear to be normal and to "fit in."

As part of this "orientation", both parents and the incoming students were told a truth that everyone needed to understand - not everyone who gets admitted to Georgia Tech is going to graduate.

We were told to look at the person to our left then the person to our right. "One of you will graduate!" You didn't have to spell it out. Two out of three of us would flunk out.

Hearing this, I didn't feel any different. I felt like the weight of this challenge had been there in the back of my mind for some time. I felt a bit frightened, but it was about something more than the classes. I could not imagine what the classes would be like yet.

My fear was about appearing as an outsider and a misfit. In high school, I was invisible, like a ghost. I had come here and would be alone. I didn't want that to happen. I was scared of loneliness.

I wanted to connect. During these activities, everything seemed so much easier for everyone else. So often my thoughts were preoccupied with the fact that I couldn't find anything to say.

I watched others, observed and it seemed like things were easier for others. I didn't have social skills. That much was true.

I wondered if there is a way to get help for my problems. It was then that I realized something powerful and important. I was in control of things going forward! I could make things different for me! I was free.

It might be reasonable to wonder why I had not gotten counseling for my shyness and social anxiety long ago. Maybe it was too embarrassing for me to talk to Mom and Dad about it.
 

Even before I found out about services that might be available to students, I imagined that they must have some kind of counseling center. How did I know that?

Now, I was on my own and I wouldn't have to explain what I was doing or where I was going to Mom and Dad. They were not going to be present. I was on my own.
 

Ah, the freedom felt slightly soothing.

I couldn't share with my mother and father the shame that I had been feeling because of my shyness and lack of social skills. Just as it was when I was growing up, this was too embarrassing to discuss with Mom and Dad.

I didn't know what the experience was like for Mom and Dad, they didn't convey much of what they experienced. They said their goodbyes and good luck.

Now, during orientation, making friends, connecting seemed like a matter of survival.

I had a sense that failure academically, here at Georgia Tech, for me meant failure in life.

Evening fell hard each day with the weight of my isolation echoing through my mind. Everyone else was doing something. If anyone saw me all alone pacing the halls of the dorm, what would they think?

Growing up I had some friends and neighbors and felt somewhat comfortable with them. I had my cousins and my aunt.

Now I had to make connections.

On the second day after arrival, I was feeling an overwhelming need to do something. It felt like more than one day had passed and the weight of isolation had been so heavy. I couldn't face another night pacing the halls. Walking past the vending machines... the TV room. It was so quiet, and I felt so alone and scared.

Now, that night, we were having a barbeque with hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill. I had to try to socialize.

I noticed this guy who seemed approachable. There were only the two of them. I could handle that. Just move close and act calm.

I felt awkward and hoped it didn't show. They were talking about going to fraternity parties.

"Do you mind if join you?" I asked. "Good job," I thought. I was direct and I confronted my fear of rejection.

Before long, we were walking off to a few of the frat houses. We stopped at a couple of frat houses that night, and then the next night we did the same thing, ending up at Zeta Beta Tau (ZBT) fraternity.

This was Rush week when the fraternities recruit new members – new pledges.

I felt different here at ZBT. When we visited any frat house, they all tried to make us feel special, but I just liked this place. The guys that I came with had been socializing with different people at the house. I couldn't dance and did my best to avoid the big room where they did that. 

I would move about with surprising ease in other rooms and outside the frat house. Mainly, I was listening. I let the frat brothers do the talking. 

They did "love bombing." That's the word for it. I knew they were making us feel special as a recruitment strategy and yet it was helpful.

I met one person after another who sold me what we needed to do. Johnny was really friendly and relatable. Danny was cool in an unusual way. Stew was the cook and he looked, well, always like he was high. How the heck could he do that and be a Chemical engineer?

I had the idea that this is what I should do. I needed to make friends and a connection and nothing like this had happened to me in such a short period of time.

Every once in a while, they would ring a bell and cheer when someone declares their intent to pledge the fraternity.

It took so much effort for me to find the courage to tell someone that I would pledge. I was so dreading the event when I would be the center of attention. I realized that this wouldn't last for long before they move on to the next person. Still, I had NEVER made myself the center of attention.

Well, I had to get this over with, right? I put my mind to it and went with the flow. I told this guy named Pat who was standing next to Stew and they cheered and rang the bell. I knew that I didn't want this so I had to force myself to do it knowing that if I thought about it, I wouldn't do it.

It was amazing how fast things change. The moment when they are cheering and focused on me lasted only a few moments and then it was over.

Things changed after "Rush" and classes were getting started. Suddenly, you have been transformed from the person who was treated like they are so special to being treated like a lowly pledge. I don't mean they did anything bad. It's just that the dynamics changed. As a pledge, there are things you have to do. This will culminate in a final "initiation" when we finally become members of the fraternity.  

We were given a pledge paddle early and you are required to wear a suit or jacket and tie to classes for part of the period. You are expected to show up at the frat house every day and kneel down holding your paddle up to ask for permission to enter in a ritualistic fashion. It was out in the open, so it wasn't hazing or anything nefarious. It just felt embarrassing.

I didn't want to be the center of attention anywhere. So, I would dress normally for classes, not bring my paddle to classes like everyone else but I would get it at the end of the day when I was expected to show up at the frat house. I would be sneaky and break the "rules" or "expectations" about what we were supposed to do when I was going to class or otherwise on campus. I couldn't imagine any punishment if I was caught.

Growing up, the only rules or expectations had to do with the needs or desires of our parents.

We did all our studying and homework at the frat house unless we had to do something on the mainframe computer stations, or if there were reasons to be elsewhere for study groups or lab work.

Toward the end of the quarter, we had "initiation" where we would become full members of the fraternity. The fraternity made this somewhat mysterious, and we had assignments to complete in groups. It was actually good for team building and connecting as a group together.

You might have seen some movie that tries to depict a fraternity initiation. Take an oldie like "Animal House" where the pledges bend over and are hit with a paddle and they answer, "thank you, sir, may I have another." Nothing like that happened. We learned a "secret handshake."

Some might call my book a tell-all book – that term is popular these days. While I am not going to be evasive in this book about embarrassing or emotional matters, that doesn't mean I am going to tell you everything, dear reader. I am fine with keeping "innocent" secrets about matters that are unimportant to my story and that include details about the initiation.

So, that was an overview of a few things that characterized my first quarter at Georgia Tech. These were the first few months of my "adult" life on my own. 

Life already seemed better than I had known earlier in life. There are a few things that I left out. In the next chapter, where I use the cliché "Boy Meets Girl" in the name of the chapter, I will introduce some of the other things I was learning about how to make connections.

This section begins with some background about me and what it was like growing up and continues on through my years at Georgia Tech. Originally, the plan was for me to learn about engineering but instead, I would learn social skills, psychology and ways to overcome my social anxiety.