excerpt from Chapter 1: "He Says, She Says"

“Usually I just found a quiet, deserted place on campus, but that day something called me to the beach. I was celebrating the end of another harsh Canadian winter, and although it was off limits to staff and participants, I easily rationalized that my position of responsibility entitled my indiscretion. I drove the Institute’s Datsun down to the public beach and laid out my orange towel.”

Radha jumped in, “Wait, you gotta tell them the rest.”

I took a dramatic pause and then stated, “Oh yeah… I even had matching orange Speedos.” The entire room burst into laughter and Radha began shaking her head as she put her hands over eyes.

“So here I was, minding my own business, watching the clouds pass overhead, very serene… until she shows up,” I motioned to my left. “What was it you said, hon?”

“I didn’t say anything!” she exclaimed. “You were the one who started talking.”

“Now see, this is why you can't believe your stories. Radha and I have totally different memories about who spoke first that day. In fact, about the only thing we agree on is that it was cool and cloudy. This single situation created two very different stories, and that’s going to be the focus of our time together – learning to tell the difference between the situation and your story about it.” I saw several heads bobbing gently in agreement. “First, I'm going to tell you what really happened, and then Radha is going to tell her crazy version of that day.”

She shook her head. “Can you actually believe I've been married to this guy since 1977?”

The audience giggled and I resumed my story. “I didn’t know Radha’s name at this point, but I recognized her from the day before as the woman who had been scrubbing the stairs in a white peasant top, cut way too low.”

“It was not cut too low,” she defended. “I wasn’t wearing a bra and you were looking down my shirt.”

I laughed, “I was a swami. I didn’t do things like that. Besides, I still remember the embroidery along the chest.”

“No, that was a different shirt.”

“Well, whatever you were wearing, you should have been dressed more appropriately.” I gave her a loving smile and then returned to my story.

“So here I was, a twenty-six year old swami, wearing orange Speedos, eating cherries on the beach next to a beautiful woman with long blond hair taking off her clothes. All I could think about was what the other monks would say. To make matters worse,” I held up my hands into a small rectangle, “her yellow bikini was about this big.”

Radha began to blush and the participants broke into another round of uncontrollable laughter. I felt pleased that everyone was enjoying my anecdote and waited until they calmed down before continuing.

“What was going on deep inside was something serious, though. I felt like I was doing something wrong. Even though there was no one else on the beach, Little Gary was concerned with what people would think. Sound familiar to anyone?” A woman in the front row playfully nudged the man beside her.

“Looks like you two know what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Larry and I were talking about how that comes up a lot in our relationship.”

“How so?” I asked.

Larry answered, “Sometimes it’s hard for me to open up to Cathy.”

“What happens when you experience that feeling?”

“I try to figure it out myself,” he said.

Cathy elaborated, “He stops communicating.”

“That,” I replied, “is a very common strategy. Each of us has a default when that insecure place gets activated. That day on the beach, my initial strategy was to divert my attention, but the thoughts about Radha and what people would think just wouldn’t go away. Does anyone have any idea what my next strategy was?”

Larry replied, “Blame her?”

“Exactly,” I answered in an exaggerated voice. “It was her fault, and I started rattling off all the reasons in my head: Why was she breaking the rules anyway? She should know better. I had specifically pointed out during orientation that public areas were off limits. This entire beach is empty. Why is she sitting so close to me?”

I paused and took a sip of water. “And then came the ultimate injury – she actually had the nerve to ask me to go swimming with her.”

“I didn’t ask you to go swimming!” Radha interjected.

“You said it, hon. I know you did.”

She gave me a dubious grin.

“So," I continued, "here she is playing in the surf while I'm sitting on my orange towel - chewing each cherry carefully, spitting the pit into my brown paper bag, and furiously repeating my mantra. When I look up, I see Radha walking back to the shore and I realize she's naked...”