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In 1989, after moving to Whittier, California, I rebuilt my relationship with my 82-year-old mother, whose health was deteriorating. I committed to showing her love before it was too late. After making her final years more comfortable, I had a profound moment on Mother’s Day 1990, when I told her, “Yes, Mama. Thank you for being my mother.” Those would be the last words I said to her. She passed away shortly after. Through grief, I found clarity and purpose. Her passing deepened my presence and gave me the strength to speak with greater conviction and gratitude.

Our second European trip, as parents, was a far cry from the honeymoon’s chaos. With our toddler and Berkeley pregnant, we moved through London, Paris, and Avignon with ease—thanks to the grace and presence Berkeley now embodied. In Paris, we lived beside the Eiffel Tower, letting it be a backdrop, not a destination. In Avignon, a moment of danger with our son reminded me how quickly life can change. By the time we reached Lyon, we were aligned, navigating stress with calm. This trip wasn’t about discovery; it was about returning—together—learning and growing through the rhythm of our marriage.

In Tokyo, I stopped over on an IBM trip, playing a game to travel using only my American Express card. After facing unexpected hurdles, like no cash or ATM access, a kind taxi driver and hotel helped me out. At breakfast the next morning, I found myself surrounded by boxing legends, learning that the Mike Tyson vs. Buster Douglas fight was happening. I witnessed Tyson’s shocking loss from my hotel room. This moment taught me to stay open to the unexpected, embrace curiosity, and appreciate kindness. Life often surprises you when you least expect it—sometimes, just showing up makes all the difference.

After a fight in Tokyo, I journeyed to Singapore and then Jakarta, where I met the wife of the U.S. Ambassador. When I faced an unexpected exit tax, she paid it without hesitation. Later, we shared a quiet ride, her calm generosity leaving a lasting impression. In Jakarta, I observed stark contrasts—luxury within hotel walls, poverty just outside. I witnessed the global reach of MTV as Indonesian girls danced to reggae, and I saw invisible borders separating the elite from the masses. This trip deepened my awareness of privilege, cultural exchange, and the complex beauty of interconnectedness.

When John Conway became my manager at IBM, he saw potential in me beyond a mediocre assessment. He encouraged me to present my ideas to the Technical Staff, which led to me becoming the project leader. I implemented a compaction routine to solve PID's storage issues and later introduced structured programming to standardize processes, reducing errors and costs. Though resistant, the team adopted the changes, making structured programming an industry standard. Despite my technical success, I lacked people management skills, and the journey ahead required me to grow into a more well-rounded leader—a challenge I was ready to face.

By Christmas of 1979, I was thriving at IBM's PID, but a Secret Santa gift changed everything. A mirror with the word "PROBLEM" scrawled across it was a harsh reminder that, despite my success, I wasn’t part of the team. The incident sparked a deep reflection—both literally and figuratively—and I realized I had been too focused on work and logic, neglecting the relationships that could have made me feel more connected. Over time, I learned to balance my analytical skills with emotional connection, even starting to form friendships through photography. Then, when offered a leadership role, I gave it up for Keith, believing it was his turn. This act shifted the dynamic between us, but also marked the beginning of a new chapter in my career—a journey of transformation that would lead me to greater responsibilities and new opportunities

In the spring of 1978, at the crossroads of career and personal growth, I left my beloved teaching position at RCDS to take a leap into the corporate world. Faced with an unsympathetic headmaster and the yearning for a new challenge, I turned down a potential PhD return and seized an opportunity at IBM—an unexpected path that promised both intellectual growth and financial stability. After a whirlwind of interviews and wardrobe mishaps, I secured the job at IBM, which doubled my salary and set the stage for a career I could never have anticipated. It was a tough decision, but in the end, it changed everything.

A childhood friend, a troubled car, and a string of near-death experiences shape a life lived on the edge. The blue Datsun, a gift from a longtime friend, becomes a symbol of fate’s unpredictable hand. From a dangerous spinout on the Palisades Parkway to a narrow escape from the Hudson River, the car's chaotic ride mirrors the driver’s own search for meaning. Was it cursed or blessed? Perhaps both. This story, a mix of friendship, fate, and self-discovery, shows that sometimes, surviving the worst can lead to life’s greatest lessons.

Amid the quiet elegance of Cipe Pineles Burtin’s home, a young man wrestles with loneliness, longing for more than art, culture, and conversation. Surrounded by brilliance but craving intimacy, he hits the road—disco nights, dusty bars, and one unforgettable dance in Long Island. When romance finally sparks, prejudice slams the door shut. But with Cipe’s wisdom and the resilience she helped nurture, he carries on—undaunted. This deeply human story captures a soul’s search for love and belonging in a world of dazzling highs, sharp disappointments, and quiet hope.

In a quiet house in Stony Point, New York, a young Jamaican teacher shared nine transformative years with one of the most influential women in graphic design history—Cipe Pineles Burtin. As she grieved lost loves and mentored future creators, Cipe shaped a life of elegance, structure, and inspiration. Through dinner parties, garden talks, and quiet dinners over vermouth and chicken, she became a mother figure, mentor, and muse. This is a story of resilience, art, and the quiet strength of a woman who broke barriers—and the young man forever changed by her grace.

At RCDS, a Jamaican teacher found himself in a world of privilege, brilliance, and opportunity. Without a car but full of drive, he mentored future Ivy Leaguers and challenged a gifted misfit named Keith Raniere with graduate-level math. His teaching philosophy—rooted in curiosity and independence—ignited young minds and earned him a place in their lives forever. But while pushing others to excel, he overlooked his own health. At their graduation, he collapsed mid-speech—an early warning of diabetes that went unheeded. This is a story of inspiration, sacrifice, and the delicate balance between giving everything and saving something for yourself.

What to Do When One Partner Handles Most of the Emotional Labor

Emotional labor is anything that defines the demands of a relationship on an emotional level that takes emotional or mental energy from another person. This can be within the family, work situations or with friendships. Common examples would be initiating difficult conversations, managing children’s school experiences, deciding how to implement discipline, processing anxieties and fears of everyone in the household, remembering birthdays and anniversaries and making it a point to make them feel valued, and asking for help (sometimes repeatedly) when feeling overwhelmed with emptying the dishwasher, taking out the trash, or doing the laundry. When one partner is doing more of this work than the other, it can be a surefire path to resentment and discord.