Summer 1980. I was 23, almost 24. I had finished four years in the Air Force, stationed in England, and my engagment to an English girl was over. This was a good thing for both of us, although her breaking it off because God had spoken through a church member and said to do so — not so much. (This woman regretted her own marriage to a man I thought quite nice, and she said she had disobeyed God in marrying him and didn't want Maureen, my fiancee, to make the same mistake.)

So I went away with a group of friends to a Christian music festival — I was still devout and charismatic, and I was beginning to learn the ways of fundamentalism — where I met Louisa. There is much about my relationship with her I will tell no one, but this much is true: I loved her. Too bad I was clueless about how to have a real relationship; I was still years away from that knowledge. So we fell in love, we spent part of a year together, and then I came back to America and started my life all over again in Portland, Oregon, and never heard from Louisa again.

Years later, after my marriage ended and I went through the pain of being in love with the wrong woman, I met Beth. She was much younger than me: twenty-seven to my forty-four. But we fell in love, and we had a chance. Except that Beth didn't have the courage to see the relationship through. She cut me off with only a lame excuse that she still wasn't over her ex-boyfriend of the past three years. That didn't stop her from seeing other guys after me, and then deciding she wanted to get back with her ex-husband; mostly she was terrified of finally being with someone who would treat her well, who would love her, who would be part of a real relationship.

I had learned by then. It had taken a marriage and way too much pain, but I had learned how to have a real relationship, but Beth only knew how to have bad ones. She wasn't ready, even if I was. Which I might have been able to deal with had she talked to me about it, but she simply slammed the door and gave me no say in what would happen to us.

That took years to recover from, and I still miss her. I miss Louisa, too, but in a romantic, make-believe kind of way. What I really miss is what might have been possible. I miss that I still don't have that person in my life, the lover and partner and soulmate. I never realized, when I was with Louisa over half my life ago that I would go so many years and not find that person. I doubt Louisa was that person, and perhaps my "destiny" is to remain alone and chronicle that. I hope not, but I have learned to be at peace with being on my own. Yes, it sucks at times. But I have learned to live my life, not just on my own terms but in my own light. I don't base who and what I am on the feelings of another person. This is a good thing, and if I get lucky enough to meet the right person, I will be ready.

At twenty-three, I thought I knew what my life was about. I couldn't have been more wrong. I hadn't even cracked the surface of the pain I would know in my life, or the joy. If I regret anything from then, well — it's nothing. I would change nothing. Not because life couldn't have been better — it could have — but because my sons are worth every bit of it. If having Alex and Jesse means that I spent the past fifteen years alone, that I did not get to spend the past twenty-five years with Louisa, I am more than happy with that.

In my alternate life, however, I realized how stupid I was being and went to Louisa and told her I loved her and what did we have to do to make things better. That's the life I didn't live, and I don't miss it; I don't regret. I just hope I get that chance one more time. This time, I'd make it work out right.