How I Met My Wife in a Parking Garage and Why That’s Not as Creepy as It Sounds

It was kind of an accident that I moved to Washington, DC in the first place.

After finishing undergrad at Ole Miss, I spent the better part of a year traveling before I ran out of money. I’ll spare you the details but it happened in Paris and that town sucks to be broke in. Returning home, I went to DC to help my parents furnish a temporary apartment for my mother, who’d been appointed to a yearlong fellowship with NOAA.

Donning a dark pinstripe suit and clutching a stack of resumes, I hit Capitol Hill looking for a job. By sheer dumb luck, I stumbled into a paid internship after only two interviews and one huge, embarrassing failure in the first one.

And so DC became my “movable feast”.

I was like Jim Carrey in “Yes Man”. I was up for anything and everything. Possibilities were endless and frontiers were everywhere.

And it led to the moment that changed everything.

Thinking it was a good way to meet people, I joined a social running club. One of the runs ended in a parking garage one fateful night. While the group drank water, cooled down and chatted in the crisp fall air, I noticed I was walking toward a particular young woman that had caught my eye earlier.

I put myself out there and took a chance. I said hello to the pretty girl in the Ohio State sweater. Now I have two kids and live in Ohio.

That’s some shit.

The whole point is this: nothing big happens without getting in the arena and getting skin in the game. Being vulnerable opens us up to failure, sure. But it also opens us up to victory.

Champions are not made at pep rallies.

So take your shot.

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