“OK, so let’s role play. You’re going to be you…I’m going to be your best friend. And I want you to respond to me exactly as you would respond to your best friend.”
It was one of Benji’s many coaching tools—and a devastatingly effective one. At times when clients needed to balance their thinking to maximize their personal wellness or were struggling to meet a goal or didn’t know how to proceed or in almost in any situation where clients felt indecisive, Benji would assume the role of the client’s best friend in the world. After framing the friendship, within a few minutes Benji could get into character where the client would really get into the role play of talking to his or her best friend— then, Benji would pose the exact issue to the client that the client was struggling with. In providing advice to their “best friend” on the troublesome issue, oftentimes the clients’ advice served as self-talk to themselves…and the self-awareness generally put the clients on the path to problem resolution.
That was the plan, anyway. Even on the infrequent occasions it didn’t achieve the desired result, Benji employed an assortment of other tools and activities to successfully resolve his clients’ issues.
In addition to an expert ability to apply the tools of his profession, Benji had an authenticity that appealed to clients and prospective business partners alike. Benji scorned the industry practices which forced many of his peers to repeat the same phrases and jokes for every workshop— he knew people would not be fooled by an insincere approach. So he listened and reacted with sincerity. He knew when to lead and when to follow; he knew when to talk and when to listen; and he was an expert at using open-ended questions to bring about client self- awareness. It was these qualities that made him among the best in the region. Benji turned on charisma and charm combined humor, inspiration, patience, and empathy. He was expert at facilitating in groups and avoided giving his opinion to individual clients, preferring to wait until his clients caught on so they could take responsibility for their own solutions. In his profession, he literally had no weaknesses.
Benji was a life coach—and a highly regarded, well- paid one. His job was to solve client problems, or stated more clearly, his job was to increase client self-awareness so they could identify and solve their own problems. It sounded simple; Benji was amazed clients would pay up to $400 per hour to discuss their personal and professional challenges with him. His groups paid $100 per person for up to twenty people for an hour of his time—that’s $2,000 total an hour for his group work. He commanded up to $5,000 for a single speech, and his all-day leadership development, personality awareness, team- building, strength, and resilience seminars went for up to $14,000 a day. Benji was extremely well paid for his talents, and for good reason.
He was good. And he had an impressive inventory of material possessions to show for it.
He’d purchased for himself a stunningly beautiful luxury home, a modern palace complete with glass walls, a gourmet kitchen, formal and casual dining areas, and a state of the art entertainment system all set against the full beauty of nature. The furnishings were plush and reflected professional decoration, while a black Mazda Miata and a white Lexus competed for Benji’s attention in his spacious garage. Awards for his professional expertise and commitment to the community were spread on walls throughout the home. An in-home movie theater never ceased displaying Benji’s most inspirational movies or even videos of Benji himself being interviewed discussing his philosophies on personal development, personality theories, or diversity and inclusion.
He’d definitely come a long way from the days of making family Christmas presents from household materials and wrapping them in newspaper.
And yet, despite all he’d accomplished and accumulated, I knew Benji was not a totally happy man. His possessions…his accolades…his hard-earned professional standing in his industry— he thought all those things, individually or collectively, would fill the void in his life. None of his affluence could make him feel like he belonged. Like he’d really made it.
Like he’d finally found his way home.
Oh, but he could talk the talk, though. Benji’s clients were almost mesmerized by his combination of instinct, intellect, and training. He could read people like he was inside their minds— it was a talent that stemmed from the days where he refused to wear his glasses so he was ultimately forced to pick up on clues, however subtle, in other people’s tones, their inflections, their body language or even their auras…he even imagined he could almost smell what people were like and what they were about. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense. Accordingly, Benji could protect those who needed protection, listen to those who needed to be heard, tell a joke to those who needed a smile, or give straight talk to those who needed absolute honesty. He could see a room collectively and never gave the same workshop twice, even when the topic was the same, because no two groups were the same. It was a practiced skill that made Benji almost irresistible to his groups…and to his individual clients alike. He was in command of the group the minute he walked into any room.
And he could walk the walk too. To his coworkers, it seemed as though he were always in total control of the situation. Confident and mildly arrogant only to a level inspiring admiration as opposed to revulsion, he walked among his peers like their self declared emperor. And yet he carried a humility and a sense of dignity— he was never the loudest person in the room, never the obnoxious salesman, always the quiet hustler taking in the scene with just a hint of a smile, noting tendencies, moving from person to person, knowing just how much to say to show interest but moving on before he got tiresome. He was adored by his assistants and the firm’s secretarial staff. He even spent huge amounts of time with the building’s custodial team every chance he could— a few of the janitors were natives of Tanzania, and since Benji was teaching himself Swahili, he’d often spent an hour he could have spent making money by instead learning Swahili at the feet of the men whom he considered African mkuu zangu…the chiefs…the elders…although to everyone else, they were the building janitors.
But I knew Benji…so I knew what was wrong. I tried to have that conversation continually over the years, and I was still having it with him. I needed to make him understand.
I knew he felt the need to hold a part of himself back. There was a certain unspoken expectation from his professional community…and whispers followed those who did not conform to those expectations, as well as those who were deemed successful. Jealousies, both personal and professional, existed in this world. And for Benji— perhaps for anyone—it was extremely difficult if not impossible to feel like you were at home in this sometimes secretly cutthroat environment. Everything he said, every interaction he had—it all seemed like an audition…every time. He thought back to being tested as a teen; by the one who slapped him out of his seat in school, by Mexican gang bangers outside of Ricky’s house, by the guy who confronted him with the golf club. Those were tests he’d had to pass every time too. These were different kinds of tests but he imagined his life experiences had prepared him well for these professional “auditions” that seemed to occur randomly. He’d never begged for his life back then, not once; he couldn’t imagine himself begging for something as simple as anyone’s approval now.
For example, Benji was aware that some in his firm considered his time spent with the Tanzanian janitors done for the benefit of his image…for reputation. Some asserted he only spent time with the custodial staff when it could be noticed by or reported to the firm’s partners. Some derisively claimed he did it to look “cute.” When informed by an ally, Benji dismissively claimed, “Love me or hate me…it’s all good. Love me, and I’m always in your heart. Hate me, and I’m always on your mind. Either way…I win.”
He thought it was a Shakespearean quote. Or based on one. Whatever it was, Benji learned it as an undergraduate and thought it had a street edge to it, so he loved it and filed it away mentally. But when it was reported back to him as evidence of his arrogance by another supposed ally, Benji realized he’d been betrayed by the initial person he thought was a friend. That incident taught him a valuable lesson.
There were no permanent friends in this business. A friend today would be competing for your spot tomorrow.
So not knowing who was friend and who was enemy, he held back aspects of his personality. In some situations, he was comfortable giving eighty percent of who he really was…in some cases he gave fifty percent of this true self. Sometimes he could only give ten percent of what was real, and oftentimes, the person he displayed at work to his professional teammates was nothing like the real Benji at all. Though it was necessary, it was during these times Benji felt like a carefully crafted corporate clown…like a puppet dancing for other people’s enjoyment and comfort.
And it was a nauseating feeling.
But here, it was important to “fit,” and there were times when Benji didn’t want to fit…he just wanted to be Benji. He didn’t want to hear about and feign interest in the same topics over and over. He didn’t want to wear expensive suits…he wanted to wear casual attire, even jeans…and sometimes did so at the cost of being subject to the firm’s gossipmongers. And he was weary of being asked to consciously or unconsciously represent every black person in world. It was as if the partners didn’t realize not everyone who looks the same thinks the same way or has the same dreams, goals, aspirations, or outlooks. When his bosses asked him, “What do you think, Ben?” the question behind their gaze was “Tell us what minorities think,” or “How might our minority clients respond to this?” And though Benji answered, he often thought, “If you want to know what minorities think, you need to talk to them. You can’t just read one article…or talk to one black person…or two…or ten…and think you know black people.”
It was simply exhausting at times.
Though it may sound strange…Benji also resented being asked to smile.
It was often an innocent request, one given as a compliment and accompanied by a sincere “C’mon, you have a great smile!” But somewhere inside him…he couldn’t quite figure it out or where he’d gotten the idea or heard it from, but full-on smiles just to put people at ease seemed almost cartoonish to Benji. Maybe he’d learned that in college, or maybe it was something Marcus told him when they were kids. Maybe it stemmed from incidents like when he was in Tokyo and the Japanese lady on the subway brazenly requested to see his teeth to determine if they were real.
Smiling was ok for women; Benji loved seeing women smile, but when he saw men smile too wide, there was just something about it that repulsed him. Maybe it stemmed from where he’d grown up, where he did not see men walking around smiling at each other. Laughing? Yes, sometimes. But smiling? Seemed like a weakness. But he was asked to smile often. He imagined women who were unconsciously judged by their looks might feel the same way about being constantly complimented on how they were dressed—he imagined they sometimes wanted to come to work in the most basic attire possible just so they wouldn’t have to hear “you look nice today”…again. Benji DID smile…but his smiles during workshops and individual sessions came naturally. During other times though, Benji would grin a little and nod when asked to smile. But in his mind, he would often think with some hostility, “What am I? A puppet?” Though annoyed, he was disciplined enough to not let it show. But through it all, his thinking was, “I don’t fake- smile…and I don’t dance on demand.”
But I knew that sometimes he did. Not as often as some others, but often enough that he was disgusted with himself after he did it.
He totally despised social media. All the firm’s practitioners were strongly encouraged to become active and expert at utilizing the various forms of social media to attract clients, build networks, and expand the firm’s reach. Some of his peers even conducted group workshops and individual sessions using the medium and strutted like peacocks at the earnings resulted; it was an efficient way to conduct business. But Benji was inwardly contemptuous of the practice…for him, it was the equivalent of being good at a boxing video game versus truly being able to fight. They all put their best selves, their best pictures, their best quotes on social media. They could labor over responses until they found the perfect response, and virtual workshops didn’t require the focus and skill required to keep an audience engaged— it was more like a one- way lecture; it was nothing like the energizing in-person sessions Benji favored. Those online types earned more, but Benji was better. He knew it. And they knew it too. Benji’s assistant maintained a minimal social media presence for him, but he considered it beneath him. It was ok for lesser practitioners, but wasn’t worthy of a man of his skill.
What he really loved was going to his parents’ house or to see family every chance he got. He didn’t drive one of his luxury vehicles when he went…he had a used Nissan for when he went home because he didn’t want to talk about or emphasize the world he was running away from—he wanted to enjoy the world he was running to…and his luxury cars were a distraction. He loved listening to Pops and laughing at his stories as they shared a glass of VO in the Frazier family’s modest back yard. He loved playing spades and dominoes with his brothers and the playful shit-talking that accompanied each and every game. He loved taking turns claiming the family Monopoly championship, and he was almost ecstatic one time when he came home and found his parents purchased a karaoke machine that provided a score to each musical performance. It was something else for him and his brothers to have fun competing at, but Benji probably had even more fun singing duets with Nikki. Often, Benji and his sister would continue singing “Beauty and the Beast,” “Up Where We Belong,” “A Whole New World,” or a favorite from his childhood, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” long after his other siblings went home, Nikki’s husband and children had fallen asleep waiting for them to finish, and his parents had likewise gone to bed. Benji thought maybe they were being too loud, but his parents never came out to ask them to keep it down. In fact…more than once, Benji would note Pops reappearing to quietly listen to his children sing. And smile at the sound.
He checked in on his childhood friends during those visits home too. Brian led a local band now, and though they didn’t make much money, in true artist’s fashion, Brian didn’t care. Benji would attend his friend’s sessions at beach parties, small bars, and wine-tasting sessions where they played for a plate of food and tips, and he was always excited when Brian would invite him to join as a guest vocalist on “Stand by Me” or “Super Bad .” But even better than that was Brian’s backyard. Ricky would join them sometimes, and the three childhood friends would all sing along and drink liquor from plastic red cups as Brian strummed the chords to “Betcha by Golly Wow,” the song Brian first sang in junior high school concerts and Ricky sang in Spanish on the way to school when they were all fifteen.
With Ricky, he noted how his friend bounced from job to job and from woman to woman. Ricky was not the same happy-go-lucky teenager he’d grown up with, and as Benji picked up on some things, he thought he could help his childhood friend. But offering help was a tricky thing: in this neighborhood, admitting a weakness was still a taboo, whether as the teen they once were or the men they were now. He had to help smoothly…easily…almost slyly…and in such a way, Ricky would not realize he was being coached. So Benji noted once, “Yeah, I can see myself in five years…I’m going to be doing this and that.” He said reported on what he was doing immediately to reach his goals, and then on what he was going to do next week…next month…next year—and he went to Ricky for advice on how to do it all. Ricky fell right into it…in giving Benji advice, he was giving himself advice. And Benji was pleased as he saw Ricky begin to settle down, express happiness with his career, and plan to save enough to buy an automotive franchise. And he knew Ricky was able to maintain his pride because no one said anything was wrong with him or offered to help him…he’d come up with it on his own. It was very important to let a man keep his pride. Just like Ricky did for Benji in shop class when they were in junior high.
Yes, he loved going to his old neighborhood. Every time. The only negative was eventually he had to leave— he had to go back.
Back to his supposedly perfect life.
His attention was drawn back to his dark-haired client, who was excitedly speaking to him now as if she were speaking to her best friend. His technique was working…as it usually did. Since this technique required him to ask her to repeat back and restate what she was saying, he allowed himself a minor lapse in concentration.
He knew her…kind of. She was from the neighborhood, and Nikki asked him to see her. Benji agreed, and he was now trying to place her. She looked really familiar…where did he know her from? From her comments she’d made when the session began, it seemed like…maybe he knew her from…junior high school maybe?
Which took Benji back to that fateful year…the year his journey to the place where he currently found himself began.
Dr. Deen’s science class.
He’d left the science class bound and determined to not complete his project. It was spring vacation, right after that party, and his girlfriend reminded him he needed to do it.
He’d been surprised when she said that, but he still hadn’t intended to do the project. Until Angela stepped in.
His sister’s idea was to develop a BASIC computer program that could serve as a computer dating service for teenagers.
The Beginners’ All-purpose Symbolic Instruction Code, or BASIC, was confusing to Benji, but with Angela’s tutoring, he began to pick it up quickly…
10 Input “What is your name: ?”, N$
20 Print “Hello”; N$
30 Input “Are you a boy or a girl?”, S$
40 Input “What is your birthday?”, A
And from those initial inputs, Benji and his sister worked on a BASIC computer program that once it computed the users’ zodiac signs and genders, would tell the users who in the school was a good match for them. Benji had to figure out what zodiac signs were the perfect matches for the other signs—Nikki helped him with that; she knew all about that kind of stuff. And once Nikki knew what he was doing, she became really interested in her younger brother’s project too, so…and maybe for the first time, Nikki and Benji worked together to finish the project, working night and day together. And it was from that time, the two middle siblings got much closer. They’d always loved each other but they’d also love fighting each other. Well, not “fighting”—fighting was what Benji did with his brothers. It was more like…”sniping” at each other. But from this time, the emphasis between them became less on the sniping and more on the bond.
But Benji had more work to do…he needed to find out people’s birthdays and figure out how to store them in the program’s internal data base. Then he had to figure out how to tell the computer to select the best match. Then he had to figure how to tell the computer to select the right gender. It was confusing…difficult…and fun. It was a series of “if the person says this, then do that” statements within the program, and the further he got along into the program, the more he had to learn.
And for the first time in his life, Benji felt…smart.
When spring vacation ended and Benji turned in his project, he could tell Dr. Deen was surprised. And for some reason, Benji thoroughly enjoyed the look of shock on her face when he turned in and explained his now- treasured program— it was the greatest school thing he’d ever done.
Deen gave him a B-plus.
“It is an interesting take on combining computer science with the science of psychology, Benjamin. I applaud your effort, and you have obviously learned a lot. I note horoscopes have no scientific benefit, but if you are utilizing the concept, I would have liked to see the program use questions to ascertain the users’ personalities and horoscopes instead of simply asking them their birthdays. But this is an impressive effort, Benjamin…extremely impressive. You should be lauded for your work on this.”
“Not lauded with an A, though,” I thought to myself sarcastically. I was annoyed with Dr. Deen myself. I made plans to keep Benji’s spirits lifted.
But it was unnecessary.
Benji didn’t care what his teacher said. He didn’t care what his teacher thought. He didn’t even care what his grade was. He knew how much effort he put into his project, he knew what he’d learned in a short period of time, and he knew his project was good. In fact, he knew it was better than some of the other projects, so he didn’t care what anyone else did either. He simply enjoyed the brand new sensation of experiencing the feeling of being smart for the first time in his life.
Benji did not become a high performing academic, though. But what he had was the confidence to know that anytime he wanted to do it, he could do it if he wanted to work hard enough. He knew he was smart now.
He just didn’t always want to show it if the subject was uninteresting.
His high school years saw him on an academic seesaw, sometimes displaying brilliance and sometimes displaying a lackadaisical attention to his required studies. But what started with Dr. Deen continued in his high school years…when he thought his work was good, or when he knew his work was good, he didn’t care about his grade or what anyone else thought about it. It seemed like teachers were always finding fault with him anyway; even when he worked hard, it was as if they didn’t want him on the same level as the geniuses.
So as time passed on, he cared about impressing people less and less. But he found himself with an increasing fascination with people, personality, and relationships— and his poor vision caused him to focus on subtleties others may have missed but gave him clues about why they thought the way they thought and why they did the things they did.
His education extended beyond the classroom. He could spend hours watching and listening to Marcus opine about his philosophies regarding life and people; he watched Nikki and listened to her motivations and observed Sid’s easy way of dealing with people and influencing them. There was no one he wouldn’t watch…everyone was his teacher in the art of why people were who they were and how people interacted with each other.
He wasn’t interested in going to college. Too many teachers trying to judge him. But when he was surprisingly accepted to a few, Angela helped him fill out the paperwork for grants and loans to help him start on his post–high school journey. Though he was becoming an above-average student, he was less impressed with the ramblings of his professors and peers, who loved to use big words and say long sentences in an effort to show how smart they were. He much preferred riding with his father on his route to watch his father interact with people along the way; he loved studying his mother and her interactions with each of her children, as well as friends and neighbors. He often felt like he learned more from watching his parents, siblings, and the people in his neighborhood than all his years in college put together.
Angela finished college, got a really good job, and left though. Benji missed her…but something was different. He never heard his parents talk about it; he never heard anybody talk about it. But something was definitely different.
Angela had gotten a job in public relations or communications or something. She was dealing with a lot of big shots now, and apparently they depended on her for whatever it was she did. Benji knew his parents were very proud of her, but the thing was…Angela just didn’t come around much anymore. Maybe she was tired of being the big sister everyone always depended on, but she just came around less and less and less. And when she did come, she talked differently. She used a bunch of big words, like it seemed like she was intentionally trying to embarrass them all if they didn’t know what they meant. Or…she seemed to assume they didn’t know what the words meant. She talked a lot about the high- level people she was dealing with…it wasn’t so much what she said but how she said it. Like…she was better than they were now. And being a student of people and motivations himself, Benji caught every deep breath…every small sigh…every eye roll. It was like she was laboring to be in the presence of her own family.
And his parents knew it too. They never said anything. They just shared little smiles with each other. Knowing glances. Then you could tell they knew what Angela was doing and feeling. But they let it go without comment. They were just proud parents.
As Benji watched these scenes unravel, he knew his sister was inside this stranger’s body some place, and he didn’t love her any less. Nevertheless, he made a vow…what happened to Angela would never happen to him. These were his people. This was his neighborhood. And he would never ever forget it…ever.
He didn’t feel like the academic world appreciated him anyway. Ever since the project in science class with Deen, it was like they kinda liked what he did but they didn’t want to let him all the way in. Probably because he refused to talk like them or think he was better…like they all seemed to think.
Including his own sister.
I interrupted Benji’s constant mental rampage to say, “Benji— could it be that you don’t get full credit because you don’t fully follow the instructions? There is such a thing as a rubric, but you refuse to follow it—you won’t even look at it. They appreciate your genius! But could it be they have to judge all students by the same standard?”
But Benji resisted this logic. He was determined to be accepted on his own terms. And since his work continued to fall just short of the compliance with academic standards exhibited by his peers, Benji increasingly began to judge himself not by grades but by his own internal standards and individual sense of accomplishment.
It created in Benji a situation where he almost felt like he was acting as a kind of double agent. He was fully capable of reading a rubric, complying with it, and participating in a discussion with his most studied counterparts and even his distinguished professors—he became fluent in their language, so to speak. But at the same time, he decried those who leaned heavily on research and academic study while ignoring how real people talked, thought, and interacted. For Benji’s part, he maintained his balance by utilizing his accumulated knowledge through application to his personal circumstances. He developed an expertise in breaking down studies and academia into what he called “the language of real people.” And as he advanced through his undergraduate and graduate studies, his knowledge was of great benefit to the disadvantaged people in his own community. Benji developed the ability to perfectly straddle what seemed to be two different worlds, seemingly comfortable in either world…but one was a facade and the other was real.
Benji easily found work upon graduation. First, it was basic entry-level counseling jobs—important work, but nothing that truly used his full capability…yet. At various times, he found himself employed as a crisis counselor working as an advocate for domestic violence prevention, a career placement officer, a group counseling leader, an alcohol and drug counselor, and the like. And at the same time, he continued to volunteer services in the community which augmented his paying jobs and rounded out his experience further. He also took advantage of every training opportunity…equal opportunity training, diversity, and various methods of personality assessment.
Benji had taken a midlevel coaching job with a large firm—they’d been extremely impressed with his ability to connect with audiences during different types of workshops and the array of situations he was comfortable in. Large and small companies hired them to indoctrinate new employees, develop existing employees, and provide coaching services to its senior executives. When one of the partners approached Benji with an opportunity to become certified in an advanced leadership development technique, Benji readily accepted.
The course intrigued Benji from the first day. His mind literally spun with all the possibilities of using the tools he was being certified to employ. As was his custom, he mostly stayed silent and observed. He was silently contemptuous of those who continually asked questions not in search of knowledge but to seem knowledgeable. It was a common practice in academia that Benji despised.
But then, toward the end of the course…Benji advanced a question.
“So…can this tool be modified for group coaching sessions?”
They been trained to administer the leadership development assessment to individuals and then provide follow-up individual coaching.
The instructor smiled knowingly and dismissed Benji’s question out of hand.
“No, no, no, no, no…” he began.
“Five nos without even asking about what I have in mind?” Benji thought sarcastically.
“No, no…this tool is meant to be used one on one. It’s not appropriate for a group session.”
Benji’s face was impassive. He even nodded slightly to indicate he accepted the instructor’s explanation.
But inside— the statement was already embedded in his mind.
“We’ll see about that.”
Almost immediately upon graduation, Benji went to work turning what was intended to be a one-on-one developmental session into a group session that allowed him to develop thirty leaders for the cost of a single coach.
When he presented it to his bosses, they were thrilled with his proposal…but for different reasons.
They intended to utilize Benji’s creation to charge the thirty leaders individually for each session…increasing revenue by thirty since a single coach could conduct the workshop.
And when the firm patented Benji’s process…it increased revenues even further.
And Benji’s financial fortunes and notoriety in his industry took an immediate upturn. Though as an employee, he received no direct benefit, he was known as the process’s author. It made him valuable to similar firms, both in the United States and internationally. It made him more valuable to his firm— and the firm drastically increased his salary to keep him in place.
Or maybe they didn’t want him to contest ownership of the leadership development process he’d created. Benji was unsure. But for what he was getting paid, they could have the process. He’d built that one; he’d build another whenever he wanted to.
And with his new wealth came the accumulation of material goods…the increased attention of new, similarly high-powered peers…and an increased agitation for Benji as he felt an increased pull away from his comfort zone.
He was almost embarrassed to have family at his home. He didn’t want to seem like his sister. His parents didn’t care about his wealth— they cared that he came home to spend time with his father, though. Pops had retired, but determined to stay busy, he bought candy and set up a neighborhood candy store in their garage. Benji treasured time riding with his father to buy candy in bulk and then bringing it home to help his father count his inventory, move the older candy to the front, and eat the oldest candy while his father told stories and reveled in the attention from his son.
His siblings didn’t care about his cars. His brothers cared about their tradition of watching the fights together. He, Marcus, and Sid always watched the major sporting events together…the NBA playoffs, March Madness, the World Series, college football, the NFL playoffs…whatever was on depending on the season. But the brothers especially loved watching boxing together and arguing about current boxers and past fights. Each considered himself an expert. Benji had almost considered becoming a fighter once. He often fantasized about it.
And Nikki treasured their marathon karaoke sessions, of course.
And Mama? She just wanted to feed him. And she would call to make sure he was coming; she’d keep Benji on the phone for almost an hour telling him about the goings- on in their neighborhood, Pops’s doctors’ appointments, talking about her grandchildren, talking about good girls Benji needed to meet, when Benji was going to get married, why he needed to get married, and when he was going to give her more grandchildren.
Benji swerved Mama on that topic. Though he preferred to go home than have family over, he did not feel the same about the numerous women he often brought into his home.
Benji’s insight into personality and human motivation made him quite an effective seducer of women. Interestingly enough—he rarely tried to seduce the numerous visitors to his home. He was a relaxed conversationalist: funny when humor was called for, an expert listener, and practiced at getting people…in this case, women…to reveal their inner vulnerabilities and thoughts. Plus…somewhere over the years, the dark skin that made him subject to taunts as a teenager was now considered exotic and enticing to women. All kinds of women.
Or maybe that was a result of his confidence and maturity.
Or maybe that was a result of his ever- expanding bank account.
But no matter the reason, Benji made frequent use of what he called his “Real Quiet Storm” playlist. First, Tony Tone Toni would gently ask his guests to “Lay Your Head on My Pillow”, before Silk requested the women to let Benji help them to “Lose Control”, then in the aftermath, L.T.D would remind them “We Both Deserve Each Other’s Love” as they basked in the aftermath. And after a while it wasn’t the singers singing anymore and creating an atmosphere where seduction was ripe.
It was Benji talking. With his eyes.
He didn’t know why he seemed to be so good at talking with his eyes.
Benji enjoyed these women but never met any like his mama often suggested he should marry. Those kinds of women never looked Benji’s way. But now…here…was the dark- haired girl from his old neighborhood. He did know her. Or at least…he remembered her.
Benji was fascinated. For some reason this girl had always fascinated him. She was different from any girl he knew back then and any of the women he had recently been with. She was smart, but also there was a realness to her demeanor. She was funny without trying to be. She was confident yet vulnerable. She shared, but yet…there was still a mystery about her. And her dark-haired beauty was unlike that of anyone he’d ever met.
And from the way she was sharing…the way she was looking at him…was she was developing a type of emotional connection with her life coach?
With Benji? After all these years?
Benji was a practiced and patient seducer of women…but he wanted to ask this dark-haired girl from his past for a real date. But not to his home. Seduction not on his mind, but he would also fight against any urges to seduce or have expectations of her being with him. Because he had zero expectations. No matter what.
And at that moment, Benji experienced a powerful sense of déjà vu . It was as if he’d had these feelings and internal conversations before.
I smiled.
And then…Benji told her she needed to go, that he was late for his next appointment, rushing her out of the room. As she departed, he told her he was very busy but he would definitely have someone from his firm help her and to make sure his assistant got her insurance information.
And just like that…she was gone.
I was puzzled.
In Benji’s subconscious, I planted a question: “Why did you do that? Why did you let her go?”
I thought he would say it was because she was a client—that would have been an acceptable answer, though it had never stopped him before.
But that was not Benji’s response.
He opined, “We’re from different sides of the tracks now. It wouldn’t be a good mix. Not anymore.”
And I was flabbergasted.
“Not a good mix? Says who? Why not? Or do you mean…not a good mix for you? What is going on here, Benjamin? You spent all these years being real and staying connected, and now…a woman from your neighborhood with an obvious connection is not a good mix?”
I paused before I decided I needed to continue.
“What is the real reason you hesitate to bring your family into your home? Is it truly because you are embarrassed to display your belongings to your family? Or…is it because you are embarrassed to have your father, your mother, Nikki, and your brothers drive their cars in your neighborhood? Because you don’t want your neighbors to hear you debating sports loudly with your brothers? Because you don’t want the sounds of karaoke coming from your expensive house in your gorgeous quiet neighborhood?”
“Have you become Angela?”
There were times when Benji stared right at me. Though I knew I was invisible to him, it was almost as if he could see me clearly. This was one of those times.
And he was enraged.
And then he began to consider what I said.
In truth— with all of his wealth and possessions, there was definitely something missing from his life. He was great at his job — he was not being arrogant to consider himself the best in his industry; he was charismatic, sincere, knowledgeable, and versatile. He didn’t do what he did for money…he believed in what he did. And it made him lots of money.
But the results of his talents didn’t seem real. It was like he was trapped in another dimension. His coworkers were nice to him, but he just often felt like he didn’t fit in, and the effort to pretend like he did was exhausting. His bosses, the firm’s partners, were interested in making money. They used Benji and others out to make money— they were unconcerned with quality. The firm’s reputation was such that their clients believed they were getting superior service when in fact they were getting average service. The partners stole Benji’s creation and used it to extract even more money from their clients—and Benji allowed it in exchange for a higher salary.
He was tired of forcing himself to smile all the time. He was tired of living a separate life from the people who really mattered. He was tired of the endless series of relationships, if you could call them that, dalliances that all started the same, went the same way, and ultimately…ended the same.
I saw his quandary; to me, the solution was a simple one.
Quit.
“Why don’t you resign? You have plenty of money…you have a reputation in this industry. Why not go home? Remember how you helped Ricky? You can do that full time, Benji. They can’t pay as much, and you may lose some things. But you can go home…freelance for a few smaller companies since you won’t have your firm’s resources. But you’ll be OK with less. I know you’ll be happier, and…you can pursue the dark-haired girl. Go after her—you wanted a date. Call her and ask her to go to a movie.”
“Just quit this life, Benjamin. If you can surrender the material things you say you hate, you will definitely be OK.”
A look of calm and pure peace entered Benji’s spirit as he considered what I’d planted in his subconscious.
Home.
He would trade the comfort of home for his modern palace, complete with glass walls set against the beauty of nature. He would trade the comfort of home for his gourmet kitchen and formal and casual dining areas. He would trade the comfort of home for his state of the art entertainment system. There would be no more plush furnishings, and he would no longer be able to even afford the insurance on his Mazda Miata or his Lexus. He would surrender his in-home movie theater too.
He would give it all up in exchange for the comfort of being home and working in his own community. And to date the dark-haired girl who’d just left.
And then…slowly…almost as if it were happening in slow motion, the look of calm and peace on Benji’s face was transformed into a look of worry, concern…and distress.
Benji took another mental inventory of all he would voluntarily surrender, including the considerable fortune he’d already invested in purchasing these items.
He remembered now…he expected to be offered a partnership in this firm. In fact, he was certain of it. When that happened, his already considerable income would triple, if not quadruple.
And like the current partners, he would get paid off other coaches’ labor.
He checked his messages— there was an email from a beautiful female social worker he’d met telling him how much she enjoyed their meeting and that his talent was exciting.
He heard a voice message from a voluptuous woman he’d met at a professional conference saying she was in town on business for a week and asking what his schedule looked like.
I watched…and waited.
As Benji sat transfixed in thought, his ultraefficient assistant appeared in the doorway.
“Your stress management group is ready and waiting, sir.”
Benji looked at his assistant and thought of how necessary she was to his success; she knew him, anticipated what his needs were in advance, and was talented and versatile enough to get him to appointments on time, plan his trips, manage conferences, or even fill in for him conducting workshops. She learned from her boss, accepted his mentorship, combined it with her own talents, and created a facilitation style all her own. She was very, very good.
And Benji knew she was another thing he would no longer be able to afford if he left his current life and went home.
Benji took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment…and when he opened his eyes, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted from his spirit.
“I’ll visit the old neighborhood this weekend,” he thought to himself.
“Or the week after…”
Then, with a huge, dazzling smile illuminating a charisma intended to charm paint off the wall, he exclaimed to his assistant with a sly wink, “Well, all right…let’s go get ’em, teammate.”
But I watched after Benji with some sadness as he departed. Clearly— in life, whether you “win” or “lose”…there always seems to be a price to pay.
Because…I don’t think I’d ever seen him smile quite that way ever before. His now over the top smile had never been quite THAT big.
For me, it didn’t seem quite…real. For good reason.
It wasn’t.