The Joy of Becoming Better Together

(My 1994 Myers-Briggs Scoresheet)

The first time I took the Myers-Briggs personality test, in 1994, the executive coach said something that immediately got my attention.

“I’ve never seen anyone score a zero on one of the personality dimensions,” she told me.

“What did I get a zero on?” I asked hesitantly.

“Feeling,” she said. “Zero.”

Ouch.

“Feeling,” in Myers-Briggs terms, describes a preference in decision-making, not whether someone experiences emotions. Still, the result felt uncomfortably revealing.

My personality type is ISTP—analytical, independent, practical, and inclined to approach problems logically. My wife, Michelle, is my mirror image. She is an ENFJ—empathetic, relational, intuitive, and remarkably gifted at understanding people.

Over thirty-six years of marriage, she has patiently taught me lessons I probably should have learned much sooner.

When I was a young marketing manager, my first direct report received a promotion. Michelle asked me a simple question.

“What did you do to celebrate Paul’s promotion?”

“Nothing,” I responded.

Incorrect.

“These occasions matter a great deal to other people,” she explained. “If you want to become a good manager, you need to learn to see things from the other person’s perspective.”

She was right. The promotion was not simply a personnel decision. It was an important moment in Paul’s life, one that deserved to be recognized.

That conversation stayed with me. As my career progressed, I became responsible for more people and larger organizations. Business problems generally came naturally to me. Understanding how decisions made people feel required more effort.

Michelle helped me learn to pause, notice, and ask questions that would not otherwise have occurred to me. Her coaching gradually raised my “Feeling” score, not on a personality test, perhaps, but in the ways that mattered.

I also learned about resilience by watching her hold our family together through the countless moves that accompanied my career. Whether we were moving internationally or relocating with children in high school, she focused first on making sure everyone else was adjusting before worrying about herself.

I tended to concentrate on the practical problems: the new job and the boxes that needed to be unpacked. Michelle understood that a successful move involved more than logistics. It meant helping each person feel secure, connected, and at home again.

It took me decades to realize that the most important leadership skills are really just human ones. In fact, when I sat down to write The Meaning of Joy, I realized the core dynamics driving my characters—trust, authenticity, belonging, and emotional growth—weren't learned in business meetings. They were shaped over thirty-six years of marriage.

They say the most important decision we make is choosing the person with whom we will spend our life. That is one decision I know I got right.

Looking back over thirty-six years, I don’t think our marriage has succeeded despite our differences. I think it has succeeded, in part, because of them.

Michelle taught me to notice feelings I otherwise might have missed. I helped her step back from problems that sometimes needed time more than an immediate response. Each of us brought something the other needed.

Together, we became better than either of us could have become alone.

Michelle is my opposite in many ways, my most patient teacher, and my best friend.

After thirty-six years, we are still becoming better together.

Continue the Journey

If you enjoy stories about the quiet ways people shape our lives, you'll feel right at home in my novel, The Meaning of Joy. It explores these exact themes of trust, memory, and second chances.

Has someone close to you helped you become a better version of yourself? I’d enjoy hearing about them. Contact me here.