Learning from Geoff, June 2025

Geoff enjoying a ride at the car dealership.

Why do we fall in love? 

As I approached the second anniversary of Geoff’s passing, I developed a theory. 

We fall in love, and we stay in love, because we are drawn to learning what, perhaps, only this person can teach us. 

I am still learning from Geoff and I expect to keep learning from him for the rest of my days on this planet. 

I’m planning on posting an annual essay about what I learned or am still learning as I contemplate Geoff’s life. I’ll aim for sharing an essay each year in the spring.         

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Geoff usually took our cars for service, and the first time after Geoff’s passing that I took on this routine task, I brought with me a non-routine responsibility. I had to ask the service staff to update their info to make me the contact person. 

“You’re probably used to seeing my husband, Geoff, but in March he passed away unexpectedly.” Tears welled up and, as I struggled to regain what little composure I had in those early months, I noticed that the man across the counter appeared shaken. 

“Oh no,” he said. “I’ve known Geoff for years and years. He was such a nice man.” As he continued talking about his long connection with Geoff, listing each vehicle we bought and had serviced at the dealership, I realized that this was a person whom Geoff had befriended. It dawned on me that Geoff had mentioned this man in the typical way he spoke of other workers who he referred to by name from visiting his favorite coffee shops, breakfast joints, car dealers and grocery stores.

We didn't plan to split the grocery shopping job in the way that we did, but it turned out that I was the main shopper for more than two decades, then Geoff was the main shopper for more than two decades. He did most of his shopping in a big store owned by an out-of-town corporation. This wasn't a mom and pop locally-owned neighborhood store where shoppers commonly know the workers. Yet, unlike me in my decades of shopping, Geoff made personal connections with some of the store workers. 

He brought home stories about a person who loved their work, about someone who was about to transfer to a different job in the store, about the person who ran the store coffee shop, and about someone who wasn't cut out for their tasks and was seeking other employment. He knew their names. When it was time to order a turkey for Thanksgiving, he didn't name the store. Instead, he mentioned the name of the person who would take the order. 

When grocery stores were smaller and locally-owned, people tended to know their grocer and their whole staff, perhaps only a few people, often from the same family. But, who besides Geoff kept up this level of familiarity at corporate megastores large enough to attract exercise buffs who show up at 6 am just to walk long perimeter? I know I didn't. As the world grew to be increasingly anonymous, Geoff held onto the fact that within each corporate entity are real human beings, each with their own story.

Libraries, bars, coffee shops and parks are called "third places." Home is the first place and work is the second place. When we visit these "third places" we enjoy casual human connections. I learned from Geoff is that the car repair place and the grocery store can also be a "third place." 

There was something elusive about Geoff that encouraged people to talk about themselves even when on the job. And it's this elusive something that I find to be a mystery. It's a mystery I'm trying to  understand because I have a hunch that it's one of those things that only Geoff could teach me.       

Once I asked Geoff to tell me about his favorite part of his job as an electronics engineer. I expected him to say that he loved solving technical problems, because I knew for a fact that he did. He looked so satisfied when he came home after a day of wizardry and told me that he had figured out how to make a new circuit board or program work. So, what he said surprised me. 

"I like it when people stop by my office to talk about their projects," he said. I remembered his telling me about some of these visits over the years. Sometimes he mentioned that he had offered a bit of advice. 

Knowing Geoff’s gentle manner, I remembered what my brother Rudi had said, "I always had some topic in his area expertise to talk about with Geoff. I have a "blanket" remembrance of him giving me quizzical looks that usually meant I was doing something that I should rethink before finishing and he was usually right!"

Geoff wasn't a big talker. I knew for sure that people didn't tend to talk to Geoff because he drew information from them with a series of questions. He was more subtle than that. His interaction could be, as Rudi pointed out, as simple as a quizzical expression.  

It's the mindset behind this subtlety that I'm trying to learn from Geoff. My tendency is take the opposite approach. The more curious I am, the more questions I ask. I'm realizing that Geoff's somewhat mysterious and rather subtle approach often leads to better rapport.

I'm reminded about occasionally asking Geoff for advice when stuck on a Worldle puzzle. He didn't play this on his own, but he was happy to collaborate with me to figure the solution to the puzzles I found most challenging. He almost always saw the answer that had eluded me. The thing is, he offered it tentatively, usually in a whispered voice. There was never a moment of competition or a sense that he appeared to find joy in solving something I couldn't figure out.

When we struggle to reach a goal, our culture seems to insist we must try harder, be stronger and more vocal, that we pour on more power. In human relations it's easy to overwhelm people this way and they pull back. When we're subtle and approach gently, people are more trusting and more likely to share their stories. 

Geoff was an expert in low power radio transmissions. I remember hearing him make what I came to see as his trademark declaration in phone calls with both colleagues and ham radio friends. As I've considered his subtle approach to conversations, I realize that he also lived by this declaration in his human relationships:  

"You just don't need that much power." 

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Comments on this post (and other posts) are most welcome