Bondo - The Superpower of Intimacy
How I discovered my superpower by interrupting a stranger in the night.
Note to my friends: I have been reworking blogs I wrote 18 months ago. I apologize if my emotional transformation appears hopelessly stuck in the past. I know this is confusing to the people who care about me, but I plan to write myself out of this jam.
I studied the map of the Santa Cruz coastline in search of the spot.
With my sons Nathaniel and Jacob in the car and Hillary at the wheel, we had come to California to celebrate our small family.
“I think it’s at the end of 41st Avenue,” I said, studying the map on my phone.
“So, you’re trying to find Karen’s pleasure spot,” Hillary joked with uncharacteristic innuendo. I was looking for Pleasure Point, the necking spot where Karen took me on our first date forty years earlier. Is “necking” still a word?
We parked in the pay-by-the-hour lot and walked across the street. Nothing matched my forty-year memory except the line of surfers waiting for waves in the dark. Yes, Santa Cruz surfers surf in the dark.
The kids headed down to watch huge waves slam against the concrete stairs — bam-bam-bam. I watched a surfer time his ride like a surf magician, hopping from his surfboard to the stairs without getting pummeled against concrete and steel.
He seemed to send me a message:
Don’t be afraid to ride the wave of life.
I studied the new parking, modern restrooms, and concrete-reinforced cliffs. Nothing jived with the scruffy patch of dirt I remembered.
Forty years ago, in the dark of night, Karen knew where to park Lightnin’, her ancient Dodge Dart with its racing stripe and slant-six engine. The steep drop-off and sound of distant surf signaled my step into the unknown.
“It’s named after Lightnin’ Hopkins,” Karen explained as she turned off the ignition. Not many girls rattle off an obscure bluesman, let alone name their car after one.
Side note: Lightning Hopkins met Blind Lemon Jefferson, considered “The Father of Texas Blues,” at a church picnic when Hopkins was eight. It proved to be a transmission of destiny and likely seemed innocuous at the time, but chance meetings send us on our lifelong paths.
When I was in college, I met Mory Berman, a writer, "Wobbly" activist, and cosmic-conscious Jewish fruitarian on UCLA’s Janss Steps. This chance encounter launched my career as an aspiring mystic.
With distant surf pounding at the midnight hour, I was impressed by Karen’s blues-dropping. We had just come from a concert by Robin Williamson, an equally obscure Scottish songwriter and storyteller who founded The Incredible String Band. It might also have been Winston Rodney, the Jamaican reggae artist known as Burning Spear. I can’t remember which concert came first, but my blind date had musical taste.
As I stepped out of the car onto Pleasure Point, I expected a surge of feeling — “one small step for a lonely heart, one giant leap for Bondo” — but nothing looked the same. I used my mental Photoshop to erase the modern improvements, but I couldn’t connect.
Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing, so I changed gears and studied a woman talking on her phone in the shadows.
She was the only person there.
The minutes ticked by. “Get off the damn phone,” I grumbled. I desperately wanted her to take our photo so I could caption: “The famous spot where the Miller family germinated.” This was our first time together as a family since Karen’s passing.
Fifteen minutes later (jeez, how long can this woman talk?), I worked up the courage. Emily Post does not explain how to interrupt a stranger talking on the phone, so I tiptoed into her space.
“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but could you do me a huge favor?”
“Honey, hold for a second…” the woman said, turning to me. “How can I help?”
“This may sound weird,” I explained, “But my wife drove me to this spot on our first date — our first kiss. It was at night, just like this.”
“Honey, hold on.”
My story spilled out with unchecked emotion: “Forty years ago, I traveled from L.A. to give a talk, and I was set up on a blind date — a Tennessee girl. Everyone was embarrassed, and this may sound crazy, but I instantly found her in my heart. We went to a concert, and she took me to this spot. It was different back then; just a patch of dirt.”
I took a breath. The woman was intrigued.
“She called herself Suzie and drove an old Dodge Dart named Lightnin'. She blew my mind when she rolled a cigarette and called me darlin’. She leaned in for a kiss, and I was smitten.”
“What an amazing story.”
“I apologize; I’m a bit giddy.”
“No, no — totally okay.”
“That’s not the half of it.”
“Tell me.”
“After the kiss, my blind date, Karen, I mean Suzie, got out of the car, climbed underneath, and started banging a ball peen hammer, like boom-boom, and I’m sitting in the passenger seat wondering, “What kind of girl does that?”
“And Suzie yells up, ‘The shift linkage gets stuck; the guy who sold me the car taught me to do this.’”
“Fascinating story.”
“Yes, and boom-boom, marriage, children, the whole wonderful catastrophe. Forty years ago. She passed away this year.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t hold back, so I let my tears erupt in a flood. Instinctively, I embraced a freakin’ stranger for consolation! Women are amazing. She remained completely present for my moment, then looked down at her phone.
“Honey, are you still there?” She turned to me to explain, “It’s our anniversary.”
“Wow, that’s… I’m so sorry to interrupt.” I looked away toward the sea.
“No, no. It’s okay. Right, Honey?”
“Who are you talking to?” the voice squawked.
“Just a person needing help with a selfie.” She turned to me, “What about you and Suzie? When’s your anniversary?”
“She died in December.”
“No, I mean, your wedding anniversary,” she said.
“Wow. Uhm, I’m so disoriented. I think it was August.”
“This is August!” she exclaimed. “When in August?”
My mind drew a blank, so I calculated: 1984, Olympics, Los Angeles… “That’s it. We sold our opening ceremony tickets to pay for the wedding. It was August 18.”
“August 18th is tomorrow!”
“Oh my God, I should celebrate — I mean, WE should celebrate.” (Karen, are you with me?)
I hugged her again and called up the kids. By the miracle of technology, the iPhone took a perfect picture in the dark.
On the drive back to Palo Alto, I played the sequence of events in my mind like an old piece of videotape:
Pleasure Point, woman on phone, interrupt call, wedding anniversary, tears, hugs, selfie picture. The obvious question: Was Karen behind all this? Likely. More importantly, Instant Intimacy. Is that a thing? How does that happen?
Could Bondo be a superpower? I imagined Superman catching Lois Lane in mid-air. Maybe Bondo isn’t a life pursuit — maybe it’s a gift in the moment, the willingness to go there — to bring life and love to a stranger in the dark.
Something shifted: I could stop feeling sorry for myself. I had that superpower.
The next night, we met Anais, my younger brother’s daughter. She was visiting Palo Alto for Microsoft. Despite being first cousins, my sons lived on opposite ends of the country from Anais and had never really met. We had dinner, bought scoops of bacon ice cream, went window shopping, and enjoyed free-flowing laughter as we wandered the Palo Alto nightlife.
I asked the three cousins, “Now that you have known each other for three hours, do you feel like family?”
“Oh, absolutely!” They chimed in while sharing phone contacts. “We’re planning a family reunion.”
And there it was, Bondo — the capacity to form and maintain intimate relationships.
Bondo explains how you can feel family-level intimacy after one dinner or while bumping into a stranger at Pleasure Point. In practice, Bondo is trickier than nuclear fusion but also part of basic human wiring: The trick is to let people into your heart.
I gave up trying to fix my loneliness and decided to apply myself to the Bondo Project. Suddenly, I had a noble mission that aligned with Karen. I reaffirmed Point Four of Good Grief:
FOUR: Take the Torch — “The mission has been passed.
The surviving spouse is granted unique superpowers.”
As a new singleton, my muscle memory of Bondo was slipping away, and because of that, I felt a calling: Could I promote the superpower of Bondo? I don’t have credentials, a readership, or a research grant, but I have a hard-won forty years of commitment and love.
Well, fuck the world. I’m doing this for me.
Like a love chemist, I spent the next few weeks in my “Bondo laboratory” discerning the ingredients.
Bondo flows into and out of the heart like blood. Could we measure Bondo like a blood panel? Instead of low TSH and high cholesterol, could lovers measure intimacy against seven metrics? I pulled my friends into my discernment process and came up with Seven C’s. I even designed a card:
The Seven Seas of BONDO™ — The capacity to form and maintain intimate relationships.
1. CONNECTION
A shared, energetic vibration deepens through face-to-face proximity and time. Connection describes a deep sense of being on the same team. In Bondo, a shared guidance steers the ship so that decisions flow effortlessly.
2. CONVERSATION
Call-and-response is a creative force that builds the substance of intimacy. Unlike “communication,” being in conversation is always two-way.
3. CARING
Caring for our fellow humans begins with emotional availability. This means stepping outside of oneself and recognizing the needs of another.
4. CURIOSITY
Everyone carries a hidden story of struggle and adversity that we can learn to embrace without judgment. In true Bondo, we give the gift of attention to not take a friend or partner for granted. Being attentive is how we grow closer.
5. CIRCULATION
Like bees bringing pollen to the hive, intimacy is energized by the impressions and life experiences we bring into a relationship. The influx of outside energies prevents the sticky cling of co-dependency.
6. COURAGE
A genuine connection begins with risk. Crossing the gulf of conflict and misunderstanding releases a force that opens the heart. This means placing one’s opinion on the shelf, even if for a minute, to understand someone’s point of view.
7. CONSTANCY
A commitment made outside of time transcends the walls of despair that divide us. Can we stay on the path together despite our differences? Constancy is the key to continuous renewal, emotional availability, and love.
I invited my therapist friend Carole Anne to become my lead partner in the project:
Hi Carole Anne,
Would you like to do a Bondo focus group in Asheville? I want to see if the Bondo experiment holds water. Here are seven Bondo questions I have:
1. Am I alone in seeking intimacy at a certain age, or does everyone consciously or unconsciously seek Bondo?
2. How does Bondo feed us? Since Bondo is creative, is it a source of “continuous renewal?”
3. How is Bondo different than love? We can experience love without a partner, so what is unique about a human encounter?
4. Since Bondo is dynamic, does this explain why the flux of a relationship frightens us?
5. I watch older single people find Bondo through their family and grandchildren. Why does this feel like a cop-out?
6. Since Bondo builds with time (40 years in my case), is there a fast-acting Bondo for later-life relationships? What does “fresh Bondo” feel like in your 60s+?
7. Do casual encounters count as Bondo — with a server, retail clerk, yoga teacher, or someone at the dog park?
Carole Anne wrote back:
“Bruce, my first impression was to gasp at how the card is so beautiful, absolutely stunning. I could relate to all of the C’s and wanted to learn more. Let’s talk tomorrow!”
After ten months of widowerhood, my shaky sense of self felt an enormous YES!!!
