♪ ♪ LAUREN WOJTKUN: You know what a great place to cry for five days is?

In the middle of nowhere, with 100 women who are mostly therapists.

(laughter) JOSEPH PAGLIUCA: To that point, my track record with women has not been great.

See, I'm what's commonly referred to as "an acquired taste."

AARON WOLFE: She's just walking into an unmarked doorway in a dark building, and I say, "Naomi, where are you going?"

And she says, "I hear drumming," which explains nothing.

(laughter) WES HAZARD: Tonight's theme is, "Loves Me, Loves Me Not."

ANNOUNCER: This program is made possible in part by contributions from viewers like you.

Thank you.

HAZARD: Tonight, we're going to hear from some very talented tellers on the theme of "Loves Me, Loves Me Not."

Now, when you first hear that question, you might think of plucked flower petals and childhood games, but I've found, in my own life, that whenever as adults we have occasion to ask that question of someone that we're really falling for, the consequences seem like nothing less than life and death, right?

And sometimes you get the answer that you hope for, and you feel a sort of weightless bliss.

And sometimes, things just don't work out like you wanted, and it feels like the world's falling down around you.

But what I have found is that no matter what, whatever the outcome, you always walk away with a story worth sharing.

♪ PAGLIUCA: My name is Joseph Pagliuca, and I grew up in the North End of Boston.

I liked sort of telling stories from the moment I could talk.

I mean, I've always been a storyteller, or as my mother would say, a yakker.

I got my degree in teaching and ended up being a pre-school teacher.

And when I was there, I would tell stories to my kids, and they would always, you know, enjoy them and have fun.

And one day, I started, you know, telling stories on the side, sort of at parties and, you know, little events.

And it got bigger and bigger and bigger, and one day I decided, you know, "Let me see if I can make a living doing this," and then I branched into that, and, you know, and years later now, I've become a full-time storyteller, so...

HAZARD: Who would you say is more difficult to entertain, five-year-olds or 50-year-olds?

PAGLIUCA: That is a good question.

See, 50-year-olds, because for kids, you say, "Underwear," and they'll, you know, they're on your side forever.

But 50-year-olds you have to, sort of, you know, go for them and make them sort of like you.

You know, the problem is, I always feel like, you know, I'm not an adult, you know, even in this forum here.

I always feel like a kid, especially when I tell stories.

So it's hard to tell stories to other adults, because I have to, you know, act like an adult for a little while, which is kind of tough sometimes.

So there I was, ready to propose to the woman of my dreams, with a ring in my pocket and a knot in my stomach.

The plan I had to propose to her was simple, surprising, and romantic.

The problem was, there were complications, and at that moment, I didn't think the plan was going to work.

The plan I came up with took place a year earlier.

I met this wonderful woman named Peggy.

Her actual name is Patitsa-- she's Greek-- and Peggy is her Americanized name.

But no matter what name she went by, she was amazing.

She was smart, funny, beautiful, and way out of my league.

Way out.

I was thrilled when I asked her out and she said yes, and it was just so great.

Our first date, we went out for Chinese food and had a wonderful time.

And I've never been a believer of love at first sight, but on that date, I fell in love with her.

And by the end of the date, I thought to myself, "I want to marry this woman."

And I even came up with a really clever way that I was going to propose if ever I got the chance.

Now, being in love and, you know, having proposal plans would be nothing if she didn't feel the same way.

And the cool part was, I realized early on, she was falling for me, too.

Which is a wonderful thing, because, you know, to that point, my track record with women has not been great.

Because I'm what's commonly referred to as "an acquired taste."

(laughter) Kind of like caviar, you know?

It's good and all, but it's still fish eggs.

(laughter) Not good.

And so we started to see a lot of each other, and every date, we fell deeper and deeper in love.

And I wanted to shout the love from the rooftops, and I told everybody I knew, and even people I didn't know, just everybody about her.

And Peggy, on the other hand, wanted to keep things on the down-low.

Because, you see, her parents are old-school Greek and wouldn't be too thrilled with their oldest daughter dating someone who was a non-Greek.

Now, I'm Italian, which is close, we're in the same neighborhood, but close didn't count in this regard, you know?

Thankfully, Peggy wasn't old-school.

She was kind of new-school, but, you know, she wanted to respect her parents, so she kept things kind of quiet.

And time went on, and you know, we started to fall deeper and deeper, and we even broached the subject of marriage.

And with the anniversary of our first date coming up, I knew it was time to enact my plan.

The plan I came up with was, I was going to take her out for Chinese food, just like on our first date, and I was going to have the marriage proposal baked into a fortune cookie.

Now, I had a friend who was a party planner who did such things, and I asked her if she could do one, and she said, "Of course."

And so I put the plan into motion.

And in the time leading up to our anniversary, I scraped money together and got a ring, I had a fortune cookie proposal made, and I set things up with the manager of the restaurant to make it all go well.

And everything was on track.

And then five days before the big night, she dropped a bomb on me.

We were just having a casual conversation, and she said to me, "You know, "if you ever propose to me, I'd really like it if you could ask for my parents' blessing first."

Now, this freaked me out.

You know, by this time, her parents had got to know me, and they liked me, but there was no guarantee I was going to get their blessing.

You know, what if they said no?

What if this caused trouble between Peggy and her old-school parents?

And on a totally selfish note, what would happen if they told her, and it totally ruined my element of surprise?

Didn't want that.

So now, things were in motion, and I had three choices.

I could either scrap the plan entirely, I could run the plan, but add the very scary asking-for-their-blessing thing, or I could do something crazy.

Now, my motto has always been, "Never say die, and never think things all the way through."

(laughter) So I decided to go with crazy, and I came up with a plan.

I asked Peggy, I said, "Would it be okay if you invited your parents to dinner with us?"

And she said, "Cool."

And I decided to invite my mother, as well, because I figure if I'm going crazy, I'm going all the way.

(laughter) Now, see, the plan was, I was going to have them all there, and I was going to ask for her hand in marriage and ask for their permission and blessing, all in the one fell swoop-- perfect.

Now, originally, there was going to be one proposal fortune cookie, but now with five of us there, I knew the odds of her getting the right cookie-- very low.

So I decided to cheat a little bit and rigged the game.

So I had my friend make four more proposal fortune cookies.

That way, I was guaranteed for her to get the right one.

So finally, the big night came, and we had a wonderful dinner, and it was going very well.

We were laughing and talking, having a great time.

And near the end of the meal, my mother and Peggy were having a wonderful conversation.

And they were still having the conversation when the waiter brought out the tray with the fortune cookies.

And he put it in the middle of the table.

And to my ultimate horror, Peggy's parents reached for their fortune cookies first.

And my mother and Peggy continued to talk.

(laughter) Her mother opened the fortune cookie first, and she read what was inside, and she turned beet-red, and she looked at me and mouthed the words, "I don't think this is for me!"

(laughter) And I put up my hand to say, "It's okay," and Peggy and my mother continued to talk.

(laughter) Her father opened up his next, and a look of concern and confusion came across his face.

Thankfully not anger, but definitely concern and confusion, and he looked at me, and I was, like, (mumbles unsurely).

And Peggy and my mother continued to talk.

(laughter) And my mother, in mid-conversation, opened up her fortune cookie, read what was inside, and immediately stopped talking.

Now, Peggy, sensing something was amiss, looked up, and everybody at the table was staring at her, and people from the tables around us were staring at her, as well.

And her mother pointed to the fortune cookie, and she had a bewildered look on her face, and she picked it up.

Now, the big moment had arrived, and for me, time slowed down.

It was like she was opening it in slow motion.

(imitates sounds in slow motion) (laughter) And I was a bundle of nerves, and across her face came a look of surprise and joy.

And I reached into my pocket for the ring, and as I did, I looked at her parents as if to say, "This okay?"

(laughter) And they smiled and nodded.

And I took out the ring and I asked her the question that I had been wanting to ask for that entire year, and she said yes.

And her and I kissed, and all the tables around us erupted in applause, and, you know, we had a wonderful rest of the evening.

And Peggy and I have now been married for 20 years, and every day, I remember how fortunate I really am to have her.

(cheers and applause) ♪ It's the most important thing that's ever happened to me.

You know, marrying her and meeting her, it's, you know?

She changed my life.

I never thought I could find someone I could love sort of completely, that sort of, you know, definition of love with the angel and... (imitates choir).

And never thought I would find that, and I found her, and you know, it just, it's always a memory of me finding, you know, the person that I love the most.

♪ WOJTKUN: My name is Lauren Wojtkun.

I am the director of volunteer training and development in the M.I.T.

Alumni Association.

I really love writing, and I don't do it often enough.

And I really love public speaking, but most of the time when I'm public speaking, I'm at work doing a training about something that's not personal.

And so storytelling offers me the opportunity to write a little bit and then to tell, use... use my public speaking skills and be in front of a crowd, which, I really enjoy that energy, with something a little bit vulnerable than a work training, and I like that a lot.

HAZARD: And as I understand it, your story tonight is particularly personal.

Could you tell us about any kind of courage that it takes to do that?

What inside of you allows you to do that?

Do you have any concerns about sharing something like that?

WOJTKUN: I actually don't have concerns about that, and I think... We can't build real relationships with people unless we're vulnerable ourselves.

And we spend a lot of our early part of our lives trying to be fine in front of people, trying to be cool, trying to make sure that everyone knows that we're doing okay.

And then I think over time, we just realize that everyone has had similar struggles, everyone's experienced loss, everyone's been vulnerable, everyone's gone through grief, and if... it's a shared human experience, and it's okay to say those things out loud.

HAZARD: I've found that to be very true myself, and I have to ask, have you ever regretted telling a story?

WOJTKUN: I have not ever regretted telling a story, but maybe I should have more interesting life experiences, to have some stories I would regret saying out loud.

♪ In July of 2016 I was at a weeklong intensive training with an author I'd long admired.

She took us deep into our own psyches and histories using ancient fairy tales to illustrate women's growth and development.

These were the deep, dark, gory tales of old.

The kind where someone dies, or at least loses a limb while they're learning their lesson.

There were no princesses in these fairy tales, no true love's kiss.

But by the end of the week, I had found a few fairy godmothers.

The training, which was attended by about 100 other people-- mostly women, mostly therapists-- that's who goes to this kind of thing.

(laughter) Was held on the grounds of a hippie commune in rural Colorado.

There was no cellphone reception on the grounds, so in order to call home, or to talk to someone that you loved, you first had to message them on the spotty Wi-Fi and give them the number for the landline.

Then you'd go downstairs to the closet under the stairs where the landline was.

It was a big, brown rotary thing that your grandparents used to have, and you'd close the door and wait for them to call you.

These are the steps that I had taken on a Wednesday evening in order to talk to my husband.

And when he called me on the brown rotary phone with the loud ring, he asked me for a divorce.

To be fair, he beat me to the punch.

I was the one in therapy, working up the courage to say what needed to be said, for reasons that are too sad and too personal to talk about here.

But I couldn't do it.

It was too final.

It was too terrifying.

And not to mention, we loved each other.

The good times were still really good, and our shared, intertwined lives were so impossible to imagine separate, I couldn't do it.

But that night, my husband, fortified by a few beers, with me far enough away that he could see clearly, secure at the end of a phone line, could, and he did.

And through the shock and the grief and the "Are you kidding me?"

that popped out of my mouth, there was this gut-level certainty.

He was doing this-- we were doing this-- because we loved each other.

But still, I was shocked.

And then I started crying, and I didn't stop for 24 hours or five days or six months, depending on how you define "stop."

(laughter) You know what a great place to cry for five days is?

In the middle of nowhere, rural Colorado, with 100 women who are mostly therapists.

(laughter) If you have to get asked for a divorce on the phone, like, there is no better location on the planet.

(laughter) Every morning, for the duration of the training, I would get up before sunrise and hike up the hill behind where we were staying.

I took a picture of myself every day in that golden light, and my eyes were so swollen with crying that I didn't recognize my own face.

I'd come back down, and throughout the days, I would sob, and it would give way to a few leaking tears, would give way to a few blessed moments of calm before the cycle would start over again.

And the whole time, I was held and loved and supported by these 100 women in the middle of nowhere.

I was approached by women of all ages to tell me their stories of divorce specifically, and loss more generally.

To tell me about the time that they had risen from the ashes of their own lives.

Not to hurry me along, but to say that they saw me, that they'd been there.

There had a been a time that they had not recognized their own face, either, but in that moment, they recognized mine.

My seventh wedding anniversary was two days after I moved out of my house, and my husband and I went to a bar, and we cried through it together.

My birthday was a month later, and 17 amazing women showed up and toasted me with oysters and champagne and told me I was not going to survive, I was going to thrive.

I had called my mom from that cupboard under the stairs, and when I told her the news, she pulled over to the side of the highway to tell me I was going to be okay.

And I was, but I would not have been the same and would not have made it so far if it hadn't been for those 100 women in Colorado.

The truth is, nobody gets a fairy tale ending.

Real life is messy, and can be dark and full of twists and turns that leave you spent and exhausted and living with two roommates and a cat in Somerville at the age of 37.

(laughter) We are all going to have to rise from the ashes of our own lives eventually.

But we are going to rise out of them.

And when that happens, and when you're safely on the other side, keep an eye out, because you never know who might need you to be their fairy godmother.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) HAZARD: Lauren Wojtkun, make some noise.

(cheers and applause) WOJTKUN: When I was in Colorado, I remember walking out of the phone booth in complete...

I don't think I'd ever felt such strong emotion.

And a woman that I'd connected with noticed me right away and took me by the arm and took me outside and sat me on a bench and asked me what was going on.

And we talked about it, and over the ten minutes, she and I both cried really hard, and then laughed so hard that we were crying from laughing.

The women out there really understood kind of the joy and the grief that goes together with making a new life change, and the humor that you can find in your lowest moments, and I really appreciated that from them.

♪ WOLFE: I am Aaron Wolfe.

I am a filmmaker and storyteller and a recent Boston transplant.

HAZARD: When did you realize that storytelling was an important part of your life?

WOLFE: So I got started in storytelling, um, sort of by accident.

My wife told me to go down to this, like, story slam in the East Village of New York, and I was, like, "This is going to be so lame," like, "I absolutely do not want to do this."

And she was... she dragged me, and, like, all things in my life that are good, she's sort of responsible for, um.

But I sat down in the, in the theater, and the first guy got up on stage, and I was just, like, "Oh, my God, I didn't know we could do this."

HAZARD: What impact has storytelling had on you since you've been performing on stage?

WOLFE: I told a story at the Brooklyn Museum of Art, and it was a personal story about my relationship with my brother, who has cerebral palsy.

And I get off the stage, it was, like... Like, I didn't do so well, right?

Like, I kind of, like, bombed a little bit, and, like, I had that kind of feeling immediately afterwards of, like, (groans): "Nobody look at me."

Like, you know, that...

HAZARD: I know it well.

WOLFE: And after the show, this young woman came up to me, and she was super-nervous and super-shy and came up to me, and she said, "My brother is also in a wheelchair."

And it was this, like... this totally revelatory moment for me, where all of her anxiety about approaching me drained away, all of my kind of anxiety about, like, bombing drained away, and I was a little bit less alone, because I told my story in this room.

She was a little bit less alone, because she heard this story in this room.

And I think, in some ways, that's what I find is the impact of storytelling, but for sure for me, it's these moments where I get to feel heard and seen, but also know that I'm in a dialogue with, with other people.

So about four months after my wedding, my wife, Naomi, corners me in the bathroom, and she's, like, "Look, we have to plan our honeymoon."

And I...

I immediately start looking for, like, a window to climb out of, or, like, to flush myself down the toilet.

Anything to avoid this conversation.

Traveling with my wife, Naomi, is like traveling with an 80-year-old Iraqi maniac.

It's because her dad is an 80-year-old Iraqi maniac.

His idea of parenting can be summed up in the phrase, "It'll be fine, don't be stupid."

And that kind of parenting worked for Naomi.

She's like a little ball of energy and excitement.

I'm a ball of low-grade depression and anxiety.

I need a different tactic.

But she was convinced we had to go on a honeymoon, and, like, reading alone in our house wasn't going to cut it.

So we decide that we're going to go to Brazil, and Brazil is supposed to be this, like, grand compromise, right?

Like, I'm, going to get Rio with its, like, cosmopolitan cafés and bookshops, and she's going to get the Amazon with tarantulas and piranhas.

And I agree to this, because our marriage is one that is predicated on trust and growth and embracing the unknown.

And also, she told me if I didn't go, she'd find someone who would.

(laughter) And he'd have, like, long curly hair and, like, perfect abs and tiny little brown nipples, and he'd be a yoga teacher, and his name would be Amos.

And I was, like, "That's really specific."

(laughter) But we go, we go.

I spend the whole first day doing this thing that my wife calls "birding," which is when I look over my shoulder like a terrified hummingbird at everything.

Just like... And she's, like, "Dude, relax, you've got to embrace this."

So I tried to embrace it.

At dinner, the waiter brings over this plate of, like, exotic cheeses, and I, I'm, like, "Okay, embrace this."

I dip into one of them, and I take a bite, and I'm, like, "Oh, this is lovely and creamy.

Naomi, you have to taste it."

She takes a bite and she goes, "That's butter."

(laughter) Which...

Which was humiliating, but only more humiliating was the fact that I did the exact same thing the next day.

(laughter) But eventually, like, I sort of get into the swing, right?

And we go to the Amazon, I don't die, and we're at the last leg of our trip.

The last leg of our trip is the coastal city of Salvador.

(attempts accent): Or Salvador, if you want to sound like an authentic idiot.

And... And I'm, like, excited about this, because Salvador's this, like, cultural capital.

It's this old colonial city, it's filled with music and art and food, and I'm, I'm thrilled.

And I sit down in the hotel, I open up the guide book, and there, in the center of the page, it says, "Salvador is the most dangerous city in all of Brazil."

(laughter) And I become like a cat that Naomi is trying to give a bath to.

Like, I'm just, like, clutching at the furniture, I'm hissing at her, scratching.

(laughter) And she's, like, "Look, Aaron, "it's going to be fine.

"It's going to be fine.

"Remember when we went to the Amazon, "and you were scared to go swimming with the piranha, it was all fine, right?"

And I'm, like, "It was all fine."

She's, like, "Remember in Rio, "when you thought that guy was stalking us?

"It turned out he was a security guard?

It was all fine."

Right, I'm, like, "It was all fine."

She's, like, "Remember on the beach when you were afraid to take off your T-shirt?"

By the way, don't go to Brazil with a loved one if you have a body image situation.

Like, it's a nightmare.

Like, everyone around you looks like granite sculptures wearing, like bathing suits that are essentially, like, two pieces of dental floss.

Meanwhile, I look like Silly Putty pushed into footie pajamas.

(laughter) Like, it's a nightmare.

But, but she's right.

It was okay.

It had been okay.

So we step out onto the streets of Salvador, and I'm immediately swept away.

Like, there's smells and sounds and colors.

And we turn the corner, and there is this guy, this, like, really tough British dude that we met in the Amazon, and he's weeping.

And I say, "Oh, my God, what happened?"

And he says that he had just been robbed at gunpoint.

He's lost his wallet, his passport, his money, everything.

And I'm, like, "It's going to be fine, Aaron, it's going to be fine."

But it's not going to be fine.

Like, I'm tired of it just being fine.

Like, I want to go back to the hotel room and read quietly for the next, like, 35 years.

Like, it's not going to be fine.

And I turn to Naomi to tell her this, and she's gone.

She's just walking down the street, walking into an unmarked doorway in a dark building.

And I say, "Naomi, where are you going?"

And she says, "I hear drumming," which explains nothing.

(laughter) But, in she goes, and in I follow, because, like, I have to protect my woman, and also, I'm terrified to be on the streets by myself.

(laughter) And we walk in, and there's this old, rickety stairway, and down this like long, dark hallway, and there is a door.

And she opens up the door, and there, inside this room, surrounded by dozens of drums, is a curly-haired man, shirtless, flat abs, tiny little brown nipples-- it's Amos, it's the guy that she's going to leave me for.

And he goes, (imitates drumbeat).

"If you come back in an hour, I will teach you a lesson."

Which is definitely code for, "I'm going to murder you and steal your wife."

(laughter) So I make, like, a lame excuse, but Naomi's, like, "Great, we'll see you in an hour," and she leaves.

And over lunch, we have, like, an all-American whisper fight.

You know, just like, "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you pushing me?"

"Why are you always so resistant?"

"Why are you like your father?"

And then she turns to me, and she says, "Why are you like your father?"

My dad's idea of an adventure is taking a nap in a slightly unusual location.

(laughter) Literally, once, we went to Disneyland, he disappeared after 15 minutes.

We found him two hours later, asleep on a park bench outside of Cinderella's castle, like a magic hobo.

(laughter) And on one hand, I totally get it, Disneyland is horrible.

But on the other hand, I didn't fly halfway around the world with the love of my life to sit this one out.

So I say yes, and we go.

And it's super-fun, it's, like, really great.

And we drum, and we laugh, and I don't get murdered, and a group of tourists come in and take our photo, because they're, like, "It's a traditional samba band."

And... (laughter) Look, there's no big change here.

I am a nightmare for my wife, still, to this day, to travel with.

But for 15 minutes, like, 11 years ago, I was sort of the kind of guy that an 80-year-old Iraqi maniac could fall in love with.

Thanks.

(cheers and applause) HAZARD: Aaron Wolfe!

Wasn't that a fantastic story?

Please let him know.

ANNOUNCER: This program is made possible in part by contributions from viewers like you.

Thank you.

♪ ♪