It all started with Jorge, the new employee I would never have gone to lunch with if my usual lunch buddies had not run off somewhere without me.

Jorge was Mexican, the only Latin guy on the second floor executive suite of Wallco, a wallpaper distribution company that hired mostly white Anglos in 1981, when Miami’s transformation into a multicultural city began in earnest. Jorge, like me, was in his early thirties, average-looking, average height, dark hair, brown eyes, thin mustache — an "easy to lose in a crowd" kind of guy. I had no idea his unheralded arrival would trigger a seminal occurrence in my life.

Wallco hired Jorge for its fledgling export division. Jorge’s mission was to open up markets in South America and the Caribbean — approximately one quarter of the world — all by himself.

He spoke Spanish and had, I presumed, superhuman sales skills coupled with a pioneering spirit. I didn’t envy Jorge one bit. I considered myself above Jorge. I was the high and mighty Marketing Director — Jorge, the lowly new sales recruit.

I had served my time in sales. I was grateful beyond words not to have to spend my days selling wallpaper sample books to dealers who had no more room in their stores for them. But, I figured, if nothing else, I could learn something about the export market by going to lunch with the new recruit. Besides, Jorge was the only soul left on the second floor other than myself.

Jorge suggested we eat at a nearby natural food restaurant. This sounded much better than burritos. I happily agreed. Over salads and grain burgers, I discovered Jorge was a vegetarian and practiced meditation on a daily basis.

Here was a subject I had some interest in, having experimented with various forms and teachers of meditation over the years. You might say I was a semi-serious spiritual seeker. But I had reached a curious crossroads, a sort of impasse in my life.

I had everything a thirty-something American male could wish for: the perfect job in a field I enjoyed; a great boss; a townhouse bachelor pad; girlfriends; a few pals to hang out with; a sports car; and club memberships. I had scrupulously followed all of the prescribed formulas for success. And I had cobbled together all of the accoutrements of an ideal life.

Yet I felt restless and unfulfilled.

I was terrified there was something terribly wrong with me. I felt the cold winds of middle age blowing in my direction. I saw myself dating one girl after another well into my eighties, until I finally abandoned the search for true love when my body and spirit caved in from old age.

There I was, sitting across from the lowly new recruit, who was munching on iceberg lettuce. He casually mentioned losing 80 pounds after becoming a vegetarian. I commented that it must have taken a great deal of willpower. He answered, "Not really".

He talked about finding a new focus through meditation. And I sensed something different about Jorge. It was something hard to put into words. He captured my attention, somehow.

A moment later, he began passionately speaking about a profound experience of peace.

He invited me to a presentation scheduled at a hotel at Miami Beach that evening. I told myself there was no way I was going to drive all the way from South Miami to the Beach to attend some dubious seminar.

Yet, that night, I found myself sitting in a lime green, orange-accented meeting room at the Carlyle Hotel. Curiosity — and something between Jorge’s words at lunch — had picked me up from the chocolate brown pit sofa in my living room and deposited me in an uncomfortable chair with a room full of strangers.

As the meeting began, which introduced Maharaji's message, my perspective slowly shifted from an outward focus to a pleasant inward experience. I do not recall a single word that was said. I just remember feeling relaxed. I had an experience that can only be described as feeling completely at home with myself. For the first time in a very long while, I was actually enjoying myself without a great deal of effort or alcohol to help me along. I felt like an invisible hand had knocked off a layer of caked mud from my body.

It is difficult for me to describe what happened after that evening. I can only say that it marked the beginning of a long journey that lasts to this day. It is a journey filled with peace and joy, based on a living, inner experience — one that has transformed me from the inside out.

In the days and weeks following the event at the Carlyle Hotel, I met Maharaji, who introduced me to me. I thought I knew myself pretty well. I began to see that the image I held of myself was only a faint glimmer of a deeper, broader Self, filled with possibilities.

Six years after that event, I walked into the receptionist's office at work and promptly told her my life story. She became my wife and soulmate. A year later, our daughter, Danielle, came into the world. She is now a beautiful, sane, twenty-one-year-old who everyone adores.

My life remains full of challenges, but I face them with real joy and optimism. I have learned to look inward for satisfaction, rather than chasing it on the outside. I shake hands with myself on a daily basis. I feel more grounded. I feel more love from within, which reflects positively into my outer life.

(It occurs to me that I should have picked up the tab for Jorge’s lunch. Jorge, buddy, if you’re out there somewhere and reading this, please know that I owe you one.)

Illustrations by Sara Shaffer.