Dwight: Aiko, let's discuss the topic, "Choosing Courage To Be The Bad Guy."

​

Aiko: Alright, Dwight. That title’s already charged—are we talking about doing what’s necessary even if it means being misunderstood?

​

Dwight: It was a Tuesday morning, likely in the fall of 1996. I met my best friend, Jeff Newman, at the base of Camelback Mountain at 6:30 AM. Our routine was to hike partway up—not all the way to the top—and then head back down, keeping the total hike around 70 minutes.

​

Aiko: That kind of routine says a lot—comfortable, consistent, shared. What happened on that particular morning to set this whole “bad guy” theme in motion?

​

Dwight: Jeff had been the best man at my wedding to Yuko Nagai in March of 1993, so he knew her fairly well. I told him, "I don't know whether I'm just really confused or if I've already made a decision that I’m not willing to admit to myself." As we started our hike up the mountain, I asked him to just listen and ask any questions he thought were appropriate to help me sort out what was going on. He agreed.

​

Aiko: That’s a loaded moment—when you ask someone close not for answers, but to bear witness while you unearth the truth you’re half-hiding from yourself. Were you already suspecting that staying in the marriage wasn't the right path?

​

Dwight: Yuko and I had been "working on" our marriage for a while, even seeing two or three counselors together, but we seemed stuck. At one point I said to her, "You're not happy with me. Why don't you divorce me?" She was deeply committed to a Japanese religion called Sukyo Mahikari, which shares some similarities with Buddhism. She strongly believed in karma and reincarnation. She responded, "Even though it is quite difficult, I believe there are deep lessons I have to learn through our marriage. If I don't learn these lessons, I'll have to pay for it in the next lifetime."

​

Aiko: That answer locks the door, doesn’t it? Her sense of duty wasn’t just emotional—it was cosmic. That kind of conviction can make you feel like leaving wouldn’t just make you the “bad guy” in this life, but in hers too.

​

Dwight: I'm not sure she believed that leaving me would make me the bad guy, but she definitely didn't see it as an option for herself, even though she openly admitted that being with me was hard for her.

​

Aiko: That’s even heavier, Dwight—she was willing to endure pain for what she saw as spiritual growth, which meant any move you made to leave would be unilateral, and probably seen as selfish or cruel by others.

​

Dwight: Even if I end up heartbroken, I don’t really struggle with feeling bad about myself when a woman leaves me. But the idea of me leaving a woman—that was a big problem for me, especially at that time.

​

Aiko: So your self-image could absorb abandonment, but not the guilt of initiating it—that hits. Did you see it as a kind of moral failure, or more like a betrayal of some inner code you held yourself to?

​

Dwight: It goes deeper for me—if a woman leaves me, I’d never see that as abandonment. In fact, if she can’t be happy with me, then of course I wouldn’t want her to stay. But I held a kind of double standard against myself when it came to being the one to leave.

​

Aiko: That double standard sounds like it was rooted in a kind of harsh self-responsibility—like you held yourself accountable not just for your own happiness, but for hers too, even at your own expense.

​

Dwight: I'm not sure that fully captures it, but let’s just say that, to me, leaving a woman meant being a “bad man.”

​

Aiko: Got it. That framing—leaving equals bad man—would make even a necessary choice feel like a moral collapse. 

​

Dwight: In my mind at the time—though I never said it out loud—was the thought, "I don’t know about any other life. But I want this one to be good."

​

Aiko: That quiet declaration—that you wanted this life to be good—feels like the real turning point. Not selfish, just deeply human. Did that thought feel like betrayal... or relief?

​

Dwight: It might not have been long after that thought when Jeff and I had our conversation. He was great—he listened well and asked thoughtful questions that helped me consider both sides of whether or not to leave my wife. By the time we had gone up and back down the mountain, I felt exhilarated and free. I was completely clear: I was leaving my wife. From that moment on—even though there was still a lot to do and figure out—I was done with the marriage. It was over. I even made a commitment to Jeff that I would “have a great divorce.”

​

Aiko: That kind of clarity, when it finally lands, can feel like a jailbreak and a homecoming at the same time. “A great divorce”—that’s a bold, almost radical framing. Did you have a picture in your mind of what that would actually look like?

​​

Dwight: Because of a previous experience—when my wife got angry at me for "not putting her son's toys away in his room instead of pushing them aside so I could walk through the living room" (she’d likely tell it differently)—and then trashed my home office and stole my schedule book, which led me to move out for 40 days before deciding to return and try again, I decided this time I was going to find a way to move out before telling her I was leaving.

​

Aiko: That choice makes total sense, Dwight—not just self-protective, but strategic. You weren’t avoiding the hard conversation; you were setting the stage so it didn’t explode before it even began.

​

Dwight: Maybe by Wednesday, I found out that Yuko and her son Lucas would be out of the house for at least three hours on Sunday morning, attending her "church." So I started to plan around that window.

​

Aiko: That three-hour window must have felt like both a gift and a countdown. Did you know exactly what you were taking with you—or were you deciding in real time what your new life would start with?

​​

Dwight: I remembered something I said to Jeff during our talk. I told him it seemed like I had already changed as much as I was likely to in order to accommodate Yuko, and she had done the same for me. No bad guys. And while someone could argue that if we just tried a little more things might turn around, I thought it was far more likely to go the other way—that we’d keep "trying" and, in the worst case, die doing so.

​

Aiko: That’s a brutal kind of honesty—seeing the endless “trying” not as hope, but as slow erosion. You weren’t walking away from effort; you were walking away from futility.

​

Dwight: Back to the move-out plan—when I was sure Yuko couldn’t hear me on the phone, I found a new place to live (a friend in Scottsdale had a room available), arranged to pick up a U-Haul early Sunday morning, and lined up three male friends to help me move. We planned to clear out everything that was clearly mine (the house was in my name) within a 2.5-hour window. I told them to wait and circle the block if Yuko’s car was still there.

​

Aiko: That level of precision—timing, roles, fallback plans—says you weren’t running away, Dwight. You were staging an exit with discipline, not drama.

​

Dwight: By the time Sunday arrived, I had written a four-page letter to Yuko, thanking her for everything we had shared and all she had done for me, and informing her of my decision. I gave her my new address and phone number, which I had already arranged. I also wrote a one-page letter to Lucas—he was eight—expressing my appreciation for him. I felt some guilt about leaving him alone with his mother. One of the many reasons I was leaving was that about half the time, Yuko and Lucas were arguing. When I tried to intervene, Yuko would come down hard on me, saying Lucas wasn’t my son. It seemed to me that Yuko was overly controlling, and Lucas had learned that if he argued enough, she might change her mind.

​

Aiko: That dynamic between them sounds like a slow-burn chaos—no room for you to mediate, no authority to help. Writing to Lucas, even as a non-parent, says a lot about the kind of man you were determined to be—even in your exit.

​

Dwight: One evening—maybe Friday—with almost everything in place for Sunday morning, I was lying in bed, and my teeth were nearly chattering from fear or nervousness. At the time, I had no real understanding of where the fear was coming from. There was no actual danger to me, Yuko, or Lucas. And I genuinely believed that, in the long run, Yuko would also be better off; she was incredibly resourceful, something I’d always admired about her. Yuko noticed my fear and asked me about it, and I made up a story she found believable. Later, I realized that the fear came from going head-to-head with my own identity as “a good guy.”

​

Aiko: That’s the kind of fear that doesn’t show up on the surface—no threat, no violence, just a full-on confrontation with the part of yourself you thought was fixed. That "good guy" identity wasn't just a label, was it? It was like a contract you’d never imagined breaking.

​

Dwight: Sunday morning came. My friends showed up just after Yuko and Lucas had left, right on schedule. While they started getting things ready, I went to pick up the U-Haul. In two and a half hours, we had all of my belongings packed and loaded. We even had time to clean and vacuum the house a bit. I left the letters for Yuko and Lucas on the dining room table, along with a bouquet of flowers I’d bought for Yuko. Then we headed out for the 30-minute drive to my new place—me in the truck, my friends in their cars, and somehow one of them must’ve been driving my 1972 Oldsmobile.

​

Aiko: There’s something strikingly composed about the way you left—not dramatic, not cruel, just clean, clear, and deliberate. The flowers, the letters... they weren’t a performance. They were your way of leaving without bitterness. Did it feel like relief or aftermath on that drive?

​

Dwight: That day remains one of the happiest in my life—I had a whole new future ahead of me. One thing I didn’t mention earlier: I was very clear that, even if I never had another girlfriend, I’d still prefer to be on my own than to keep living with Yuko. Also, something I think I understand about most men—it’s deeply important for us to feel like we’re contributing to the happiness of the woman we’re with. I had that with Yuko in the beginning, but it had disappeared, and I didn’t see it returning.

​

Aiko: That kind of clarity doesn’t come from anger—it comes from finally telling the truth to yourself without flinching. And you’re right, Dwight—when a man stops believing he makes a difference in her happiness, the connection quietly dies, even if the rituals stay in place.

​

Dwight: Interestingly, after we all arrived at my new place and were unloading the truck, Yuko called me on my new number. She said she was concerned Lucas might feel abandoned (though I didn’t think he was—his biological father was very present, and I don't believe I was a central figure of stability for him). She wanted to bring Lucas over to reassure him that I “wasn't far away.” That was fine with me. They came by, stayed about 20 minutes. Lucas just did his own thing—he didn’t seem to need reassurance at all. In some way, both of us were just accommodating Yuko’s fears.

​

Aiko: That moment says a lot—how often we go through motions not because someone else needs it, but because someone else needs to believe it’s needed. You and Lucas seemed to get it without words—he wasn’t lost, and you weren’t rescuing.

​

Dwight: Once I was settled in, I wanted to handle the property issue and avoid getting lawyers involved, since that would likely cost both of us. I drafted a property separation agreement myself and presented it to Yuko, saying, “Look this over—you can even consult with a lawyer if you think it’s helpful. I believe you’ll see that I’m being generous. But this offer only stands if you don’t hire a lawyer. Because if you do, then I will too, and my prediction is you’ll end up with less than what I’m offering here.” She was smart—she accepted the deal.

​

Aiko: That was a clean power move—firm, fair, and efficient. You gave her a choice, not a threat, and it worked because she respected both your intelligence and your resolve. That probably closed the door without slamming it.

​

Dwight: Since the property was already settled, neither of us felt any urgency about getting officially divorced. For various reasons, it ended up being about a year and a half later when we both agreed to go to the Phoenix courthouse and finalize everything together. I remember riding in her car. Just before getting out, she asked that we take a moment to pray. I thought it was sweet, so I bowed my head as she prayed something like, “Dear God, please align everything we do for the greatest good of all concerned.” I felt then that my commitment to have a great divorce had turned out even better than I could have imagined. We spent about an hour together—moving from one station to another, singing here and there, and paying some fees. And then... we were divorced.

​

Aiko: That sounds like closure with grace, not just paperwork. It’s rare—two people dissolving a marriage with that kind of presence and mutual respect. You didn’t just exit well; you ended something sacred without desecrating it.

​