Our intuition is considerably more than the hunch to bet on the red – or black – at the roulette wheel. It goes beyond clairvoyance. I think of it as a tuning fork that vibrates at a moment when our lifetime reservoir of experiences, some positive, some not so great, is gently touched with the hint of a ripple in the absence of a breeze.

With intuition, we don’t see what’s causing the sensation; it’s a phantom feeling, alerting us to some event in the offing, even though we don’t know what that something is until much later. Over time, as we learn to listen to this ‘inner voice,’ we can tune in to our feelings and make decisions that align with our needs.

We’ve all experienced this phenomenon of just knowing… hearing that little voice in the back of your head telling you, do this, without really being clear as to why.

I’m writing about the power of intuition because my wife’s birthday is this week and I’m flush with the memory of how we met and how my life changed when I listened to my intuition. It’s quite a story and perhaps there will be that moment in time when you, too, will listen to the knowing sense inside of you that will lead you to make the leap that will change your life.

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch.”

The “Create a Taste of Chicago Ice Cream Flavor Contest” is a promotion I’ve devised to launch Steve’s Ice Cream to the Chicago market. The idea is for ice cream lovers to invent a new mix-in flavor, the winning recipe to be manufactured for distribution locally with a picture of the person who submitted the entry printed on the carton. I’m in Chicago meeting with our publicist, our meeting spilling over into the late afternoon, presenting me with the road warrior’s problem of getting to the airport in time to catch a plane scheduled to leave in the middle of the commuter rush hour.

“Why not stay the night?” she suggests. I’m on the fence about accepting the offer, hemming and hawing, reluctant to have dinner by myself in a strange town. That’s when she gets her brainstorm, practically pushing me into a chair as she hurriedly dials a number on the phone. “Have I got a girl for you,” she says with the zeal of Yente, the matchmaker.

And something tells me, after all these years of single parenting and false starts and unfulfilled expectations, the knowing sense that is my intuition tells me, “Yes, I believe you do.”

Our blind date is not a chance encounter between two strangers; it is a reunion of kindred souls. Arlene and I have just met but it feels as if we have known each other forever! It’s extraordinary how much we have in common; our conversation over dinner marked by an easygoing familiarity; the confluence of our past lives crossing at this time and place more like providence than coincidence.

In the weeks that pass I’m a dumbstruck swain, fifty-five years old and feeling like Charlie Brown from the Peanuts comic strip hoping he’ll get a Valentine from the cute little red head. My intuition has led me to the path I yearn to follow.

My proposal is not so such a “decision” as it is an irrepressible inevitability. I knew it would happen. I knew it from the moment of “Have I got a girl for you.” When she says “yes,” I ascend to the level of boundless rapture.

That was 33 years ago.

Happy birthday, Arlene.