Second Shooter

Throughout the RC year and this summer, fellow HBS students have asked me often how I found my spouse and how I knew he would be a solid partner. I struggle to answer these questions for a few reasons. First, it seems most people are seeking a checklist of sorts, a diligence framework, a logical approach to follow. However, every time I’ve fallen in love, I’ve had to relearn that love and logic are not roommates. That statement alone is unpalatable for HBS students, myself included. Harder still to accept is that we do not choose who we love and that love does not answer to logic. Second, I’m far from the most qualified to speak on matters of marriage. I am a young, inexperienced wife; I haven’t been at this for that long. Inquirers might be better off asking a grandma who has kept her spouse happy for sixty years with baked goods and road trips and tenacity and sacrifice.

I also wonder why the topic of love comes up so much for me at HBS at all. After all, this is the Cathedral of Capitalism, not the 2014 Homecoming Dance. Part of it I’m sure is that I came to HBS solo. The concept of a Mystery Spouse™ across the country naturally piques curiosity. But I think it’s mostly the following: despite this place’s obsession with cash flow and liquidity events and The Shareholders, we seem to know that love and loss and the mess in between are really the only topics that deserve our most focused attention. So outside Aldrich, in between launching our tech ventures and tongue-lashing each other in negotiations, we chase emotional intimacy and crave an understanding of how to build and sustain relationships rather than just enterprises. I don’t have the answers, but I feel I owe this group the following contribution to the conversation. Again, start with Grandma, but if you need more, see below.   

Ethan loves many things: the endless pursuit of stoke on skis and bikes and horses; taking the doors off the Jeep; the sound of fish nibbling coral on a scuba dive; trail running (and trail beer-ing), Liverpool FC, and most relevantly, a Nikon to document all of the above (except the underwater side quests). Marrying a photographer means that much of our relationship has been spent with me watching Ethan as Ethan watches the world (see below). Beyond the obvious benefit of having endless photos for our walls and the pride of being able to say, “oh, I’m with the photographer” at weddings, how I feel about Ethan can in many ways be captured by how I feel about his photography.

First, taking photos requires you to choose what view to have. If you’re taking a landscape photo, the lens will only go so wide, so you have to pick your focus area and be comfortable with what you’re leaving out. When I’m trailing Ethan as he’s taking pictures of a landscape or a city or a family, we naturally focus on different views. His lens grabs wildlife. My dumb iPhone 12 (tries to) grab nature. I always respect his shots more, but mine make the whole scene clearer, too. The last time he was asked to photograph a family, I joined and found myself dedicated to fixing uneven pant legs and tangled dog leashes. Half the time while I was barking at poor Carol to tuck her shirt in and sweet Will to uncuff his jeans, Ethan was busy capturing their actual faces in some of the most naturally joyful shots I’ve seen. I later told him I felt silly having spent so much time on the seams and sleeves. To which he explained that second shooters exist to do exactly that: catch and fix what the other misses. “We need both.” A relief. So my first recommendation: choose someone whose perspective you admire, whose view is different from your own. This makes your collective picture closer to the truth, more complete.

When Ethan takes pictures of me, half the time the results make me consider booking Botox and switching to skim milk. However, every now and again he’ll take a shot, flip the LCD screen to me and say, “That’s you.” He’s always right, having captured me in a rare moment when I am at ease and the inside of my mind is habitable. In my mid-twenties, after surviving unthinkable violence, I found myself feeling what can only be described with a reference to early 2000s playground equipment. When I was a kid, our local playground had a huge metal disk that spun around a central post. When I was five and just had to hop on with the big kids, I learned those things are horrible because you’re nauseous and the world looks streaky and it’s damn-near impossible to get off and you feel like this. will. never. stop. I remember my older brother sticking his foot out to slow us down. I still love him for that. Finally. Feet on solid ground. Clearer vision. For two years, I lived on the Metal Disk Nausea Streaky World Ride. I remember friends and family starting to look at me in a new way because of it. I’m still not exactly sure what it was I saw in their eyes. Fear for me? Fear of me? Some close to me even looked at me as if they had already lost me. But there was one person who didn’t. Every day, when Ethan looked at me, his eyes said, “That’s you. I see you in there.” Finally. My daily dose of feet on solid ground. Clearer vision.

We spent many nights those years at my dad’s home where my parents spoke in hushed voices with crossed arms and observed the zoo animal that was their youngest as I learned how to exist in a body that felt like it was not mine. On one of these nights, Ethan whispered to them, quiet enough so they thought he was being discreet but loud enough so he knew I could hear, “She’ll come back to us as soon as she can. I can see it.”  We as a society often talk about how important it is to find a partner who loves you at your worst. Sure, we all go through phases of better vs. worse. But something I don’t think we talk about enough is how we all go through phases of being our “best selves” versus not even recognizing ourselves. So I would reframe this toward how important it is to find a partner who sees you when you do not see yourself. Choose someone who not only takes you as you are but sees you as you are and gently (but persistently) shows you the next time you forget.

There’s also something grounding about being around someone who is literally taking snapshots of our lives. When he’s about to shoot something, Ethan will say, “Look. Right here.” And it’s a reminder that the views I’ll miss and faces I’d die for and memories I’ll pine over are all happening in real-time. The places that will cover our walls are being visited right now. And the bodies that will make our kids say, “My God! You guys were so young!” are being lived in right now (again, another proof point for the Botox debate). As many of us do, I occupy a mind that regrets the past and worries about the future. If you’re like me, choose someone who makes it easy to listen when prompted to look here.

I realize the above point is cliché. As I read that I said to myself, “oh yeah, Meg, tell them to find someone that makes them live in the present. Let’s add that we should stop and smell the roses and live laugh love. Original! Thought-provoking!” 20% of me and 100% of my 11th grade English writing teacher want me to smash the delete key all over the above paragraph. But I won’t because critiquing myself for trite language made me realize perhaps the most valuable and simplest piece of advice I have in the relationship arena. When people ask me to describe what I love about Ethan, I struggle to answer, not because there aren’t reasons but because what I come up with first sounds cliché. For example, to know him is to love him… Ethan has never met a stranger… When you talk to him, Ethan makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world… He is the salt of the earth… There is not a selfish bone in Ethan’s body… he wrote the book on viewing love as verb… Ethan’s all in in all that he does… He hung the moon and deserves the stars… Ethan is one of one. I could go on and on with endless true, but banal, tropes. But I think maybe the lesson is that I love him because he makes the clichés true. After all, these overused statements represent what we should all strive to be more of: thoughtful, empathetic, hard-working, and kind to the world and ourselves. And maybe they’re overused because they’re aspirational and largely unattainable. But, every once in a while, you run into people like Ethan who take the aspirational and embody it. Now for a few that aren't overused. Ethan’s presence is the same feeling as: finishing a six-count exhale, making the train, laying in August grass after sprinting as a kid, tasting the first sip of coffee that’s the perfect camel color. My last recommendation: choose someone who personifies the cheesy and makes the cliché tangible.

My wish for all of us is that we are lucky enough to be surrounded by people who make our perspective larger and truer. May we have friends and partners and colleagues who show us who we are, tether us to the present, and make the cliché real. I am blessed that Ethan and his Nikon have given this to me. It has been the honor of my life to be his second shooter. But I also have unending love for the other Nikon-holders, Canon-users, iPhone point-and-shooters, and even Android folks in my life who do the same for me. Everyone I love and have ever loved plays a role in shaping my perspective and sense of self, whether they carry a lens or not, and for that I am grateful.

With that, I am overjoyed and relieved to share that Ethan will be in Boston for our EC victory lap. Ethan, welcome to HBS and Section F. Thank God you’re here. We are all better for it.

Meg Stolberg Bredemeier (MBA ‘27) grew up in Denver, Colorado. She enjoys falling for snake oil health trends, cutting it close at the airport, hiking up mountains, skiing down them, writing wedding toasts without AI, and closing down the dance floor at said weddings. Read more from Meg here.