The author, right, is pictured at his wedding to Pat in 1979.

When I was offered an exciting “dream” job working in the dean’s office of a medical school in New York City a few years ago, it posed a challenge.

This would be an opportunity for me to live my values, really make a difference and also meet a long-held dream of living in New York.

I wanted to say “yes.” But my wife, Pat, and I lived in New Hampshire, and I needed to have some long talks with her before I made a move.

We’d been practicing “intentional” decision-making for 30 years, and this decision was going to be a tough one.

On one hand, our kids were grown and out of the house, the med school I had been working for was in a bit of turmoil, and I was ready for a change.

On the other hand, Pat loved her job and her garden and had no desire to move.

I proposed a plan that I buy a hybrid car, return home every weekend to help with house and dog chores, and call every day.

“Darling, I’d really like to try this, 80-20,” I told Pat. “I’m excited but frightened. 80-20.”

We talked it over for days.

“I’m in favour, too,” Pat eventually told me, “55-45. I’m nervous, too, but you should go for it. 55-45.”

Done. The decision was made. But what just happened?

Our numerical negotiation routine started when we first began dating. We were both interns in a family medicine residency in upstate New York, working about 80 hours a week, and on call every third night. Two weeks after Pat and I began to go out, we had a rare free evening and had to decide between eating Mexican or Chinese food. We had heard good things about the Mexican restaurant, but we also enjoyed the Chinese joint where we had our first date.

This question — where to eat? — quickly turned into a meta-question: How do the two of us decide where to eat? If we chose to deliberate, we knew that each would try to please the other, to figure out which restaurant the other person favored. We were aware that the initial steps in a relationship are important, and we were both committed to equity and equality. This decision, then — Mexican or Chinese — became a touchstone and metaphor for us. How could each of us express what our preference was without stepping on — or simply influencing — the other?

Pat suggested that we each independently decide which restaurant we preferred, and then compare our choices. We had to agree to be honest and stick to our choice. “But wait,” she reflected, “that won’t work. What if I say Chinese and you say Mexican? Then all we have is conflict, not a decision.”

We pondered this for a few seconds, and then — since we were both comfortable with numbers and quantitative thinking — I proposed that we add a weighting to our preference. If Pat preferred Chinese because she really wanted to reinforce those “first date” pheromones, it would be a lot stronger than if she just wanted to check out their moo shu chicken. Similarly, she couldn’t know if I wanted to go to Mexican just for a change of pace, or if I had secretly arranged for a special mole sauce for the enchiladas.

“Let’s do it this way,” I proposed. “Not only do we each have to quietly commit to our preference, but we have to say how strongly we feel about that........

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