Jimmy Webb Wrote It, But I’ve Lived It
What a line from “Wichita Lineman” taught me about lasting love.
Jimmy Webb is one of those songwriters a lot of people don’t immediately recognize—but they sure as hell know his songs. By the Time I Get to Phoenix, MacArthur Park, Galveston… the man had a way of turning emotion into melody, and melody into something that sticks in your gut.
One of several Jimmy Webb songs on my playlist is Glen Campbell’s version of Wichita Lineman. It’s a haunting, lonely track—just a guy up on a telephone pole, listening to the wires hum, thinking about the woman he can’t stop missing. But there’s a line in that song that knocks me flat every time:
“And I need you more than want you. And I want you for all time.”
Twelve words. That’s it. But somehow they say everything. It’s not sentimental. It’s not even especially romantic. It’s just honest. That line isn’t about butterflies and sunsets. It’s about the kind of love that settles into your bones—the kind that changes shape over time, but never loses its grip.
That’s the kind of love I have for Barbara.
We met in 1974, when I was a singing waiter at a professional dinner theatre in Austin. Being onstage turned me from a shy guy with no game into someone who suddenly had plenty of it. It didn’t hurt that I was a straight man in theatre, which, at the time, made me something of a novelty. It was the ‘70s—free love, wild times, all of it. And I fully leaned in.
So when I first met Barbara, I wasn’t exactly thinking about forever. I was thinking about… well, let’s call it “immediate gratification.” But she wasn’t like the others. She was a “nice girl”—and I mean that in the best way. She didn’t fall for my charm, didn’t play the game. She held out. And, somehow, I stuck around. Blue balls and all.
We dated for seven years. And for a while, I was still doing my thing—sowing oats, chasing experiences, living like a guy who wasn’t ready to settle down. But at some point, the scales tipped. I realized Barbara wasn’t just the latest woman I’d shacked up with. She was the one who saw me for who I really was, and stayed. She challenged me, grounded me, made me want to be better—even when I didn’t know how.
That’s when the “need” kicked in. Wanting her was easy. Needing her—that came later, and it meant more.
And in the hardest chapter of my life—after Alison was murdered—Barbara was the one who kept me from falling apart completely. I don’t say that lightly. My heart was shattered. There were days I didn’t know how to keep breathing. But she stood by me, held me up, and helped put the broken pieces back together. That kind of love… it doesn’t come around twice.
We’re not the “I love you, baby” types. Never have been. Every now and then, sure—we’ll toss out a quick love you in passing. But we’ve never needed the big, sentimental declarations. We just… know. It’s in the way we show up, day after day. In the things we’ve endured together. In the fact that we’re still here, side by side.
And maybe that’s what makes that Jimmy Webb line hit so hard. Because needing someone more than wanting them isn’t something you say—it’s something you feel. Quietly. Deeply. Every damn day.
She turns 75 today. And somehow, she just keeps getting better. Still sharp, still funny, still stunning (though she’d give me a look if I said it to her face). She’s walked with me through the fire—through personal storms, unspeakable grief, the kind of heartbreak that either breaks you completely or bonds you forever. She’s still here. Still with me.
And so is that lyric. Jimmy Webb nailed it. I need her more than I want her. And I want her for all time.
Happy birthday, Honey. You’re the real deal. And I’m still the guy lucky enough to love you.
Normally this kind of voiceover is reserved for paid subscribers, but not this time.
This one’s personal. It’s for Barbara. And for anyone who knows what it means to love someone quietly, fiercely, and for the long haul.
So here it is—Jimmy Webb, my voice, and a little truth.
M
What can I say? He was worth waiting for and is my true soulmate. The bravest man I know. And most importantly he can sing.
Gratitude for your strength and devotion.