Musings On Being A Man

This month's Esquire magazine features a ream of suggestions for being a man - lots of how to's and must haves.  And while captivating, because I picked it up, I haven't actually read any of the copy.  My inner monologue is telling me that I'm done being told how to be a man, or what would make me a better man.  Not a great place to be in as a counselor who works with men.  What has me closed to Esquire is not the content but the context.  I realize what I am missing and longing for in my life now is the presence of men, much older than myself who I can observe being authentic, rather than a cold, paper magazine and black & white words.

I'm at a place where I can notice my judgements and reactions and choose to either feed them or starve them; I'm also relatively aware of my actions and behaviours and know whether they originate from a loving or fearful place.  I'm also enjoying being with myself as I challenge and grow; especially in the painful and difficult margins of my self where no light has shone for quite some time.  That said, I notice what is missing is the certainty which I see in men who are well into their "Senior" years.  

I see these men embrace their vulnerabilities and fears with grace and I witness them appreciate slow walks, long sits on a bench by the lake, and the reassuring touch of a partner they have known for most of their lives.  It is in their presence that I feel the edge of my youth most sharply.  Like a serrated blade I still seek to penetrate the world with my presence rather than be enfolded by the presence of the world.  I'm still hungry and not sure quite sure what will fill my belly.  

To ache for something that I can witness tangibly yet have no inner sense of is curiously maddening.

Perhaps that is one of the eternal riddles of life and living. 

Here are some other musings:

Dr. Paul Ekman is worth checking out for his work in unraveling the ego's impact on our bodies.

Art Horn is a genius as he discusses the ego's impact on leadership and how to lead without ego

Stuart Knight is my new co-host of GuyTalk on NewsTalk 1010 CFRB - and he is a firecracker!

His Name is Peter, Peter Walker

I saw him for the first time outside of my office, in the lobby; he was shivering.  Minus 25 outside and he had stepped inside to "get warm."  He told me that he couldn't remember where he was supposed to be and he had no idea how he found himself in my lobby.  I asked him if I could help, and he said "no, I just want to get warm and then I'll be on my way."  He kept his word and several minutes later he walked out of the main doors of my office back into the cold night air.  He lingered with me for quite a while - I was unsettled at my core and I couldn't understand why - I felt incomplete - there was something more that was supposed to happen. 

Universal perfection is my mainstay.  So I wasn't much surprised to find the same man standing outside of the gas station, kitty korner to my office almost 45 minutes later.  He was much colder now - his light jacket was no protection against the wind and without a hat, gloves, or a scarf his head was ruby red with icy snot dripping from his nose.  

So I walked over and said hello and again asked if I could help.  It was then that I noticed the hospital bracelets on one of his wrists.  I asked him if he had been in hospital recently - he offered he couldn't remember.  I stalled with mild chit chat as I thought about dialing 911 - after 5 minutes I said - "you know I'm going to make a call and see if I can't find a cop who could help us out."  He looked suspicious, nervous and I thought for a moment that he would walk away.   He stayed, I dialed, we talked,... about a lot of things.  His name is Peter, Peter Walker, he was born March 23, 1937.  He drank at one time in his life.  He'd been to California and like a Steinbeck novel had odd-jobbed his way across the state.  He had a son - but didn't see him much.  He had a wife but also did not see her much.  The more I looked at Peter, the more I noticed.  And after some time I began to have a felt sense that I had seen this man before.  He was more than familiar - I'd been in this man's presence before.  

My grandfather, Edward Townsend died of a brain tumour in England on the same day that our daughter Molly was born here in Toronto.  I hadn't seen Ted's gradual loosening grip on life - my mother, his daughter and my Aunt had been there to see those moments.  All I had and have are the memories of a man I met for the first time when I was 25.  He was full of life, passionate about painting, politics, art history, the gossip of his village and gardening.  He was both an intoxicating mystery and the solid ground of knowing underneath me.  In meeting Ted I could see more of myself and where I came from.  

If I have regrets in my life it is that I never said goodbye to my grandfathers - Ted, and Harry who also died several months later.  My relationship to my grandfathers was spotty and intermittent and virtually non-existent as an adult.  I had miles of distance between us - a cultural divide - and an unspoken message in my family that England and family in England was all about un-finished business.  So, I never bothered to create a bond with either man and that I regret.  I miss them both and I miss the part of myself that they know about me -as they were both a big part of my life when I was an infant prior to us emigrating to Canada.  I don't remember me at 2 or 3, I knew they did.   

Peter Walker is the spitting image of Ted.  The same angular, high cheek-boned face, the same full head of salt & pepper hair, short on the sides and back - lofty on the top.  The same tight lips and piercing eyes - eyes that had seen a lot - seen deeply  - seen through people.  

I asked Peter to come back to my car to get warm.  Once inside I drove him to the nearest Police station and with care handed him over to a young woman, who with grace, welcomed him and told Peter they would get him back home.  I cry as I think about the last 10 seconds, as I walked up to him, looked him in the eyes and shook his hand.  I thanked him and I said goodbye.

Goodbye Peter, goodbye Harry, goodbye Ted.

Melancholy and Mourning and The Sixth Sense

One of the fundamental aspects of being human is that we are constantly in a state of change.  Transition and our response or reaction to change is our greatest teacher.  As I write this from my desk and in between sessions, I'm struck with how many men I help who are stuck in a process of change; meaning they're emotionally suspended as change is happening around them.  Typically I see men who present a variety of problems which are keeping them awake at night and when they do the work to look at what is driving these issues invariably what shows up is the place where they have been emotionally parked - a major life transition - that they just have not processed fully.  This state is melancholy and it comes with a sense of drifting, of a lack of deep engagement with anyone or anything, and most important an emotional palette which is limited or non-existent.  If you look around you can probably identify many guys you know who fit this bill; perhaps even it's you.  When I'm in melancholy, I'm never fully happy, never really excited, never fully in love, never truly ignited by living.  I'm a poltergeist locked in angst desperately trying to get away from where I am and wanting to cling onto anyone who can give me a way out or whose life energy I can suck to make me feel better.

Sounds horrible right?

So what's the answer?

Well, let's look at M. Night Shamalayan's breakthrough movie - Sixth Sense for a clue.    In the film, a young boy is visited by numerous 'ghosts,' who are seeking to end their drifting suffering.  The boy's function is to tell the truth about how these people died setting the record straight, righting any wrongs and thereby bringing closure and releasing the apparitions from their pain.  But he's deeply disturbed by what he sees and wants to escape the realities that visit him.  Bruce Willis, as a 'dead' psychiatrist enters to ease the boy's pain to make life less scary and in doing so, finds his own salvation.  Sixth Sense is about melancholy and the process by which we can exit melancholy which is mourning.  

Our culture has lost the willingness or the stomach to mourn fully and it is killing us.  Mourning, grieving are the processes by which humans naturally move through transition.  Mourning is how we move from attachment to detachment, to re-attachment.  Mourning requires us to tell the truth about what has happened, and feel all the emotions connected to the power of that truth.  Mourning brings us closure to our life's major changes as we move through the defined stages of Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Sadness and Acceptance.    Mourning requires us to feel.  Sadly, it seems our culture has lost the enormous value of this process by favouring a "Get On With Life" solutions-oriented approach which places greater importance on action over feeling.  Don't get me wrong.  Action is necessary for moving us forward lest we decide to roll around lost in the muck of our emotions, but action without feeling is empty and ultimately creates more pain and disorder because the pain is never fully healed.

Look around  - Isn't this what is affecting America right now.  Their take action approach to 911 truncated the nation's mourning and mis-directed all of that hurt into adversarial policies which have created alienation, mistrust, and economic woe.  America needs to grieve fully to have a hope of ever becoming a superpower again.  

Collaborative Divorce - The Only Solution

50,000 children in Canada will feel the pain of separation and divorce this year.

That's 50,000 children whose relationships to their mothers and fathers will change dramatically.

That's 50,000 children, perhaps 25,000 boys approximately, who will likely lose intimate contact with the primary male figure in their lives.  For some of those boys the loss will be a blessing, yet for most it will be a curse.

I've heard a lot of rumblings lately from men and fathers who have experienced some very harsh and unjust treatment from our family court system.  You know, years ago the family courts in Canada were decidedly against women - I know this because as a child I experienced the system firsthand and watched as many of my friends and peers whose parents were also divorcing dealt with their anger at how unfair the courts were on their mothers.  The tide has turned and now it is men who by and large are getting the short end of the stick.  The important aspect of this to remember is not who is dis-empowered but that the system at large is faulty because it seeks to empower one and disempower the other.  

I'm a big supporter of the Collaborative divorce process where both parties agree to waive their right to litigate to serve the higher purpose of creating a plan for the couple and the family which builds connection.  Everyone wins in the Collaborative process and their are no sore losers.  The roadmap created serves the best interests on everyone and all parties are supported through the logistics and the emotions of separation and divorce.

One of the more interesting emails I received was from Paul Clement, who sent along a poem entitled What Is A Dad, - with Paul's permission I'm publishing it here for all to enjoy and reflect.

WHAT IS A DAD?
By PAUL M. CLEMENTS
A Dad is the guy who held your mother’s hand, comforted and encouraged her, at the moment of your birth. Dad is the guy who cried with joy at the sound of YOUR first cry.
A Dad is a guy who nourishes your soul with a lullaby after mother nourishes your body with her milk.
A Dad is the guy who awakens at first sound of a frightened cry, to stroke your cheek and let you know it was only a bad dream.
A Dad is the guy who holds your hand and urges you to stand alone. He's the guy who picks you up when you fall, and urges you to try again.
A Dad is a guy who growls, and roars, and chases you around the house on his hands and knees like a lion, then tickles your tummy and tosses you up in the air, to catch you safely again in his strong arms.
A Dad is a guy who fixes your broken toys, puts your tricycle together, and teaches you how to build “Tinker Toys”.
A Dad is a guy who puts you to sleep with a bed time story and a good night kiss. He may get tired of reading the same story each night for a month, but he never gets tired of kissing you.
A Dad teaches you to throw a ball, and pretends it hurts his hand. He sings silly songs, and laughs at the ones you make up.
A Dad takes a second job so you can have your teeth straightened, take dance lessons, have a computer of your own to study on.
A Dad buys you a two-wheeled bike and teaches you to ride. He steadies you with a hand on the back of the seat, until he can see that you are ready to solo. Even then, he lies about holding on, until you gain the confidence you need. When you climb a tree, and your Mom is telling you to be careful and hold on tight, Dad is the guy who urges you to reach a little further and climb a little higher.
Dad is the guy who gives up his golf game to attend your Little League game, or your dance recital.
Dad is the guy who lets you borrow his tools, who teaches you to hammer a nail, saw a board, or make lines on the basement floor with a chalk line. He’s the guy who teaches you about cars, and lets you steer from the safety of his lap, while he secretly holds the wheel and rides the brake.
Dad is the guy who helps you with your arithmetic homework, and allows you to make a mess with science experiments. He the guy you turn to explain why rain falls and heat rises.
Dad is the guy who teaches you to stand up for your rights, to play fair, and to protect the weaker kids from the school bully. His relationship with your Mom teaches you how to relate to women, or conversely, how to relate to men.
Dad is the guy who takes you to the cemetery on Memorial Day, so you can trace the roots of your heritage, and learn that you are part of an extended family. He's the guy who explains death in practical, non-frightening terms, and teaches you that life must go on.
Dad is the guy who takes you to a science museum, or a museum of natural history, and explains all the exhibits to you.
Dad is the guy who teaches you love, selflessness, and service to others, by running to the corner store to fetch your mothers favorite flavor ice cream.
Dad is the guy who teaches you manly responsibility by rising at four AM to shovel snow off the driveway before going to work. He also teaches you stoicism by making light of how cold and red his hands are, or how much his muscles ache from all the shoveling.
Dad is the guy who acts as inquisitor to everyone his children might date, and who pretends to have fallen asleep watching TV to disguise the fact that he nervously waited up for you to return from a date.
Dad is the guy who teaches you to drive, even though he knows he will see you much less often after you get your license. He’s the guy who says, “Don’t wreck the car”, but means “don’t let yourself get hurt.”
Dad is the guy who drives you to college, or to the airport, and never sheds a tear. With manly reserve, he says goodbye with a handshake, maybe a hug; reserving his tears for the lonely ride home.
Dad is the guy who can speak eloquently on any subject, until it’s time to give his daughter away in marriage. Then, he finds that the simple answer to “Who Gives This Woman To Be Wed?” is the most difficult speech of his life.
Dad is the guy who buys a box of cigars for his son to give away when his first grandchild is born. Dad is the guy who plasters his lathe, his locker, his desk, or the cab of his truck with pictures of his grandchildren. Dad is the guy who disappears into the background, as soon as “Grand Dad” appears. But then...
Dad is the guy who is resurrected whenever the new parents need advice, a loan, or a favor of some sort. And Dad is the guy who gives it all willingly because he’s a Dad, and that’s what Dads do.

Guest Post On HerKind

Well, it's 12:30p.m. and I'm typing this as I watch people chit chat and connect in my favourite coffee shop The Darkhorse, in Toronto. I hear through the grapevine that their coffee is from Intelligentsia in Chicago. Certainly it's great coffee, and sadly something I will be giving up in a few short days as I am participating in an exciting new fitness programme a colleague, Cherilee Garofano, has developed called Fuze Fitness. So, those of you who are fellow lovers of the bean, please empathize. The last time I gave up coffee, (and I only drink two cups a day), I had a hard time.

But, I digress. This week I was asked by another colleague and friend to 'guest post' on her blog HerKind. Carla Lucchetta, HerKind's creator and author has asked me to post on all things male; a subject dear to my heart. So, please visit the site. My first post as a guest is all about what boys need to successfully mature into men and, why women cannot 'father' boys towards manhood. Manhood requires men to be involved, engaged. My GuyTalk co-host Owen Williams, recently admitted to me that he is afraid of teenage boys - that in some scenarios they give off a dangerous energy, that is un-predictable.

Having been one of those 'lost boys,' equally afraid and un-predictable, angry and disappointed, lonely and insecure in belonging - I imagine I was frightening to many adults. Shame. I really needed a hand held out to me - someone to see through the emotional distress and powerful enough to bring me in from the cold.

10,000 Hours

Recently I started to pour through Malcolm Gladwell's new book 'Outliers.' It's a fairly good read overall and definitely an improvement over 'Blink', and back up to the calibre of 'The Tipping Point.' One of the ideas which really hit home for me is his concept that mastery is probable through repetition - consistent repetition; and in Gladwell's telling the consistency needs to be repeated for approximately ten thousand hours for the individual to achieve an ease and comfort with the skill or talent. Which has me thinking about where in my life have I achieved mastery. Given that I don't judge these areas as either positive or negative and rather take a purely scientific approach; they are what they are. I came up with the following list:

I'm A Master Of:

Eating
Bathing
Observing people for subtle body clues and changes in their patterns of speech and behaviour
Sleeping
Synthesizing and expressing ideas and opinions
Observing and connecting ideas and patterns which on the surface don't appear to connect
Helping people with their emotional pain so I can ensure my safety
Meeting my needs of loving and being loved; growing my self worth and being worthy to others
Belonging
Moving towards and moving away from intimacy
Walking
Fathering

What's your list - what would you claim you are a Master Of?

As A Man, Who Am I?

It's a question I've been asking myself as I look ahead to 2009. What I mean by this self-evaluation is who am I and who am I being relative to how am I being? Are my thoughts and behaviours reflective of who I am or, are there still pervasive elements of unconsciousness in how I am being. When I take a fearless inventory of me I know there are a couple of aspects of my life which stand out:

Fatherhood: I can feel that I'm on the edge of myself as a man most when it comes to fathering our 11 year old son. I see and experience him growing up exponentially and I know my role is to be his guide morally and spiritually and that I do this most effectively through modeling to him my own life. What stands out most for me now are those parts of my life that I still have to heal; the parts which are suspended in adolescent wounds, which themselves are extensions or by-products of earlier childhood experiences. Frankly, sometimes I don't want to do the work necessary to uncover, process and re-write these wounds; there are times when my mind says I'm too tired to do the work. And yet, I also know I must, otherwise I will lose my son and perhaps more importantly he will grow into and join the legion of 'lost boys' out there - just as I was at one time.

Purpose: I know I have found my purpose. I feel right in every fibre of my body when I am working with men who are passionately learning about themselves and fearlessly changing their lives. It's the closest thing I have come that I would say is a calling. All the mechanisms and moments of my life seem to have been designed for this time, this work, and a mission yet to come. So what's all the fear about? This what I consistently ask my self. I mean I'm on purpose, I feel connected all around and yet I feel fear. It's beyond nervous excitement. My fear bloats up in my belly and effectively dampens the fire.

This fear I believe is my pre-dominant work for this year. I know this because I feel it more profoundly than ever before and certainly more frequently as I grow. I know my fear stands between me and my being, and I long for what I believe will be the quiet certainty of fearless living.

This is 2009 for me.