What does it mean to be a man?

I don’t know if you have noticed it too, but men are not the most popular people on the planet right now. On the whole, I think a lot of criticism directed towards our cohort is well deserved. The Metoo movement rightly calls out reprehensible behaviour that until just recently was largely glossed over by society, and many would argue still is; after all, we do have a self-declared misogynist in the Whitehouse.

Yes I know, there are plenty of good, decent men in the world still. Some days, I would even count myself among them. And yet, I too know in my inner core, how men have, and still do think of their counterparts, how even good men talk about women when they are not around. How even good men perpetuate stereotypical behaviour and reinforce traditional roles where women live in a subservient position.

So what does it mean, look like, to be a man? Robert Bly offers up some thoughts on this in his book Iron John. A book in which he exegetes a Grimm Brother’s fairy tale about a young prince and his journey towards manhood. Truthfully, Bly’s book is not an easy read. It is full of poetry, difficult prose, myth, and can easily bog down. I did persist and finished it just yesterday. Now I think I need to read it again. Not because I think that his book is the new manual on manhood or masculinity, not by any stretch. But it forced me to look inwards, self-examine and start asking myself difficult questions. It is not just my fifty year old self who needs to know how to be a man, but my fifteen year old son, who is teetering on the cusp of manhood as well. The stakes are kind of high.

One of the major themes throughout Bly’s book is his treatment of the “wild man”. He documents a number of variations of the wild man in numerous cultures (the hairy man, the hairy woman). I think that our contemporary society often celebrates the idea of a “wild man” a man of extremes, independent, daring, cast all caution to the wind. I know my son was smitten with this persona after watching Alex Honnold free solo El Capitan. And yet, Bly clearly states that the problem with manhood is not that we aren’t all wild men, but that most men are not at all in touch with the wild man. In other words, it is not about wanting to become the wild man, living in the woods, under a lake, covered entirely in hair, but rather, that most of us have never even ventured into the woods, and given ourselves a chance at encountering that character.

I don’t think that this means that we as men all need to buy an axe and a tent and head out into the woods to get in touch with the wild man either. Although that also seems to be a growing trend in my circles these days too.

I find it interesting that Bly highlights the genetic similarities between genders, and then focuses on the three percent which separates us. Men and women are almost genetically identical, and yet, three percent creates a vast difference. We are virtually the same, and yet not. My reading suggests that it is in trying to ignore that three percent, that leads many men to become frustrated, angry, and even at times tyrannical.

I actually don’t know the answer to the question posed in the title of this post. I know that I, like so many others, want my life to have meaning, purpose, significance, and authentic relationships. I think myself, and many men I know yearn for these things, and don’t know how to get our hands wrapped around them. I think the wild (nature) beckons many of us, because inherently the woods, the mountains, the rivers, the ocean offer up a glimpse into the transcendent, and speak whispers to that longing deep inside which we so deftly quell. And I don’t think it is enough to venture off alone either. We may encounter the wild man out there, by ourselves, but I know personally, it is in sharing a common experience where true meaning is found. Very few of us are cut out to sit atop a pole in the middle of the dessert.

If I am honest though, it is not merely company that the average man seeks. Life is full of company. We have company on our teams, in our work place, on committees, even within our families. Company rarely offers up honesty, transparency, or self evaluation. I have been enamoured for decades by the stories of the Inkling - a literary society made up of kindred spirits who regularly gathered at Magdelan College or the back of a pub in Oxford (the Eagle and Child, I have sat there, and drunk a pint in their honour). C.S. Lewis, J.R Tolkien, among many others. These stories have formed for me a standard of sorts, a demand for brutal honesty, self disclosure that truthfully I have rarely encountered (even in myself).

I think the wild man calls us out of our comfort zone, our habitual way of life, and beckons us into the woods. Into a place that is unfamiliar, where we are forced to examine our own limitations, deficiencies, and our skills and talents. It calls us down, into the ashes, into places we might not want to go; to acknowledge the wounds and stare into the grief we have accumulated along the way. I personally have found this to be mostly a solitary journey, but I don’t think it need be. I think it could be made by an intentional group of men and boys who follow the wild man into the woods. Sojourners with a common purpose built around vulnerability, to discover what it means to be a man, what it means to live life well, what it means to contribute to the betterment of our world. To ultimately discover what difference that three percent makes, in a positive manner, which celebrates the uniqueness and strength of masculinity without the need or tendency to resort to misogyny.

If you are inclined to read Bly’s rendition of the Fairy Tale, I have attached it below.

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On Shame and Vulnerability

I listened to Brené Brown's book Daring Greatly over the past couple of days, I am now onto her book Rising Strong. My former psychologist suggested that I read Daring Greatly two years ago, which I brushed off at the time. Truthfully, had I listened to Julie back then, I might have more of a headstart on the personal work that needs doing now (I am not stubborn at all!). For those of you who aren't familiar with Brené's work, a great introduction to her research on shame and vulnerability can be found in her wildly successful TED talk. I like Brenê, and while I have never met her, I feel like I know her in part, because of how she communicates. I guess one of the benefits of listening to a book, vs reading a book, is that you get to hear the author read their work, which I think imbues it with more gravitas. I like the fact that she swears, she is real, she tells it like it is, and probably most importantly, she makes me squirm.

You might think it odd that I like that she makes me squirm, but in truth, I have always respected those who speak with clarity, who challenge me, who force me to look at myself. I don't suffer fools or small talk very well. I am someone who lives a lot in my own head, and I feels deeply, passionately most people say, but I rarely have a clue as to what I am feeling or how to name or process those emotions. I have worn Teflon most of my life, and for a long time, even was proud of that; I have been labelled a shit disturber, and a bull in a china shop and these are the kind descriptions.

What I am learning from Brown is that shame is a powerful thing, which impacts us early on, and has long-lasting impacts on how we live out our lives. As I have listened to Brené talk for well over twelve hours now, I am slowly realizing how many significant shaming events I endured as a young person. I was mercilessly ridiculed for having red hair (Howdy Doody red hair long before ginger was in style). I wore glasses starting in grade one, had big ears, and was completely awkward. I was punished by my grade one teacher for getting my work done too fast, was thrown down the stairs by bigger kids in grade two, picked up by my ears (literally) by my teacher in grade three for being a smart ass, and the list goes on. This bullying and shaming continued throughout my time in school, even until grade twelve where I was still mocked for my hair colour and appearance. When I look back on my grade twelve grad photo, even I am a bit shocked at how much I look like a complete cowboy nerd. I was so shy, so unsure of myself, so utterly lost. I was selected to travel to Ottawa in grade twelve as a participant in the Forum for Young Canadians. It was quite the honour, only four hundred kids from the entire country were selected, and there were thousands of applicants. I was so excited, and when I got there, that awkward, acneid, weird cowboy nerd was almost univerally rejected by the other attendees in my cohort. Frankly, I hated high school, and couldn't wait to get out of the small community that I grew up in. For as long as I could remember I felt like an outsider.

It wasn't until I spent a year in Denmark after graduating that I started to grow a little self- confidence. The year I spent in Europe after high school was cathartic. I got a chance for a new start, got a chance to be part of a new culture, a completely differnet social mileau. I left for Denmark an awkward cowboy, and came home one year later as abearded, pipe smoking, clog wearing european intellectual (my parents almost didn't recognize me when I came through the airport).

Yet upon entering university later that year, I remember that same lost feeling flooding back, as I  wandered through long hallways at the U of L in what seemed like an endless sea of people who wanted nothing to do with me. But it was in university that I decided (a forceful act of my will) that I was no longer going to be someone who lived on the peripherie, and I forced myself to move out of my protective shell and into what Brown calls the arena. I have made it my goal to live in that arena ever since.

Brené Brown's work leans heavily on a quote from President Theodore Roosevelt in a speech that he gave where he made this statement - 

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

I am someone who is pretty risk tolerant (perhaps an understatement) and I have generally thought of myself as someone who has life pretty well put together. Confidence has never been in short supply in my life, or at least that is the mask that I put on most days, the version of myself that most who know me get to see. I think, in retrospect, that my resolve to live in that arean (although I wouldn't have described it as such until recently) forced me to put myself in harms way. In univeristy I got myself elected as the President of the Students Union. In grad school, I got into a pissing match with my supervisor and in protest wrote the LSAT and applied to law school. Upon being accepted, I quit my MA program (despite my wife Michelle's protest) moved to Edmonton and started law school. While I enjoyed much of law school, I quickly discovered that law wasn't what I had envisioned. My articling year was another year of battling an extreme fear and shame culture, topped with a little corruption. 

Actually, looking back, I now see how even the training we receive in law school and in the practice of law, solidifies and galvinizes unhealthy communication practices, competitiveness, us vs them, argue to the death, bully, the list goes on.... and I now see how as part of this journey I am now on, I need to unlearn much of what I acquired during my legal training. 

While I have lived in the arena, for many years, and most recently in the last twelve years, starting and growing my own business, I am beginning to realize that I have done so, mostly with little or no awareness of my own emotional wellbeing throughout. I have had little awareness of how I have used shame, avoidance, and many other unhealthy mechanisms to get through it all. In short, I am beginning to see that despite all of my accomplishments, I have not been living in a very wholehearted manner. It is namely this deficit that I hope to figure out along the way.

Whether you want to read about my journey into wholeheartedness and vulnerabilty, and away from the crippling effects of shame is up to you. I would like to say that I don't care if anyone reads this (me wearing Teflon) but that is simply not true. But I am not writing this so that it will be read widely. But rather, I am writing this, because just like I think and process things verbally, on the fly (I argue with myself and others a lot), I also know that I process things more effectively when I write. Perhaps it is the creative process that Brown talks about, which has a healing effect, I am not completely sure? But what I am sure of is that when I put my thoughts down (on virtual paper) and then publish them, I have to own them, which makes them more real, more powerful; and thus, I will continue to write and publish my thoughts regardless of whether I have an audience in the process. Because at the end of the day, what I am after is transformation, a move towards vulnerability, leaning into the hard truths, so that I can be a better dad, a better husband, a better boss, a better friend, a better member of the human race.