Once a month, I pay to be with a group of men in a circle for 2 hours. Most of them are strangers.
I didn’t know then, but I came to like it a lot.
A group coming together with an intention to slow down, listen to themselves and reveal.
As I listen, I share what relates to me. It could be similar past experiences and what resonated. There’s no solving of problems, because frankly, some things can’t be solved. They just need to be shared.
I learned that, more than wanting a plan or a solution, we want to feel less alone. I get to witness struggles and joy, and in turn, share mine with others.
We shared about job uncertainty, role’s expectation, inner rage, unintended pregnancy, leaving religion, intentional transitions and parent’s cheating.
In a world of accomplishments, innovations and highlight reels, I get an opportunity to be honest with myself and listen. Interestingly, when I witness a “successful-looking” person sharing a difficult situation, my problem feels smaller. And maybe help someone by relating to them.
I exercise my vulnerability muscles. Sharing the things that matter, to people who listen. Showing up, month after month, I vote for the kind of person I want to be. Honest with myself, with others, to talk about the hard stuff. The most vulnerable and truest things.
And as I chipped away the cultural stigma for myself, I invite friends along:. Sometimes, I’m lucky and deepen a relationship. Other times, I make a new friend from strangers in the group.
I learn also that I enjoy attending despite life’s going well. I get to listen to people in the group. Perhaps instead of calling it a men’s group or a support group. It can be called a life group.
And of course, the real magic are those who showed up and lead.
Thank you, Hafeez and Chun.
It’s worth noting that not all men’s groups are not the same. I tried two different groups. One feels directive and the other explorative. I enjoyed the latter. A shared agreement, repeated at every gathering, that anyone can pass on any activities while being honored allows me to be very comfortable.
Our relationship brings precious moments that hold our humanity but is also a place that causes endearing pain.
Caught in the middle of joy and pain, it’s hard to know if you should leave or stay. In these moments, it helps to get clarity with silence, inquiry and wisdom.
More than a great marketing idea, it’s the fuel you need to the tipping point.
A simple question can be turned into a research project or a video on YouTube. And what if it could be published at Harvard? Then turned it into a New York Times article.
A private curiosity becomes generous.
Yes, it’s much harder and takes more time and effort.
But if you’re lacking motivation, make it a moonshot.
We come together in relationships to experience what’s impossible alone. Intimacy, understanding, love and touch. We want to be together.
Yet, when we look around, great relationships have space between each other. Space to be apart.
The bad news is, that there is no rule for the amount of closeness or separateness for each to thrive. And that begins the art.
The good news is once we see this paradox, our request (not demand) for space or connection becomes a generous act for the sake of thriving relationships.
That’s the dance of being close and separate, of attachment and authenticity.
As Esther Perel points out, “love rests on two pillars: surrender and autonomy” because “our need for togetherness exists alongside our need for separateness. But too much merging erases the separateness of two distinct individuals. Then there is nothing more to transcend, no bridge to walk on, no one to visit on the other side, no other internal world to enter. When people become fused — when two become one — connection can no longer happen. There is no one to connect with.”
Someone is screaming at you and your blood pressure spikes.
You bite your tongue, not wanting to start a fight.
He continues, thinking that more nagging would get you to understand.
You desperately want the person to stop. Eventually, it stops.
The hardest part, is when the same scenario comes back again.
I wonder if the scenario is recurring because of our righteous belief that we are right and they are wrong.
We wish people to act differently. And they wish the same. Round and round, the situation happens again.
And when we believe that, we skip the need to take responsibility for our own reality. We outsource our agency to be creative and shape our reality insisting on others to change.
Claiming back your agency and repeating issues are both painful.