Generating Authentic Power

Our society, it seems, is set up as an accomplishment-driven world. What this means is that we value and measure each other - especially as men - by what we can and what we have done. I must tote around my resume of accomplishments in order to be seen either as a man of my word or as a valued, results-producing go-getter.

But when men reach a certain age or level of maturity, accomplishments are no longer the measure of worth.  In the second half of life (as Richard Rohr calls it) our goal is more about creating worth through what we give rather than what we get or win. This all came to a head yesterday as I talked with a friend and contemporary (he is as old as me) who was signing up for a goal-crunching program in order for him to up his personal integrity.  This man said that in his life he has seen where he has often not accomplished what he said he would and that he has not "shown up as his word" far too often.

I asked him what he though integrity meant to him and he told me that it meant doing what you say you will do.  Well, that may be true, especially in an accomplishment oriented first-half-of-life society.  Integrity is the consistency between what you say and what you do.  But in the second half of life we lose the fascination with trophies and points, so integrity of our word takes on a different texture and flavor. "What if," I asked him, "you looked at integrity as telling the truth about where you are right now?"

The wisdom and power of integrity at that point would look like telling others how much being out of integrity in the past has cost you.  You could look at the wounds and scars you have and say, "This is where I failed to do suchandso a thing, and here is what happens when you don't do that." and so on.  How powerful it is to be fully present to one's failures and the lessons learned from them, instead of pretending that history didn't teach him anything and having him try to (once again) white knuckle through another program of goals and accomplishments. Doing the later would no doubt result in another imbalanced list of losses and a few wins, and further the evidence of his life that he cannot accomplish these huge piles of goals - and that therefore he must suffer one more hit to his pride and integrity in the accomplishment world.

Enough is enough! He does not need anymore evidence.  What he needs, if anything, is the ability to tell the truth and to be fully aware and present to his results and lack thereof. Then, standing in the truth, fully aware of the associated pains and joys of his life, he can finally claim his authority - authority in his own life and his authority for the wisdom he dispenses. It may be hard to face the truth, and even harder to stay fully present to it, but the power that reveals is immense.

When Knowing Isn't Enough

Whoopie shit!  So I write this blog and with Dave's great insights and help have written A Married Man's Survival Guide and now it's sequel, Thriving in the Jungle, and then something happens like this past week that causes me to question it all.  The occasion was when a close relative came to me because their marriage was about to fall apart. Real stuff that I have dealt with many times before with friends and buddies, but this one landed really close to home.

My first instinct was to think "What advice can I give that might make a difference?" But the pivotal phrase in that sentence is "make a difference" and all the advice in the world has never made any difference - to anybody.  That isn't what matters when the bomb goes off right next to you.  All that matters is that you are there.  All that matters is that you listen (without editorializing), just listen.

Oh to be certain, I have an opinion.  I have failed at marriage and have gotten divorced and I have lived through dealing with the monster that occupies the space between failure and the final decree.  And all I can really say is that it sucks - as in it sucks all of the life out of you, all of the oxygen out of your lungs - and you cannot think or breathe or move. And what is worse is that the way that felt for me is different than how it will feel for my brother or my kids or for you going through that same in-between space.

I (or you) can never know what it is like for another, no matter how well we know that person or the path they are walking.  We just have no insight into what they are experiencing, and even when they tell us of that unique brand of suckitude fron which they are presently suffering, we will only understand it in terms of what we have as words and history and feelings.  We won't understand theirs.  So all of that knowing is for shit - it has no relevance in the space in-between.

So we laid there and stared up at the ceiling and I listened into the confusion and pain. And as quietly as I could I let the tears of remembrance slide down into my hairline so I wouldn't interfere the telling and spewing that was happening beside me.  And eventually we laughed and went to sleep, so we could get up and talk and listen some more.

It's not over and I am not deluding myself into thinking that I made even an iota of difference.  But I did no harm by assuming that I knew more or different or better.  Sometimes the experiences and pains of life teach you that we all have those periods - those explosions - in our lives and what matters is that we aren't alone.  My pain has taught me compassion for the pain of others so that I can listen without opinion - and for a short while maybe it didn't hurt as much.

Entering the Ring

I am an elder. At least that is what I would be classified as by virtue of my 62 years of age and because of the number of men I have mentored over the last decade or so. And as an elder I am not supposed to be doing what I am presently in the act of doing – entering into a combat. The distinction of elder usually is bestowed on those who, having completed the elements of the first half of life, are now busied with passing those lessons on to others. Intrinsic with that definition is the idea that one is done with the contests and conquests associated with the first half of the life journey. And yet, the reason I am writing this is that I am currently aboard an airplane headed out to engage in one more “first half” endeavor – to engage with other men my age in martial arts competition.

We are told that life is divided into two elements: the first half is focused on gathering and building, and the second more focused on giving and applying. I like Richard Rohr’s division. Rohr says that the first half is about building our container and the second half about using it, the first half concerns finding our purpose and then we must live into that in the remaining years of our life. So as young warriors we venture out into the world to conquer it and bring home our trophies and medals – signs of accomplishing our tasks. We define our space, build our container, as Rohr would say, by doing and winning. Then, having secured our place in the world, we move into a role of helping others from the wisdom of our contests, our failures and victories. Most importantly we teach from our scars and our wounds.

So why am I setting out once again to compete? Have I not won enough, accomplished enough, failed enough, been wounded enough? I dearly hope that those are not the reasons I am doing this. No. As I searched my inner wisdom for some answer, I saw only one thing: my son. I have a late life son (my other children are grown and married with kids of their own) who as a young teenager is perhaps looking at this elder man in wonder. He wonders how I can relate to him. He wonders what it would be like to have a young thirty-something father – to learn from, to model and even joust with. He, like all boys his age wants a hero, and that usually is their father. And that is why I am on this quest.

It’s not for me this time, no medals or trophies are needed anymore, not for me. And I really don’t think he needs me to bring one home for him. But to know that his dad, despite injuries and aching bones could one last time do what it takes to be in the ring, to even qualify, perhaps shows him some element of what a father hero is all about. I want to teach my son that it’s never too late to try. I want to teach him that giving your best may not result in the gold medal, it may not even be enough to place. But I want to teach him that there is something special and valuable in putting all you have into the quest, no matter what the outcome may be. I can tell him this as many times as I like, but it will never register as anything more than words. SO I am doing it to the best of my ability.

I have dropped 15 pounds in the last month. I have doubled up my practice sessions and over the next few days I will be training and practicing and preparing to be able to say that this one, this time, I gave everything I could in his honor. This one is for Jesse. This is so that you know, my son, that giving your best is all that it takes and is all anyone can ask of you – in scholastics, in athletics, in music, and art and in all of life. Give it your all, my son. This is for you.

Don't Remove the Arrow!

Shakespeare called them the "slings and arrows" but whatever you call them, the pains of living the masculine life can certainly feel like a direct arrow in the chest. I was working with a man who had been divorced and is now contemplating marriage to a chart-topping, classy woman. All was going well until he called me recently in agony and depression saying the arrow he'd taken in the divorce was just too painful. It was actually stopping him from proposing to this magnificent woman he knew he wanted to marry.

He said, "You're my mentor - help me take out the arrow. I can't get it out by myself!" But (and I am certain he didn't like my response at first) I said no. That is masculine wisdom. Men learn through our pain and what we learn are our values and our terms. Because the pain speaks loudly, in a sense, saying, "NO - I will never ever feel this pain again. I will never let this happen again." And that is the first step in driving the stake in the ground that says what your commitment is.

There is no legitimate "no" that is not the result of a committed "yes" to some principle or value. So if your pain is saying a loud "NO!" then there is a value that has been challenged; a line that has been crossed. That man lost - massively - when he did not hold his ground and let his values be compromised, and it cost him his first marriage (for better or for worse). And now that pain is what he needs to ensure that his commitment in this next marriage will be stronger than any circumstance or hiccup that can (and will) arise. "NO, I will not quit!" "NO, I will not get lazy in the relationship, because I will never allow that thing to happen to me again!" I told him that the pain is not what should stop him from proposing - it is the watchdog that will ensure that this will be an unstoppable marriage.

So a good mentor (I will claim that in this case) will not take out the arrow. A true mentor will help a man embrace and cherish the pain as his teacher. We do not learn any other way (sorry, I wish it were easy)! Wisdom is the ability to look through your pain and scars and find the lessons learned. Then turn around and teach another man - pass it forward.