Pride is what God hates most. It makes a man unusable to Him. Pride / arrogance can grow out of man's need for respect if he allows his identity to be shaped intrinsically by what he excels at / what ranks him higher up the scale than his peers.
A few years ago, I met an Italian man who was close to my age who was originally from Iowa, at the time living in Birmingham, Alabama by way of Houston, Texas. Of course, his name was Anthony (as all Italian men are).
He and I became fast friends because he was desperate for a friend (literally). We had lunch one day here in Jackson, and he asked me the following question, "How do you make friends?".
I'd never been asked this before, and boy, was I intrigued at where this particular query originated from.
Anthony eventually moved back to Houston, Texas after a short stint here in the deep South. He's unfortunately been out of my life for some time now.
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Many of you who read my writings here know some or all of my story. Suffice to say, I typically utilize a handful of small, everyday objects as visual aids whilst sharing Rob's tale. One of those objects, as of late, is a broken (shattered) hand mirror. That broken mirror represents "The Void" as I've dubbed it, which is what I see when I look back at myself in order to compare who I am within the company of other men.
I argue that most men have a mirror that's not broken as mine is, therefore they're quite capable of taking stock of their own self, and this mirror is what men use as they learn to respect themselves either outside of or within some semblance of male community depending on their circumstances.
Sans a working mirror, men like myself can spend way too much time fixated on other men. Again, for those of you who know my story, you likely can see where this can lead. But too, the reverse can happen when a man becomes fixated on his own reflection.
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A hand mirror is a helpful tool for a man, but it's certainly not meant to be used more often than not. Otherwise, that's when pride can begin to set in.
Anthony eventually shared most of his story with me. The gist of it had to do with him being reared in rural Iowa within a poor family as an overweight kid. He was keenly aware of his body fat because of his mirror. In fact, like many overweight children, (if I remember correctly), he would "camouflage" his build by wearing coats all the time. In college, he dropped the weight prior to taking a long, hard look in his mirror, and man, did he ever like what he'd become!
When I met Anthony, he was enduring military style exercise routines most days (in his basement), and he weighed himself immediately following. These routines he followed online, or he'd purchase DVDs that he would screen over and over again. This same routine had been going on for years and years. He didn't like gyms as he couldn't as easily follow his "Muscle Insanity" (or whatever it was called) routine nearly as easily, therefore instead, he'd isolate himself in his basement night after night after night.
Needless to say, Anthony didn't look like your typical Deep South man. Not at all. As anyone who's from here knows, most middle-aged men from the South don't look their best in their underwear. Anthony, it was obvious to me, would have looked fantastic in nothing but his underwear. He was just that fit. Minimal body fat, olive skin, ripped, refined, chiseled. He was all of that, and he knew it. How his early 40s body endured the endless 24-hour cycle abuse he'd put it through, I'll never know.
I challenged Anthony repeatedly to throw out his bathroom scale, but he wouldn't do it. I told him to throttle back on the exercise regimens, but he'd simply respond by saying he'd consider doing so a month or so into the future.
Anthony loved his reflection too much to ever consider any of this.
One day, he disclosed to me that his goal was to always be the "fittest man in the room".
Why?
To command respect of the inner Anthony. The one who likely still sees an overweight, jacket-weighing boy.
It was like a battle was ongoing within my Italian friend, and what to him felt like justifiable victory, was only fueling pride as he spent more and more time trying to outrun his past self versus making some semblance of peace with it.
When Anthony asked me that question during our lunch, "How do you make friends?, I couldn't help but mention Samson Society. I remember explaining to him how it had impacted my life tremendously. He even agreed to attend a Samson meeting with me if it happened to work with his travel schedule.
Unfortunately, it never did.
Eventually too, I shared my story with Anthony, and it didn't faze him.
It wasn't all that long ago that men like Anthony didn't exist, but today, I see it more and more. I remember reading The Adonis Complex many years ago and being intrigued.
In closing, and in an attempt to circle back to my original statement on pride, I took a serious blow to my pride in 2013 due to a unexpected job loss. The position fit me well on the surface, but personally / spiritually, it proved to be a nightmare. Despite my skillset / credentials being well utilized, no amount of professional mobility could override the intense shame I was experiencing internally. That shame was rooted in personal struggles which extended as far back as puberty, and it only continued to grow more and more sizable with each passing month within that weirdly unresolvable setting. I was one year into my tenure there when it all came to abrupt end. I've touched on that part of my story here. What I learned from that experience is that I would never have obtained the faith I have today had it not been borne out of my healing from that particular trauma. Losing that job, at least in as far as how it was handled (between me and my superiors), felt as if I'd been raped and subsequently impregnated with a massive sense of worthlessness. That experience resulted in PTSD taking root, which I dealt with for +/-18 months. I've never walked through anything more debilitating. Therefore, I celebrate each day that I can look back and thank God for healing my mind of such damage, knowing full well that I will be forever indebted to him for that miracle. Many men never fully recover their hearts from such trauma.
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Beware of staring too long into your mirror (if you're lucky enough to have one that's unbroken), and if you're the kind of guy who has a problem with this, simply force yourself to put it down in order to replace it with a Bible. I recommend starting with the book of James (Jesus' brother).
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