Recommended Reading / Rob's Cycle of Porn

The Cycle of Pornography | Evidence Unseen

My first encounter with porn (late elementary school) occurred at my uncle's apartment.  I was around 4-5th grade, and it was my cousin (my uncle's son - an only child like me) who exposed me to his father's Penthouse magazines. Even then, it was the male models that I was drawn to the most.  Nonetheless, I was so curious as to what sex / sensuality was.  These soft-lensed, exquisitely photographed pictorials fueled my desire to learn more.  I remember masturbating in the hall bathroom after my cousin and I had "had our fill".  I loved the powerful arousal that occurred via these photos (tied to the clandestine investigation) which in turn made the climaxes that much moreso unbelievable.  

Looking back, I had no idea what was truly going on due to being brought up in such a vacuum-of-sexual-information-household.  Nonetheless, what I did know was I too (as a human being) was "wired for sex", therefore it felt imperative that I take these opportunities to learn / feel as much as possible in this regard.

In a nutshell, this was simply prepubescent curiosity mixed with availability of explicit sexual material.  Did it lay groundwork for being captivated (in bondage) outright down the road?  I don't believe so.  That all grew out of the shame / loneliness I was experiencing as a targeted middle school faggot / loner.

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7th and 8th grade were tremendously difficult for Rob.  I was miserable and as a result, had to lay low at school.  I began fantasizing regularly about being pursued by older men (sexual relationships), and the most shame-filled fantasies of them all involved my youth pastor.  There was no precedent for this.  I'd not been molested outright, though in so many ways, the abject void of masculine affirmation qualified in and of itself.  

Young men must have the masculine affirming they deserve to develop into healthy men.

I had no older (or younger) brothers.  There wasn't a dad (Robert, Sr.) that had any semblance as to what healthy, customized masculine affirming looked like (much less a desire to participate therein).  I loathed team sports and scouting.  All of this added up to me literally being on my own.

In light of this, I stuck to comic books and music, eventually joining the poor excuse of a marching band (clarinet & later drum major) that was available to me at Madison-Ridgeland Academy.  Our entourage was a sad joke, but thanks be to God, there was some semblance of a loser community for me to fall back on.  

As my secondary education marched forward, I couldn't help but observe select other young men become hardened, successful athletes.  As such, I took the step of including them within my sexual fantasies.  This made things more personal and far more lowbrow within my mind (considering their relational closeness to me).  

As such, these homosexual fantasies became my go-to daily elixir for how inept I felt as Rob.  Rinse & repeat.  Rinse & repeat.

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During high school, I had no problem making friendgirls, and many, if not most, were interested in pursuing a romantic relationship.  But, at this point, I was now using salacious print material to homofantasize (in the form of wall calendars, greeting cards, men's exercise mags).  All of this material, I consistently looked to catalog privately as I became more and more captivated by masculine beauty.  By far, it was the most compelling visual find of my young existence (exponentially accelerated in potency relative to my ongoing private self-loathing).

Again, there was such the void of knowledge pertaining to what was out there regarding this seemingly intangible subject.  And I craved for more and more of that knowledge.  This too cannot be discounted.

If I've ever been addicted to anything, it was during this stage of my life, and my addiction was to what I perceived as masculine.

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Strength training was key to me putting a toe in the water of masculine self-affirmation.  It was during my last year of college.  I was living with Bob & Darlene as I was completing my 5th year of architecture school (in Jackson) at Mississippi State University.  I'd asked my parents to purchase me a beginner's (youth) strength training set in high school from Service Merchandise.  It consisted of a cushion bench (w/ a bolted on leg lift attachment), one barbell and one dumbbell.  The plastic weights were sand-filled.  A tri-fold instruction booklet, printed in black-&-white accompanied this '80s novice exercise kit-of-parts.  

Four months of using this rudimentary equipment (thrice weekly) along with sit-ups and pushups - down on the cut pile carpeted floor of my bedroom worked wonders.  It truly was miraculous.

Why?  Because it consisted of personal, private affirming at its finest.  All in tandem with me myself gaining muscle mass steadily.  For once in my young man life, I felt some semblance of pride whilst seeing my reflection in the mirror.  

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At this same time, I began dating my future wife.  Not long after our engagement, I confessed to having a serious "interest" in pornography, but the hardest part was divulging my homofantasy life (to both her and my parents) and how it had sprung out of a deep-seated loathing of my masculine self (this had not been difficult to figure out).

What was super convenient for me was how similarly crippled my future father-in-law (girlfriend's dad) was.  Hence, my fiancé had been reared by a father who was not all that much different - intrinsically - than I was.  This served (along with my commitment to therapy), I believe, as a bridge that moved us confidently towards marriage.  

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Not long after our wedding day, the Internet came on the scene.  

Oh.  My.  Gosh.  What a nightmare that was.

It was like moving a drunk (me) into a liquor store.  And not any liquor store but one where any and all forms of liquor could be conjured up on demand.  For free.  And placed in the palm of your / my hand.

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The adult (explicit) - content now available via the Internet should have been sequestered.  Adult (explicit) - content allowed over here / no adult (explicit) - content allowed over here.  But no one asked Rob.  

Instead, it was one big free-for-all.  Everything and anything you could imagine, readily available, so long as you had an Internet capable device / browser.  And this was how the adult content producers wanted it.  For they knew that the more (& younger) eyes they exposed to their explicit smut, the more deeply entrenched their wares would become within the viewers' psyches. This, of course, would then drive demand for more as the captivation concretized. 

Before long, so many (mostly men) were absolutely epidemically infected by this newfound ease-of-access-to digital smut.  Including me.  For it tapped into (& subsequently reanimated) my childhood coping mechanism.  A mechanism that in so many ways was no longer needed or wanted at this stage of my young adult life.

Therefore, this was its true wretchedness:  the monumentally tremendous unneeded / unwanted / unwarranted stress on me / my young marriage for such a time as this.

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Curiosity also played a sizable role in my steady return to gay porn.  The Internet served me well in this capacity.  For there was an endless supply of new photos / videos.  All I had to do was search for "hairy muscle men" & voila!

Who knew there was so much historical smut out there for consumption!  Colt Studio Group was my instant go-to.  Especially in regard to "vintage" Colt.  Seeing gay porn from the '80s was especially profound.  For this was the decade of my youth.  How unusual it was to reckon with the fact that all of this smut was being created on the west coast throughout my adolescence in Mississippi.  Who'd a thunk?

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I sat down with a therapist at First Baptist Church Jackson in the early '00s, spilling my story and asking for help as it pertained to my being captivated by online gay porn.

I'd known this therapist / pastor since I was a boy.  He poured his encouragement into me, and for a while, I felt immensely strengthened.  But his words weren't enough.  

What made the first distinct difference in my battle was connecting intimately with another man who pursued me for who I was outright.  

Let me repeat that.

What made the first distinct difference in my battle was connecting intimately with another man who pursued me for who I was outright.  

Who was I exactly?

1.  Christian

2.  Husband

3.  Father

4.  Same-sex attracted

5.  Intelligent

6.  Athletic

7.  Articulate

8.  Loyal

And so forth.

This man amounted to being my first Silas.  And he was perfectly suited to Rob back in 2009.  

He allowed me to healthily bask in the love of masculine affirmation.  He did so via words and touch and so much steadfastness (listening ear).

During the core 10-months of that friendship, I consumed not one iota of gay porn.  This was a monumental achievement / breakthrough for me.  I had found my antidote.

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Fast forward to my inclusion into Samson Society in 2014.

My first (official) Silas (1.0) had so many similarities to this aforementioned, pre-Samson Society friend.  And though the pursuit was short-lived, it confirmed my suspicions.

If gay porn's grip was to be permanently loosened, I had to find men who'd affirm my individualistic masculinity.  And preferably, I needed it to occur in-person.  For their physical energy / aura was needed for me to receive the healing I so desired.

I became then a vigilante advocate for myself.  Any opportunity to receive, I gravitated towards.  So often men would believe they were simply being pursued (by Rob) in relation to their need(s), when in reality, it had nothing to do therein.  It was all about me and my needs.  For me to be friendly was easy.  But before long, when the stars aligned, intimate connection would occur.  Perhaps via a gesture or touch.  Maybe a short exchange of verbiage - heated or gentle.  But, in the end, I was exposed to that soft underbelly that so few were / are given the opportunity to see.  And it was that emotional energy that I drank down like dilithium crystals powering a warp core. 

This resulted in an instant leveling up for Rob.  For I was keenly aware of how privileged I was to experience those delicious, etched-in-my-long-term memory relational moments.

As such, my mantra eventually became (within Samson Society) to serve oneself wholeheartedly.  

In closing, make this place about you and your needs being met.  All in tandem with your deep desire to tamp down (& ultimately defeat) the morally bankrupt captivation (sexually explicit material, chemical, etc.) that's established / hardened itself within your mind.  

This is my personal rallying cry.  Because it's worked wonders for me.  

In closing, I will forever be on the prowl.  Hunting my next opportunity to be seen by men who are willing to take the time to know me outright.  Warts & all.

What Is A Silas?

Here is what our experience tells us: You can get sober from anything going to meetings, but you can’t stay sober just going to meetings. That’s why, in the end, it isn’t even about the meetings. The meetings are a portal into the brotherhood. Samson really lives BETWEEN the meetings in relationships, conversations, friendships. Christianity, properly understood, is a team sport, not an individual event. We’ve been failing because we’ve been playing the wrong game! If we play 1-on-1 against a superior opponent, we will fail.

The lead person on your team we call a Silas. He is the one you are in regular communication with. There is an element of accountability, but it is not focused on sin management. If I just focus on the behavior, I run the risk of mastering that specific behavior and becoming a self-righteous Pharisee. Instead, I give another person (my Silas) real-time access to my whole life. What I’m feeling, thinking, doing, and thinking of doing.

My Silas is not an expert. He is a guy on the same road walking the same direction. But when it comes to my life, he has an advantage over me – he’s not in it! That gives him a perspective on my life that I don’t have. There are whole parts of my life that I can’t see because I’m inside it. Like trying to read the label from inside the bottle.

Here are some of the things my Silas does:

- He gets to know my story.

- He remembers the things I tend to forget.

- He asks the questions I tend to avoid.

- He notices patterns I don’t see.

- He reminds me who I really am.

You are not imposing on him. He gets as much out of the relationship as you do. He needs you to call him. Everyone needs a few moments each day to get out of their own head and focus on another person.

"Rob, I'm Concerned About Our Mutual Friend. It's Obvious That He's Setting Himself Up For Failure."

I've received two telephone calls regarding this.  And YES, my old friend's recent statements / position (via hearsay) do sound concerning, but I'm not going to spend any energy researching it for myself.  

Why?

Because I've seen this pattern with him numerous times before (we've known each other for over 15 years).  

And that's the differentiator.  Had there not been a precedent(s), I would immediately speak up.  

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When I was a boy, I distinctly remember my aunt regularly calling our house late into the evening to ask my father to go retrieve her husband (my dad's oldest brother / my uncle) from the local watering hole.  These calls would often come around 11 PM or after, and the next day, I would sometimes ask my mom about it.  Eventually though, I stopped asking due to the fact that they became so routine.

This happened for a number of years until my uncle became unemployed due to health issues.  From there, he'd drink at home during the day.  I distinctly recall stopping by his duplex back in 1993 in order to drop off a paperback copy of The Firm.  For the film by the same name had just been released, and I thought he might enjoy reading it.  When he came to the door, I could smell the alcohol on him.  Within just a few minutes, he passed out there in his small living room, falling to the carpeted floor like a sack of concrete mix.  Afterwards, I made a discreet exit after leaving the paperback on the coffee table.

I never returned to his abode until I was asked to assist in relocating he and his wife out and into an apartment not far from this location (decades into the future).  

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Past personal struggles with chronic sexual sin, particularly regarding pastors, can result in men like Mr. Nate Larkin.  Men who write tomes which serve foundationally as the cornerstones of recovery ministries.  

Sometimes therapists are borne out of this.  Take Mr. Jeff Schulte of Tin Man Ministries (Jeff served as a keynote speaker at the 2019 National Samson Society Retreat).

But these are exceptions.  Mostly, men with this story should simply move into personal recovery exclusively versus attempting to pivot their pastoral "calling" towards a public-facing attempt (either for or nonprofit) to assist others with their sexual sin.  

Why?

IT TAKES A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF HUMILITY, AND I WOULD ARGUE, MOST PASTORS DON'T HAVE A TRULY HUMBLE BONE IN THEIR BODIES.  

 Hence, they simply resort to pulling a Jim Bakker.  And that's so pathetically sad.     

Is Lusting After (Social Media) Imagery Generated Via Artificial Intelligence Sin? Remember These Aren't Real Women. They Have No Parents & Cannot Be Your Neighbors. They Only Exist Via A Screen As A Result Of Soulless Software.

(No Longer In) Bondage To The Thrust

I never would have known my local Samson friend was so spellbound by hot women 'till we had (a repeat) restaurant lunch.  As such, a troupe of high school girls traipsed in, and eventually sat adjacent to us.  These were pristine, rich, white girls wearing the latest designer clothes / hairstyles.  There was 6-8 of them, and they were all bubbly and giggly as they carried their sizable pocket computers like individual bars of gold.  These girls were undoubtedly students at the across-the-highway private academy, and they were there at this restaurant on "lunch break" (having driven their parents' BMWs and Mercedes-Benz across the way).  Likely many of them came from heady stock - CPAs, surgeons & prominent business owners, having been expectedly pampered throughout their short lives.

At the time, this friend was my Silas 3.0, and the tension he was experiencing due to the "availableness" of this troupe was impossible to miss.  I remember feeling powerless and a bit annoyed but altogether grateful as well that I wasn't in his intensive heterosexual shoes.  

All in all, I vividly recall him being visibly distraught as he forced himself to not glance their way.  It seemingly took all his strength in order to NOT capture / captivate / become spellbound by their sexual prowess.  As an aside, him wearing his work uniform likely only added to the intensity of this moment, serving as a reminder of his past, pre-conversion (Christianity) hedonism with many a similar lay.  

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Saturday, (7/1) my wife and I executed our typical weekend workout at the local Y.  Never before had I seen one particular mid to late 20s man in there prior.  His upper body was lean and svelte, but his legs - damn his legs - were stunningly beautiful.  

Stunningly beautiful legs = muscular, hairy, beautifully proportioned.  Bulky thighs / calves, seamless knees / ankles.  Tan flesh.  Either dark or blonde (leg) hair.  And they must be long, thick hairs that drape over the muscled flesh like a silk carpet.

This young man was no doubt athletic.  Perhaps he was a runner or a rock climber or both.  He could have been a varsity / collegiate (baseball) catcher.  Anything requiring that constant crouching down that builds lower body strength and the subsequent mass.  For that's where his strength lay.  Lower body.

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Well over a decade ago, I showed up to sing (routine Wednesday night rehearsal) in our church choir at Lakeside Pres, and the melodic tenor (who was a new guy to me and the church in general) sitting adjacent was wearing shorts (as I was).  He was around my age (late 30s at the time), and due to the stunning beauty of his long legs, I literally came close to creaming my shorts as we sang to the Lord - our austere Presbyterian tunes - over the course of that hour.

Let me repeat:  these were some stunningly beautiful legs, and they were close enough for me to (accidently?) rub up against.    

The owner of said legs was married (his wife too sang in the choir), and as a couple, were also new to the area.  Not long after this up close legebration, they decided to move away to greener pastures which resulted in him taking his stunningly beautiful legs (as well as his incredible voice) to the Pacific Northwest.  Not long after that, I stopped singing in the choir, covertly mourning my loss.

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The summer after I graduated high school (1990), I had to take College Algebra before entering into the freshman architecture school curriculum at Mississippi State University.  I took this course, along with English Composition I, at Holmes Community College's then newly opened Ridgeland campus.  

Upon entering the latter's classroom, I found myself sitting across from a handful of high school (Madison-Ridgeland Academy) peers (two girls and one guy), one of which was a varsity athlete (football, baseball, track) who I'd never once spoken to.  It's important to know that at our high school, the boys weren't allowed to wear shorts.  Hence, blue jeans were the norm.

To my delight, there was no such dress code here at community college.

"Trevor" was wearing athletic shorts during that first day of English Comp I and every day afterwards.  Our class met thrice weekly for +/-90 minutes, therefore I had a front and center view of his stunningly beautiful legs each and every day we met.  This entire experience served to both captivate and suffocate me simultaneously.  For it both enlightened and horrified Rob as to what he was primarily attracted to in certain other men.

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Masculine sexual activity is all about thrusting (movement of the erect penis in and out of the wet vagina).  There's no way around this.  That thrusting is done via the lower body.  The entire porn industry is built upon this animalistic movement.  This beautiful movement that powerfully personifies the act of intercourse.  

Interestingly enough, my Silas 2.0 masturbated by humping the couch / bed prior to ejaculating within his briefs.  I'd never met another guy who did this.  He refused to masturbate any other way, having "taught himself" this technique as a boy.  That dry humping, of course, is a thrusting movement that's lower body executed.  According to him, he only needed 60-90 seconds to climax therein via this technique (efficiency was first priority for this Samson guy - in everything).    

To summarize, this lower body thrusting is decidedly heterosexual intercourse anatomical vocabulary.  As such, the lower body of a man may very well equate to this visually.  And that is definitely the case for me.

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To circle back to the young man my wife and I encountered this past weekend at the Y, he not only had those aforementioned stunningly beautiful legs, but he also was very polite.  He and I spoke a couple of times, throughout our time there, as we crossed paths during our respective - 90-minute - strength training workouts.  

But what didn't occur - in the very least - was me becoming "in bondage to the thrust" as a result.  Instead, I simply acknowledged what I witnessed, and went on my way.

How did I accomplish this at this stage in my recovery?

I honestly don't know.  

Yesterday, during our "Brain Changers" virtual Samson Society meeting, the word was FREEDOM, and this narrative of mine (what I've encapsulated here) was front and center.  But, even having a full 24-hours to ruminate on this further, I still can't pinpoint what's specifically occurred to free me from these shackles.

Maybe it's simply that I've met my quota for stunningly beautiful legs.  I can tell you that I've been so very blessed to know enough men with tree trunks - as I've described here - that perhaps I've simply leveled up as a result.  It's as if that guy, "Trevor", from high school (who sat across from me for two summer months at HCC within English Comp I) has been sexual with me via the countless tree trunk brothers in Christ I've intimately (keyword) befriended since 1990.  

For I wanted nothing more than to be pursued by this guy.  That's what my sexual fantasies - involving him - revolved around.  Him befriending me prior to us having a homosexual relationship.  All throughout that summer - post high school.  

Let me be more specific.

All three of my Silases have been men who I've experienced intimacy with - on a level (I would argue) - that equates to a sexual relationship.  

To take that statement a step further...

Even without the exchange of bodily fluids, the mystique of their individual manhood(s) I've had the opportunity to observe / experience - up close and personal.  Besides these formal Silases, there've been countless other men (mostly within the framework of Samson Society) who've provided me with similar experiences.

Each of these experiences has uncovered more and more of what I longed to know and understand about men (including my own individual, reflected manhood) back in 1990.  

It's just taken a really long time to get to this point of me now knowing enough to properly level up.  

Relationships take time and SO MUCH WORK.  They're the exact opposite of sexual fantasy which are cheap and thereby overall worthless.  

I have been so blessed by Samson Society.  I realize it when I have experiences like I did this past weekend at the Y.

Lagniappe

How Might Chronic, Sexual Sin (Adultery) Impact A Man's Long-Term Physical Health?

Prologue:  I'm more interested in adultery here versus fornication because typically the latter is tied to younger men, and younger men are usually overall physically healthier.

Too, adultery (chronic or standalone event), if successful, requires a husband to be deceptive.  Deceiving one's spouse (in tandem with going against one's internal moral compass) takes coordination and a willingness to break vows.  This cheating will instigate a strong physiological response.  I believe, for some adulterers, they're (sickly) more drawn to this response than the sexual trysts themselves.  

Fornication typically represents a pattern of sexual sin that's in line with one's "youthful" paganism.  In other words, it's not at all out of sync with a bachelor's "culturally expected modus operandi" as a playa.

Adultery, within western culture, (thankfully) is still strongly frowned upon for spouses to participate within.  That, I believe, is what could make it all the more deadly (for both the marriage and the adulterer).

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Adultery being rooted in deception / lies relative to how a spouse is spending their "down" / free time cannot be underestimated in terms of its debauchery potency.  For not only does it, by definition, involve lies, but it loops in a third individual (by definition innocent) whose life is also being intimately affected.

So what does this do to a man's physical body when adultery, particularly chronic adultery, occurs?

Firstly, there's the obvious.  The potential to becoming infected with a sexually transmitted disease. 

Besides that, I'm really wanting to hone in on the moral dilemma / fallout / stress (& all the physical ramifications therein) that adultery brings to bear. 

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Russian husbands are culturally expected to be adulterous.  Mistresses = masculinity within that country alongside being inebriated via vodka (prolonged weekend binges).  In fact, I'd argue that it could be one of the latter's primary purposes - to chemically mask over the former's moral heartburn.

Based on my observations, regarding husbands residing on domestic soils, more often than not, they're quick to confess their moral failings (to their wives) in order to:

1.  Hopefully acquire immunity to becoming a repeat offender

2.  (Within their mind), most efficiently reckon with the overtly burdensome guilt / shame resulting from their actions.

Taking into account an American husband who's constantly repeating his sinful shenanigans, whether it's prostitutes, massage parlors, phone sex, anonymous hook-ups, and so forth, could his lifespan be tremendously shortened as a result?

I believe so.

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When the brain is rutted towards adulterous behavior, the culprit therein is a false identity that's taken hold of the husband.  An identity that's somehow feeding off of the man's need relative to identifying himself as worthwhile / valuable.  

If a husband's primary desire is respect, wouldn't that desire firstly be rooted in self-respect?  What more efficient (read:  fast), more masculine way is there to achieve that than via chronic adulterous behavior - especially taking into consideration the seduction dance, acknowledgement of attraction, and ultimate sexual experience (all of which can be successfully pulled off within a matter of hours)?

I realize it sounds animalistic, but the point here is to focus on the false identity.  

And it's this false identity (hypocrite) that's so polluting.  For when it's in control, it's hijacked the rationale of the husband.  Therein lies the high-risk to his health / well-being.  For it's grounded in counterintuitively misaligned values which then promulgate a roller coaster day-to-day existence (constantly being on the lookout for illicit sex opportunities).

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I have a divorced & remarried Samson friend who's in his mid-60s and his health is failing.  The majority of his life, he was the chronic adulterer, having had illicit sexual trysts with hundreds, if not thousands of women.  

The origin of this brain rut, for him, was a sexual relationship he developed (freshman year in college) with the mother of his then girlfriend (who also happened to be the wife of his pastor).  

The false identity (that I cited above) was borne out of this reprehensible amoral relationship (which took flight whilst he was a young man).  A sexual relationship that continued to thrive for close to a decade.  Hence, this false identity became Godzilla-like relative to deeply rutting this man's psyche.  

Could the damage done via this - Godzilla-like false identity - be what prematurely ushers him to his grave?

It's important to know too that the pastor's wife had many teenage young men suitors (similar to my friend).  

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This question comes down to the following:

Are our bodies negatively impacted via morally despicable behavior?  Particularly morally despicable sexual behavior?

The Bible speaks to this.  For it cites sexual sin as "sin against the body" which sets it apart.  It also mentions our bodies being vessels for the Holy Spirit.  

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If my retired Samson friend HAD NOT participated within those illicit adulterous sexual relationships as a result of him refusing the initial advances of his girlfriend's mother (his pastor's wife), would he today be a physical healthier man?

I'm convinced he would be.  Yes.  Absolutely.

 

Cruelty In Samson Society (There Are No Referees)

If you've been engaged within Samson Society for any length of time, you've likely been the victim of some cruelty.  And on the flip side of that, you've likely instigated some regretful words / actions you yourself onto your Samson brothers.  

I can recall the first time this happened to me.  I'd attended a funeral - out of town - with a Samson guy who also knew my parents (Bob & Darlene).  As we were driving back to Jackson, he asked me a rhetorical question that was so heartless to receive.  I remember simply sitting there within the passenger seat of his SUV stunned speechless.  

And unfortunately, it changed my mindset regarding this trusted Samson guy forever.  For I knew exactly where his pointed question had originated:  envy / mistrust and cruelty.  

And it hurt intensely to be his vulnerable target on that day.

But cruelty is fun.  You have to admit to it.  Especially when you're tired or bored or simply becoming annoyed of someone's mundanity / quirks.  And I believe that's what happened in this case.  For my Samson brother was / is from a big bio family (brothers galore) where the expected posturing was no doubt prevalent.  I'm from a tiny family (only child), and I loathe / condone posturing of any ilk.

Have I forgiven this man?  Absolutely.  Yet, I won't (& haven't) be spending much (extended) one-on-one time with him ever again (unless absolutely necessary).  For I feel so moved to protect myself from his cruel interrogation bent.

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Thanks to Samson Society, I quickly befriended a young Alabamian who'd been transferred (with his young family) to the Jackson Metro due to this vocation.  This young AL Samson guy was initially invited to the Lakeside Pres Samson Society meeting (which I was facilitating) and chose to attend.

With just a handful of Samson Society meetings under his belt, it became apparent to me that he'd became mesmerized by Rob.  And when I say mesmerized, I'm talking he put me on a pedestal that was stratospheric.  

Yet, he loathed Mississippi(ans), his work in Mississippi, the church they (he & his wife & child) were attending, and he'd no real interest anymore in his faith (in spite of the fact that he was a homeschooled pastor's son).  

But there was one thing that he could not stop ruminating on:  the exceedingly sexy Human Resources Officer at his work who he'd slyly befriended.  For this intoxicating relationship was unlike any he'd ever experienced.

I can remember reaching out to one of the Elders of our church in order to schedule times to pray specifically for this young Alabamian.  I also prayed with my mother (this was a first) in the same vein.  For my young Samson friend's marriage was in tatters due to this "emotional affair", and he was so incredibly despondent / conflicted overall.  Yet, throughout, he was unusually bright and articulate.  Funny and kindhearted.  All of which drew me to him.

And then further down the road he admitted to being clinically depressed.  Or so he thought.

I concurred, strongly urging him to seek therapeutic help.  At this point, I was exhausted as his friend.  The constant negativity / hypercriticality was overwhelming to bear.  "GET PROFESSIONAL HELP!"  "GET PROFESSIONAL HELP!"  "GET PROFESSIONAL HELP!"

As a result, all regularly scheduled communication ceased.  No more emails.  No more meetings (draft beer drinking) in my garage.  Eventually, he took the opportunity to benignly chew my ass out relative to his now shunning prerogative (to protect himself from demon Rob?).  He even went so far as to tell me he'd be happy to meet with me further, at any point in the future, so long as it wasn't one-on-one.  WTF?

Now, keep in mind, he did thank me respectfully for my time / effort invested whilst making it clear that my platonic services were no longer needed.  Thank you very much.

You're welcome?!?  Good riddance.

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Seething within Samson guys is often hard to continually stomach.  Particularly when it's aimed upwards.  A lot of guys have such a difficult time resisting the temptation to rank themselves against each other (out of anger).  Especially if their past travails are far darker (within their own eyes) than your own.  Pettiness can grow out of this imbalance therein.  And it can metastasize slowly over the years.  I've had to decouple myself from Samson men as a result.  Men who'd become childish with their quips and petty overcorrections.  Thanks be to God for the ability to block contacts on smartphones.  It's the Steve Jobs' equivalent of a discreet exit.  

I realize that may sound cruel on its own accord, but keep in mind that I gave these Samson men years and years of rope to either hang themselves with or build a bridge (between us).  Per my experience, anger bequeaths the former almost every time.  It is a tough, tough emotion to bear within friendship.

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The wives of local Samson guys can torpedo friendships within the Samson community.  Especially if they found themselves responsible for steering the familial ship during their Samson husband's "acting out" (neglectful) years (decades?).  

Suggest to that Samson husband (as his Silas) his need to NOW (accounting for his active recovery efforts) take the reins relative to shoring up marginalized areas of his clan (sans the wife's blessing), and she may very well demonize you in an effort to fortify her comfortable leadership perch.

And this being no matter how much time / effort / resolve you've poured into her man.  Her control (or sense thereof) may very well take precedent (out of fear).

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And finally, there're simply bad days for every Samson guy.  Days where fatigue and emotional exhaustion are too much.  Align those conditions with two (or more) Samson guys who've known (& trusted) each other for many years, and you can potentially have a recipe for relational fallout (of the most intense sort) in just a matter of minutes.  For the tongue is full of poison.  

I had this happen to me at the last in-person Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society meeting I attended (October '21).  In fact, the situation escalated so quickly that my heart absolutely breaks whilst thinking back on it.  

So many painful words.  So much rubble left behind relative to that / those friendship(s).  

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During the live podcast recording at the 2022 National Samson Society Retreat last weekend, one of the Jackson, Mississippi Samson guys who attended cited (in general terms) his own hurtful experiences within the local Samson Society here within the Jackson Metro area.  In doing so, (I believe) he'd hoped forlornly (from Mr. Nate Larkin & Mr. Aaron Porter) for some antidote to these horrible relational failures which cause such tremendous pain / disappointment.     

I silently appreciated (I was in the audience) this young man's courage to bring this to our fearless Samson Society leaders.  For it's what instigated me to finally write this post.  

Genuine Samson Society relationships are hard.  That's why most men aren't interested therein.  There're no guardrails.  There're no referees.  In fact, the Samson Society charter doesn't address any sort of "Code of Conduct" for a Samson guy.  And that's intentional, for sure.  

As Christians, we're called to put others before ourselves.  Yet, even within scripture, we can see friendships between Bible characters pivot or sour altogether (sometimes violently).  

What I've found is God uses these developments too.  For I've never become bitter, only further hopeful, motivating me to anticipate what's next relative to platonic connection and love within this ministry.   

Be forewarned.  Don't adjudicate the ministry of Samson Society itself solely through the lens of your inevitable Samson guys' relational heartache.  Jesus' disciples fought / loved hard, yet they never lost sight of their purpose in following their Lord together.   

This photo was taken during last weekend's 2022 National Samson Society Retreat.  It represents the current lineup of Samson guys who attend "Make Thursdays Great Again" on Thursday nights at 7 PM CST (virtual Samson Society meeting).  As you can see, our virtual Samson group was well represented amongst the 150+ Samson guys who attended this wonderful retreat. 

Lagniappe

Heart Attacker - The Death Of A "Good Man"

I've written extensively about the emotional trauma / fallout I endured via my termination from Delta State University in September of 2013.  Therein I experienced more pain / suffering than I ever thought imaginable.  All at the hands of an MBA / CPA who I greatly admired as my boss (in spite of his short 7-week up-to-that-point-in-time tenure as such).

Last night, I was aghast whilst stumbling across his online obituary.  It detailed his rich work life, love of the outdoors and the unsettling reality of a surprise heart attack which killed him on the spot a few years back (at his Delta hunting camp).  

Obviously, it had been a long time since I'd taken any time to do any online research on this man's whereabouts / status, and as such, this left me all the more flabbergasted relative to his sudden demise.  For he was only 64, and overall, in good health (he was an avid cyclist).  

Today, my emotions are all over the place regarding this revelation.  For I was expecting to find some mundane press release touting his continued commitment to university administrative work either in Arkansas or Mississippi.  Instead, I come across this unsettling truth.

The man's dead and has been dead for close to two years.

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I was pleased to see Steve's obituary nailing it by paying homage to exactly who I remember him to be.  Towards the end it summarizes by stating that he was the embodiment of a "good man".  I couldn't agree more.

Yet, what of my trauma?  Trauma that manifested itself as a result of this "good man's" words.  Trauma that no one else truly can understand except me and God.  Trauma that brought me closer to suicide than I ever imagined experiencing.

All I know to do with that is write this post in an attempt to begin untying the emotional knot in my chest.  

In closing, Steve took a lot of time with me.  So much so that I could tell he genuinely enjoyed my company.  I vividly remember leaving his office exhausted after one (of many) of our "information transfer" meetings.  We talked about the Delta State University Physical Plant, campus projects in planning and construction as well as my vision for the campuses' future.  

I was amazed at how intentional he was about listening to what I had to say.  Especially as it pertained to him reciprocating with pertinent / insightful questions.  As a result, I became more and more confident in myself each time we met.  In fact, he elevated me to a place of vocational inner resolve / confidence that I'd in no way achieved up to that point (over the course of my prior year as Campus Architect).  

Yet, all of that building up (whether intentional or not) came crashing down via his momentous final adjudication (after extensively researching what entailed of me breaking the institution's IT policy).

"We don't want people like you here."  

Both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are gone and have been gone for a while.  Damn.  I'm speechless.

Could I be experiencing a version of Stockholm Syndrome as a means to continue to cope with my trauma?  

Do I have a trauma bond with a corpse?  If so, how do I break it?

The Isolating Distortion That's Ushered In Via Paranoia

 

Paranoid people have a propensity to twist almost everything you do for them.  They'll do the same with whatever you say to or about them (even if it's obviously said in harmless fun).  Like the definition states above:  "They take nothing at face value".  

Besides my father, I encountered my first paranoid adult in the form of my first boss (back in 1995).  That relationship was short-lived (I was laid off after +/-1 year).  Boss #3 (real job #3) served to reanimate that exact same experience.  

Initially, I didn't see this bossman's paranoia (it had been some time since I'd experienced this relationally within a vocational setting), but eventually, I recognized it clearly for what it was (along with my vocational colleagues).  Due to the fact that this was a state government position, my boss' paranoia was somewhat easier to stomach overall - day in and day out.  That being said, over time, it did become overbearing.

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What can be done whilst forced to engage with paranoid individuals (parental / vocational / volunteer)?

[& please know this is assuming the paranoid person isn't aware / willing to take ownership of said paranoia.]

Separate yourself.  And not necessarily physically but emotionally.  And the reason I recommend this is to be best prepared to guard your own heart from their accusations (which can be exceedingly hurtful / confusing).  

When paranoid people feel threatened, their rational mind runs screaming from the building.  And this is when everything goes ape shit (for both you and them if they're in any position of authority over you).

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What is a root cause of paranoia?

I believe in many cases it's self-loathing.  Self-loathing that refuses to permit the paranoid individual from trusting by default.  

So, who do these individuals trust?  Anyone?

Based on my observations, I believe they trust, much more easily, individuals who're publicized as trustworthy.  For example, television / radio personalities / authors / pastors and certain entertainers.  Obviously, these are all professional trust-sellers who've garnered fame by popularizing trust in they themselves, their philosophy, story, etc.  

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Enjoy walking on eggshells and subsequently being exhausted?  Hang out with the paranoid.    

Even better, go marry or work for one.  

Partnership

Over the past few days, I've worked tirelessly (& I'm not exaggerating) to assist my wife (of 26 years) in preparing her mother's northeast Jackson home to be listed with a realtor.  That entailed handyman and housework from morning 'till night within a mazelike 3,000 sf abode.  An abode which more or less is just as it was whilst initially occupied by her family in the early '80s.  

And when I say that, I'm also referring to all of the unresolved emotional trauma my wife, her younger brother and father endured therein (at the hand of Angie's mother).  Childhood trauma that is easily stirred even today, all these years later, by her elderly mother's (who's been catered to throughout this months' long process) tongue.  Not to mention her having to spend hours upon hours (+/-50 total days since last fall) sorting through her parents' belongings whilst inside the setting of said abuse.

On Monday, (8/15) evening, after we'd returned home and I'd had a chance to shower, Angie and I sat in the living room of our very-intentionally small abode and chatted about our quite exhausting day together.  What was obvious, in spite of our said exhaustion, is we simply relished the sense of partnership.  Now, it's important that you know that she's the one who's primarily poured herself into this 6+ month project on behalf of her mother.  As such, it was only this week that my aforementioned "services" were warranted.  Hence, we (as partners) really hadn't the necessity to attack the giant collectively.  

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Within walking distance from Angie's childhood home, I vividly remember us as dating love birds, sitting quietly - after dark - snuggled close on a park bench on a cool fall evening.  She and I often talked and talked during our courtship, and this night was no different.  Thankfully, our chattiness served many purposes, one of which was staving off the physicality (fornication) between us.  

But this night ended differently than any other we'd experienced up to that point.  On this night, as we strolled back to her parents' home in the dark, she sobbed tears of shame and fear as she anxiously begged me to never leave her behind due to her parents' personal (mental health, neglect, wickedness) issues.

I remember nonchalantly blowing all that off.  I felt as if she was being overly fearful, never realizing - in those moments - that this was her childhood trauma revealing itself.  I reminded her that I'd known her family (formally) since I was a teen, growing up (too) at First Baptist Church Jackson.  

Nonetheless, whilst looking back today, I can tell you that I've had enough of my fill of in-law rancor to easily justify walking away from our marriage.  All due to the seeds of discord consistently sown and cultivated by her reflexively condescending parents.  

All in all, the best words I can use to describe our experience regarding her family is:  unrelentingly difficult.  

Imagine driving from one side of the country to the other (East to West coast) but having to do so in reverse.  Hence, you're disqualified from using the interstate system (or any other divided highway).  Instead, you're handicapped to using all kinds of back roads.  In reverse.  As a result, the fatigue is constant (massively impeding your progress) since you're always looking over your shoulder in order to make any headway on your journey.  Whilst looking back, this ridiculous analogy fits.  Yet, Angie never for one moment wasn't worth constantly working - as partners - relative to outwitting the manipulativeness and deceit that were Bob and Edie Sigrest.

As an aside, you must know that the best year of our marriage (most of 2013) was when we lived in Cleveland, MS (2.5 hours - by car - from Jackson, MS) of all places.  And this was because we were far removed from my in-laws.  Angie smiled every day, and she was so sad when I was fired from my job (resulting in us having to return to Jackson, MS).

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My wife and I are slated to pick back up with our hands-on partnership this forthcoming weekend (437 Northpointe Parkway).  I'm looking forward to again - physically - standing with her for such a time as this.  Demons be damned.  It feels as if we're finally close to sealing up this Pandora's Box once and for all.

Lagniappe

Sad, Summer Boy

Not long after we "re-joined" Lakeside Presbyterian Church somewhere around 2016 (I can't remember the exact year), we were politely invited to an Independence Day pool party at a church member's home.  Of note:  An elder of our church was there with (most of) his family, and this included his teenage son.  Also of note:  I was the only adult who chose to swim with the children, and this made for an awkward assemblage.  But, I wanted to enjoy the pool and really didn't give a damn.  (I can remember knowing instantly that we'd likely never be invited back once I made my first pass across the hourglass-shaped concrete hole.)  And that was fine-by-me.  If you've ever spent any recreational time with Presbyterians (other than at a bar), it's about as much fun as taping together cardboard boxes or popping bubble wrap methodically with a rubber mallet.  

But one thing that did come out of this steamy July afternoon shindig was my amazement at how physically attractive the aforementioned elder's son was, taking into account him being semi-nude (swim trunks only) for everyone to see.  In summary, the boy had beautiful bronze skin and a naturally muscular yet lean build that was highlighted by fine blonde hairiness throughout.  Now, keep in mind that I had never seen this boy for more than a few moments prior to this day, therefore it may very well have been the contrast between his new-to-me self and the Presbyterian setting that made much of this lasting impression on Rob.  Nonetheless, I felt pretty confident that I wasn't the only adult spectator to adjudicate as such regarding this golden boy, though no one dared tip their hand relative to what they were observing firsthand.

It's important to note too that this boy wasn't but perhaps a ninth grader at the time.  The lesson here is as follows:  Never absolutely judge a guy's looks 'till he's shirtless.  Clothes oftentimes really don't do individuals justice.

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Today, this physically impressive young man is a college student who's taking advantage of a full ride (academic scholarship) at one of Mississippi's illustrious public universities.  He's studying to become a professional, and as far as I know, his freshman year was a resounding success.  Of note too:  over the course of this past summer, he chose to live in the Lone Star state, working Texas-style on a ranch.  

(His family is originally from Texas, having moved to humble Mississippi prior to us returning to Lakeside Pres.)  

I'm going to segue here to this boy's father, and the reason I'm interested in doing so has to do with the dynamic between he and his son, based on what I've been privileged to observe / glean.

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The defining emotional attribute of this boy's father is as follows:  Dad has a substantial chip on his shoulder.  Hence, any and all criticism is agonizingly disheveling for him to receive.  What's weird about this is his vocational position naturally warrants an immense amount of critique for it (him) to be performing at his peak.  In spite of this, he chooses to surround himself with individuals who cater to his chip.  Hence, he's left to his own devices to go about his work as he so pleases.

The root of this chip is pride trauma, and I've no idea what that entails in its traumatic entirety, but I do know much of it occurred at his previous employer (pre-move to Mississippi).

To be more specific about the chip, it's rooted in the whole notion of measuring up as a man (masculinity / vocation) within the eyes of other men.  

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Now, let's return to the golden boy (son).

There's a sadness to this young man, and I believe it's rooted in both his setting (Mississippi - in contrast to Texas) and the aforementioned (dad's) chip.

One of the most interesting contrasts between this boy and his dad is how dynamically distinct they are relative to their sexual identity (as male).  The boy has little to no interest in romantic / sexual relationships whereas the dad was the complete opposite when he was his son's age.  Even today, the dad is quick to remind his peers of his "need" for consistent sex (from his wife) and the regularity therein.  Also of note, the boy is introspective whereas his father is chatty.  

And then there's the son's quiet handsomeness as compared to his father.  A handsomeness that's not at all been leveraged relative to courting / bedding members of the opposite sex.

It's important to note too that the son is distinctly taller than his dad as a result of his frame being distinctly his own compared to his father.

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So, what then can be learned from said chip?

They drive relational wedges.  Even within such - assumed - close ties as father / son.

Chips, especially if they've originated from trauma, are hugely problematic emotional tumors.  Tumors that simply sit there, all the while out of place, robbing resources from elsewhere.

Whilst dialoguing with this elder about his son (basic polite Q & A), it's obvious that his chip short circuits his ability to see the child healthily.  Now, overall, these are subtle biases, but I would argue there's nonetheless enough there to act as an intimacy deterrent.  

And this is where, I believe, the boy's sadness surfaces.  Because, he's smart enough to know of his father's chip, but he's unqualified to broach the subject with him.  At least not at this point in his life.    

And this motivates him to run.  Texas-style or otherwise.

Now, in conclusion, I very well may be WAY off base here as it relates to this observed dynamic, by reading into dialogue / situations to the nth degree, but what I do know for sure is who I am (& have been) in relation to my own chipper father over the past 50 years.

As such, it has been a sad existence.  One's that enviable by no one.  For it reeks of powerlessness and even curse that's only dampened via massive soul searching / therapeutic work.

Stand Up For Yourself. Samson Society Is A Selfish Pursuit. As You Mature In Your Recovery, Optimize Your Approach To Said Recovery.

You are loyal to no one within Samson Society.  This is not a fraternity or a men's club.  Samson Society isn't a discipleship group or a men's Sunday School class.  It is a community of men seeking recovery, and you are responsible for taking full advantage therein relative to your specific recovery.

Both of my former Silases benefited Rob primarily via face-to-face meetings.  And (mostly) it wasn't what was said during those junctures.  No, it was simply the time spent together.  Text-messages, telephone calls, etc. did little for me, though I certainly participated as such.  Hence, I'm constrained (relative to meeting my specific needs), and I realize that.  I believe this is why my recovery will never likely be, well, recovered.  Obviously, there's only so much time available to commune with one's Silas face-to-face (that either he or I can stomach).  Especially considering men's typical MO of doing 99% of male-to-male life in groups (3+).

An example of one of the very best "healing" face-to-face "sessions" between my first Silas and I happened in 2016 during the Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society Spring Retreat.  And essentially, that "session" was comprised of me spending time with him alone or somewhat alone.  During this retreat, we shared a room in the gloriously luxurious vacation home where the retreat was held, and though we only had a few private conversations therein, it was simply being alone with him that really mattered.

Why?

I don't really know.  What I do know is it was soothing to be desired enough in that regard.  Plus, it provided a counterweight to the ever-present din of the other Samson guys present.

I'm sure that sounds weird, but it's how I've come to understand myself.  Likely there's something there related to me being an only child.

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My second Silas was wired similarly to me in this regard (he was also an only child).  Hence, our relationship definitely played off of each other, but one thing that was really interesting about him was his sort of secret preference for unplanned face-to-face pursuit.  Now, you need to know that this dude planned out every waking hour of his life, and I suppose me interrupting that needily basically gave him permission to throttle back "from the grind" in such a way that was especially acceptable / appreciated / desirable.  I'm theorizing here.

I do know that his close proximity (he lived relatively close by) also facilitated these last-minute ("Catch me, I'm falling!") junctures.  Having never lived so close to a Silas, the convenience was also positively affirming / comforting. 

The only issue here was there were no regularly scheduled junctures, though I didn't recognize it at the time.

But, learn I did.

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Today, I'm involved in the "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting which is made up of an amazing group of 30+ Samson guys, but interestingly enough, my present-day Silas happens to be local.  

He and I have met face-to-face on three occasions over the past three months, and during our last rendezvous, I asked that we calendar our next two future junctures (which he agreed to).  All-in-all, the plan is to rendezvous at lunch and at a local park (both) once a month.  Therefore, about every two weeks is when we're slated to meet.  

This too is easily facilitated due to how close in proximity we live to each other.  

What's especially curious about how all of this played out is the following: my Silas was only vaguely familiar with Samson Society prior to this past April.  Now, you must know that I have known him, as a distant friend, for well over a decade.  And, I knew of his struggle with lust because he'd shared it with me at the outset of our relationship (+/-15 years ago).  But back then, Samson wasn't an available resource to either of us, and the concept of recovery was irrelevant to either of us.  

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Optimize your recovery in two ways: by making the best of opportunities and being assertive relative to the needs that specifically can be addressed (within reason) via your Silas.  Do this well by learning, over time, as you relate to various men within this community.  Recovery is as much about understanding and reacting to personal dynamics as it is to gaining perspective regarding both where you're at along The Path today and where you're wanting to be.    

A Gesture Towards Putting Off Boyish Things

The Bible speaks of putting off "boyhood / childish things".  Why?

Because if you don't, those things will run counter to your own spiritual maturity as a Christian.  And that's the keyword here:  maturity.  Arguably, mostly via time wasting.

Most individuals who experience same-sex attraction (& be forewarned; I'm making a stereotypical statement here) are avid entertainment aficionados.  Whether it's television or film, social media or video games, music or theater.  Most know every entertainer, every lyric, every cover, re-make and spin-off because they marinate in it 24/7/365.  If you've ever wondered why corporate America duly embraces homosexuality, it all points back to the Almighty Dollar.  In other words, it can only help their bottom line to tow the cultural party line.    

Speaking of same-sex attracted men, here's a few fun facts:

A number of authors argue that same-sex attracted men are perpetually "stuck" within their youth relative to truly legitimizing their God-breathed sexuality.  

Fathers who struggle with SSA sometimes claim that rearing their sons allows them opportunities to resolve this emotional immaturity vicariously.

Again, the Bible speaks too "throwing / putting off" boyish things.

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Our pastor sometimes cites "the filth" that he and his wife screen on their television.  Too, he'll actually call out (on rare occasion) the congregation (in so many words) relative to his innocuous (heavy) social media involvement.  Out of the other side of his mouth, he'll preach an expository sermon each Sunday.  

And this juxtaposition isn't uncommon amongst Christians, though hopefully it's anomalous amongst pastors (ours) for it runs counter to scripture's commands. 

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Comic books were my upper elementary / middle school hobby.  Starting out with "Richie Rich" as an elementary student, I eventually moved to "The New Teen Titans".  From there, I read "Wonder Woman" and "Crisis on Infinite Earths" 'till eventually I was shopping at the local comic bookstore (in Ridgeland), spending way too much money than I should have been on all manner of "independently published" mags ("Dreadstar").

I kept these treasured newsprint gems in individual plastic baggies that looked like Ziplocs with no zipper before eventually amassing them all together within an empty Chick-A-Fil waffle fry box.  

My best friend, at the time, who also adored these little cartoon newsstand leaflets, soon took his hobby into overdrive.  He did this by establishing an "account" at the aforementioned comic bookstore.  Therein, they - in real time - physically accrued his favorite titles on his behalf (like a prepubescent P.O. Box).

Once I witnessed this over-the-top consumptive behavior, I chose to put the brakes on my overzealous comic book hobby.

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I remember, like it was yesterday, identifying the young man whom I'd be gifting my comic book stash.  Immediately prior to the handoff, I neatly organized each title, putting them in chronological order and separating them via neatly labeled cardstock dividers.  

I didn't actually make the drop face-to-face.  Instead, I simply put the waffle fry box in his disheveled bedroom and walked away (I was a friend of his father).  Walker (the recipient) was around 16 at the time.  I suppose I shouldn't have expected a thank-you note.  Nonetheless, it never did arrive.   

In the end, I have thought about those comic books an awful lot.  Wondering what it would be like to leaf through their many pages once again, or perhaps gift them to my children / grandchildren.  

And I believe that's to be expected.  Nonetheless, I've never regretted gifting them to my young Brookhaven friend.  For when I looked at him (at the time), I saw where I was departing / maturing (away) from.  Hence, he now bore a significant reminder of my youth inside that french fry box.    

Is there a boyish pastime (or relics therein) you'd benefit from jettisoning?  Something perhaps, that represents well, who you once were as a child?  If so, it should be something that you truly wish to hang on to throughout your adult life (as a means to look back and remember).  

Locate a young man to gift that to today, and from there, follow through.  No matter how much it pangs you to do so.

Processes like these are sure signs of maturation.