Being Pursued Platonically

When I entered architecture school at Mississippi State University back in 1990, I was fortunate to gain acceptance into the full program, therefore at Day 1, I had access to all of the necessary freshman classes (including the notorious 4-hour Mon. / Wed. / Fri. Design Studio) that I was required to pass in order to gain access to Year Two through Year Five.

But not everyone was as fortunate as I was.  There was also a "Summer Track" for those who failed to gain full access as freshmen, and this particular track required intensive Design Studio summer coursework (Mon.-Fri. for 8 weeks) post-freshman year.  From there, if you passed those summer courses, you were allowed to merge into Year Two with the original class.  All in all, once these two groups were combined, we had +/-45 students at the start of Year Two.

As you might imagine, I found myself appointed to the group that had the emotional upper hand because I'd had a summer off in between my freshman and sophomore year from architecture school.  Plus, there was simply the notion that I was somewhat "more qualified" than my summer school peers since I'd gained full access to the degree program at Day One as a freshmen.

And, whilst reminiscing, I certainly witnessed the ramifications of this discrepancy within some of my summer school (now) peer group.  

Specifically, I can recall one student from Memphis who struggled mightily with the Second Year Design Studio coursework, and primarily, I believe this struggle was rooted in his difficulty in making friends amongst the +/-45 member Second Year architecture school class.

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During my tenure at Mississippi State University, I was also a clarinet player within the Maroon Band, therefore I was obligated to attend all of the football games that the marching band supported (which was 90% of the scheduled fall games).  

I recall having the opportunity to attend the Liberty Bowl - MSU vs Air Force (with my clarinet in tow) during Christmas break of my sophomore year, and having the good fortune of running into this student from Memphis.  He was all smiles as he excitedly asked me if I was still within the architecture program.  I replied with a resounding YES, and this brought on an even bigger grin across his face.  From there, he could hardly contain himself by exclaiming his decision to leave the architecture degree program (and MSU altogether) behind.  

I remember standing there on the sidelines looking confused and a bit flummoxed, but eventually, I realized that his quitting had freed him from isolation and all the misery therein.  

And some of that misery and isolation, I had indirectly contributed to, due to the fact that I was on the "higher end" of the aforementioned sophomore year hierarchal discrepancy.  

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What makes an individual relationally compelling?  What are those traits that provide a bit of a gateway for some individuals to be pursued platonically and others not?  

Speaking specifically about this Memphis guy, I offer the following recollections combined with experience with others like him (including me).

1.  Take an interest in other men.  

1b.  Ask thoughtful questions of these men.

2.  Try to put yourself within other men's shoes.

And that's really it.  

Now, let's expound on these.

1.  Because we human beings are constantly self analyzing, stroking / managing our egos, it takes genuine effort to actually pivot our attention from ourselves to another human being for any length of time.  But this must be accomplished if you're going to be successful in gaining friends.  Too, we need to realize that since 99.9% of our time is devoted to this, that .1% that remains can most certainly be relinquished sans complaining.  I've heard more often than not that guys can come away from initial junctures with potential friends and feel as if they were called to listen too much.  But what they've failed to realize is that whilst given an opportunity, many men will not hold back in advancing in that direction, particularly if they've made the decision to invest their story (into someone else) for such a time as that.

Now, let's circle back to that one student from Memphis that I mentioned earlier on.  

This student, just like the rest of us, was required to be in the second year studio space from 1 PM - 5 PM every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there in the architecture building.  He was assigned a drafting table and stool just like his +/-45 peers.  And that drafting table was amongst all the others (though from what I can recall, his was on the perimeter of the studio space).  

That 4 hour, thrice-weekly class was every architecture students' time to design pretend buildings - for the most part - that had been assigned to us by our team of professors.  And we had a lot of leeway in that class to mull around and critique each other's - in progress - work.

This one student from Memphis never took the opportunity to do anything for those 4 hours except work silently at his drafting table.  In fact, none of us even knew his name because he was literally silent - at all times.  In fact, the only time I believe I'd ever heard him actually speak was during the aforementioned Liberty Bowl juncture.

Now, I get that this young man may have had a shitload of personal stuff going on in the background that no one else was privy to, but even so, he was amongst an assigned, highly streamlined peer group.  And we were all highly collaborative and overall very supportive (even taking the two sub-groups into consideration).  

1b.  When I was appointed to the position of Staff Architect with the Department of Finance & Administration (State of Mississippi), back in 2006, I was mated to an existing bureaucrat (who'd worked there +/-3 years), and as such, we were teamed to oversee both the planning (me) and construction (him) of publicly funded projects within a certain region of the state assigned to us as a team.  

It was my hope at day one of my new job to befriend this now teammate of mine, but I was unsuccessful in doing so, therefore throughout the 6 years I worked there, my relationship with him was icy at best.  

Why?

Because none of my initial questions / comments to him during my warmup (90) days had any real thoughtfulness behind them.  Instead, what came out of my mouth towards him was mostly driven by emotion.  And this reeked of arrogance or outright unintelligence (both emotional and cognitive).  In fact, I can actually remember me driving the final nail into the coffin of our fledging friendship via yet another dumbass question from Rob.

No one wants to befriend a dumbass.  I mean, who needs the hassle?  Therefore, he chose not to befriend me.

As a result of this stupidity on my part, those (6) years at DFA were not nearly as enjoyable as they could have been had I simply made more of an effort relative to thoughtfully communicating with this newfound colleague.

2.  And this last one is the hardest of all.  But I will say this, it gets a whole lot easier to accomplish this one when you're a middle-aged man versus a young man.  Gray hair equates to experience, and that experience is what enriches a middle-aged man's outlook on so many things.  

Yet, experience does not begat wisdom.  Wisdom is a gift from God, and I believe the foundation of wisdom is taking the time to rake through the "leaves of the past".  Methodically and with intentions towards learning.  Learning that's centered on maturation, sanctification, and forgiveness whilst being cocooned in humility.  

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My Silas was just recently appointed to a new administrative position over the summer, and like I was when I was his age (he's decades younger than I am), he's been both elated to have been affirmed via this appointment and overwhelmed at the thought of the newfound responsibilities therein.  Hence, all of these emotional and cognitive climaxes have had him obsessed with nothing but THE NEW J-O-B over the past +/-45 days.

And this has been to the point of me being intentional about pulling back a bit.  For he simply hasn't had any spare grey matter for anything but THE NEW J-O-B, therefore there was no point in me attempting to lean in to my brother.  Instead, I simply had to be patient with him.  For it's not everyday that this type of milestone occurs.

But, the situation is beginning to change somewhat, particularly now that he's experienced one full week of his official administrative duties within the new position.

So, in light of what I detailed above (1, 1b, 2), here's my forecasted next move.

I telephoned him on Friday, (8/13) and he returned by call yesterday, (8/14).  I asked him specifically about last week (his first full week of administrative duties at new job).  And that was the only point of my call.  Though he did, reflexively, ask about my outlook, I deflected the question, and really worked hard to interrogate him further thoughtfully about THE NEW J-O-B.

Then I asked him if it could be arranged for me to come visit him on the job soon in order to see firsthand the new setting he's working within.

And this is where I struck gold.

You could tell he was struggling to contain the excitement in his voice as he imagined me stepping into his vocational realm as his brother.  And what I mean by that term "brother" is someone with a lengthy personal history (he and I have walked together formally - via Samson Society - since early 2019).  

In closing, I hope this idea pans out.  For I want this pursuit (his pursuit of me) to continue to be earned / vetted out between the two of us.  No matter how hard or inconvenient it may seem to be.  

There is nothing more valuable to me than nurturing friendships that meet my personal needs.  Samson Society, throughout the past 7 years, has served as the ultimate petri dish (streamlined, assigned peer group) for these relationships to mature out of.

"To Bloom Where You Are Planted" - Finding Peace In The Places Where Life Takes You

 

We Should Bloom Where We Are Planted...

In the video clip above, two friends are standing on a bridge. The character of Lee has been trying to encourage his friend, Griffith, to abandon his family and to leave the state of Mississippi in order to pursue better opportunities. Griffith, rooted firmly into the soil of Mississippi, is very reluctant to leave, and ultimately ends up staying in his beloved Mississippi. This clip is one that has always resonated with me.

When I turned 40 years old last September, it didn't really hit me all that hard. Really, my 40th birthday came and went just another day in my life. It was nothing special, and I had previously requested no parties, accolades, or surprises from my family. Of course, being in the middle of the Covid 19 pandemic help to ensure that any birthday celebrations would be at a minimum. For months prior to my birthday arriving, the thought had been lingering at the back of my mind that I would soon approach 40 years of age, and would soon embark on my 40th journey around the sun. Longevity does not seem to be in my favor, as all four of my grandparents passed away before ever reaching their 90s. My longest living grandfather was 87 when he passed away four years ago, while both of my grandmothers passed away in their 70s. Arriving at my 40th birthday served as a sobering reminder to myself – I am more than likely halfway through living the earthly life that God has blessed me with here. Of course, I very well know that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow, and I could very well die at any moment, a victim of any number of maladies. But when I take into consideration that my natural lifespan (Lord willing) is most likely going to be the mid-80s at maximum, it is indeed a sobering thought.

I spent so many years of my life living in anger and denial, repressing things that had happened to me and not knowing how to process those thoughts, or even understanding that I should begin to process those thoughts. Thoughts of guilt, shame, anger, hurt, bitterness, and betrayal; all these thoughts were packed up in the boxes in my attic, and I was determined to never go up in the attic and bring those boxes down or to let anyone else see the contents of those boxes. Being a part of Samson has forced me to make several trips up into the attic began to take the boxes down and go through the pieces – shattered pieces of my life – and look at them and figure out what the heck to do with them. Since becoming involved in Samson back in 2014, I have been on a journey of self-discovery, examination, acceptance, healing, forgiveness, and just allowing myself to be loved by others. It hasn't been an easy path, and there have been many times where I have slid back. But with the help of others and with God, I've made a lot of progress.

Due to the nature of my dad's job, we were very mobile when growing up. Over the course of my K-12 years, I went to any number of schools within three separate school districts. By the time that I arrived in Petal, Mississippi in the summer of 1993, I was shutting down. I was angry, bitter, incredibly hurt, and unable to express myself to anyone. Growing up in a relatively rural area in the 1990s, there was no one to open up to and even if there had been, I certainly would not have known how to even begin to do so. The older that I grew, the harder that my heart grew. By the time I reached the end of my high school years, I was drifting. To intensify an already rough situation, my family dynamics were extremely strained during my 11th to 12th-grade years. At the beginning of my freshman year in college, my dad's job transferred him to Louisiana, and he, my mom, and my younger brother all moved off and left me to attend college in Mississippi. I was not sure what I wanted to do when I got out of high school, but my parents absolutely put their foot down and insisted that I must go to college. Looking back, I think that it would've been a much wiser decision if I had taken a year off between high school and college to work and to just find myself and to just find my way in life. But I didn't.

It is a long story, but straight out of college I was hired by a national corporation that ran the largest store in Grand Canyon National Park on the south rim. Originally, I was set to begin teaching overseas (my college degree was in English) in the fall, and I simply wanted to go out West for the summer just to get away and to experience life someplace other than Mississippi. Little did I know, but when I arrived at the Grand Canyon National Park store, they would like me so much that they put me to work upstairs in the accounting department on a permanent basis. What was intended to be a summer job turned into a two-year gig which found me living at the National Park on a full-time basis. My time there was bittersweet, and I was haunted for so many years upon my return to Mississippi by the experiences that I had out there and some of the things that I had done.

My beautiful bride and I met when we were in college together. We dated for two years in college, then went our separate ways after we graduated from the University. We decided to stay together long-distance while I was in Arizona, though I will be the first to tell you that it is incredibly hard to maintain any type of relationship over a long distance. After two years in Arizona, I received news of my beloved maternal grandmother's failing health and so I made the decision to leave my job in Arizona time back to my home state of Mississippi to start graduate school for my first Master's degree, get married, and spend time with my grandmother. My wife (then fiancée) moved to Clinton, Mississippi in the fall of 2007. We were married that December in 2007, and only intended to be in Clinton for the duration of the time that I was in graduate school.

I had such grandiose plans for our lives – we were going to go to another state (preferably somewhere with less humidity) and live a beautiful life blissfully happy in a place that was anywhere but in Mississippi as most of my other relatives have done. But something really strange happened along the way. We somehow got stuck in a time warp, and it is now 2021 – nearly 14 years later. And guess what? We are still living in Clinton, Mississippi. Not only are we still living in Clinton Mississippi, but we also have a house, a kid, three dogs, and many, many friends here. I was thinking about that the other day. In a mere few weeks, my son is about to start his second-grade experience in elementary school. Even as recently as a few years ago, my wife and I struggled with trying to figure out what in the heck we wanted to do with our lives. While we both have great jobs here, we have family scattered all over the United States. Aside from my mom and dad, we are basically the only ones still here in Mississippi. Well, that and I also have an eccentric great aunt that means the world to me and that we love dearly. During the time that we have been married, we have buried all four grandparents, a great uncle, another great uncle, and my wife's grandmother. So we really do not have that much family left here in Mississippi.

But you know, it really is a funny thing. You don't have to be related by blood in order to be family with people. My wife and I have a wonderful church family that we love dearly, and I have never had a chance to be a part of the same church for more than 13 years. Prior to moving to Clinton, I had never had the opportunity to live for nearly 14 years in one location. My Samson family is here, my friends are here, my job that I love dearly is here, and my church family is here as well.

People knock on Mississippi all the time and say what a horrible place it is to live. But they just don't know. I have lived out West, and I have also had the pleasure of visiting many other states. While the weather here is warm in Mississippi, the people are even warmer. You just don't find the graciousness, kindness, and generosity in a lot of people in other states as you do in the people of Mississippi.

I am 40 years old, and there are still times when I feel like I am stuck in a rut – I have lived in the same house, been married to the same woman, gone to the same church, had the same dog, and lived in the same town for nearly 14 years now. Part of me thinks that it shows a lack of ambition on my part to not want to advance past the confines of Mississippi and find a better life elsewhere. But then it really hit me all of a sudden last year when I hit 40 years old during Covid – it is an absolute blessing! When my wife and I asked our son the other day if he ever wanted to move, he said no, "I love my church, my friends, and my school!" And then I thought to myself – the grass is not always greener and what a wonderful gift it is that God has given me to be able to provide my son with the stability that I did not have when I was growing up. My wife was born in El Paso Texas, the daughter of a high-ranking military official. Although her parents eventually got divorced, she spent her early childhood being bounced around from city to city and she and her brother both have PTSD as a direct result of this. My wife and I directly attribute our respective childhoods as a contributing factor in our hesitancy to move in our adult years.

My wife and I talked a few weeks ago and we both realized that at some point over the past year, we both individually came to the conclusion that this is home. Perhaps there is more money to be made in other states. Perhaps there are better opportunities in other states. Perhaps we have grown complacent and become stuck in a rut. But you know what? That is okay. God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good. He has given me so many opportunities here in Mississippi to continue to pour into others, as well as let others pour into me. The wounds of my childhood have finally begun to heal. The comfort that I feel living here in my house with my beautiful bride, wonderful son, and three annoying dogs is never something that should be taken for granted. Nor is it something that should be seen as a sign that I am stuck in a rut. I heard God say last year very clearly: live where you have been planted my child and enjoy this gift that I have given you while living the life that I have blessed you with.

My wife and I have always loved to travel. These days, we don't travel nearly as much as we did before the days of having a kid, as we are bound by the constraints of full-time jobs, the kid's schedules, dogs, and a household to manage. But we do travel, it is usually to visit relatives in other states. But you know the funny thing? Whenever I am returning to my home in Clinton and I hit the home stretch of road, a huge smile slowly spreads its way across my face and I think to myself "I am home."

I finally understand that whether it's the life I had imagined, I am living the life that God had planned for me in the place he decided to put me. And there, I have found healing.

Desperation To Fit In & Be Loved For What You Bring To The Mix

I've never been desperate to fit in amongst my peers, and I suppose this is due to my sexuality.  Knowing as a boy that I was potentially going to be seen as a threat or liability by someone within the group - by default - I learned early on to focus my emotional longings towards intense (chronic) sexual fantasy. 

Starting within childhood, all of us boys desperately work to find value within the mix of other boys (real or imagined).  And as a result, it doesn't take us long to adjudicate where we may precisely fit in - unless there's nowhere to fit in.  This desperation to fit within the mix can be especially torrential if we don't click with dad / within dad's community.  

For example:

Let's say a boy's legal guardians are his grandparents (his father's in-laws), and their guardianship has been from the boy's birth.  As a result, much of boy's masculine persona is imprinted upon him by his (grand)father (who's in no way genetically kin to the boy's biological father).  Yet, the bio dad spends some time with his son (a couple of weekends a month), and hopes for the boy to synchronize with his modus operandi (particularly as a teenager).  But, it ain't happening.  And then from there, both the bio dad and son find both heartache and frustration as a result, and their relationship suffers.

And, of course, the (grand)father simply looks on with a grin.  For better or worse.

The boy, on the other hand, may just asks himself, "Where do I go from here?  If I don't fit in with my own biological father, where can / do I fit in?"

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I loathe team sports.  Always have.  But, I'm in the minority here, and I've always recognized this.  All that being said, I admire boys' / men's passion for team sports despite my not relating to that passion.

Team sports exist for a number of reasons, but one, in particular, is to satiate the desperation boys (& girls) experience to fit into the mix.  They're looking for that synergy that comes with working together as a team.  Parents too vicariously experience (yet again) the thrill of synchronized community whilst catering to their children's same longings, therefore it can be an amazing familial win-win.

Similarly, is the existence of youth gangs / cartels.  Again, there's that universal longing to fit into the mix.  Even if crime is involved.  This risk of criminal punishment / criminal record pales in comparison to be integrated therein.

Cults work the same way.  Bizarre beliefs are easily stomached when one's desperate.  Particularly if there's an intricate ordering (rank) involved.

And on and on.  You get my point.

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But if we look to the example that Christ left us via the gospels, we don't see this kind of behavior / longing.  Instead, all he desired was pleasing his heavenly father.  Now, he did assemble the disciples, and they followed him throughout his earthly 3-year ministry, but there's absolutely no hint that Jesus longed to fit into the mix of those dudes and therein earn love and acceptance.  Read Matthew, Mark, Luke & John and tell me if you see otherwise.

Of course, you can argue here that we're not Jesus.  Instead, we're more like those 12 disciples.  And that's a true statement, but only on the surface.  For if you look at the behavior of the disciples (the book of Acts) post-resurrection of Christ, it's markedly different than before.  As if they've been radically changed as a result of their now redirected / clarified priorities and the infusion of the Holy Spirit (which descended at Pentecost - again documented within the book of Acts).

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A handful of years into my tenure at an architecture firm here in Jackson (back in the late '90s / early '00s), I began to become less and less interested in fitting into that particular mix.  As a result of this, my tongue began to loosen considerably relative to what I was actually seeing (character / persona) of my four bossmen.  And almost all of this lollygagging was no doubt in jest, yet on one particular occasion, despite the obvious air of sarcasm, I witnessed what I'd not realized existed prior.  

The particular joke I released on this day had to do with one of my boss's physical seniority (he was 10 years older than I was) in relation to me.  And it was executed amongst a handful of my younger colleagues and my then boss back in what was dubbed the "drafting room" of this firm.  

And then something truly bizarre took place.

You must know that the "drafting room" of this particular firm held 6 built-in drafting tables which all surrounded a very large built in island (which served as our laydown space - for drawings).  My bossman, wearing dress slacks and high dollar Cole Haan shoes (his typical uniform), literally leaped - from a standstill - up onto the island moments after I released my sarcastic joke about his "seniority" over me.  To summarize, he did this in reaction to me jocularly pointing out his "old age".  

Everyone was so stunned by this bizarre reaction that we simply stood there speechless, looking up at him now standing on top of the island.  In fact, I don't even remember how he got down from there.  It was simply all so surreal.

I realized in that moment how, despite my own beginnings of relinquishment of the desire to fit into the mix, that he was nowhere near that same point.  Yet, he was 10 years my senior.  And this was incredibly eye opening to me; for he desperately wanted to still be seen as part of the mix.

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What is one reason the notion of driving fancy cars and living in fancy single family homes is elevated as it is within our culture?  And what actually drives lifestyle creep?

What is one reason professional and college sports teams are obsessed over?

What are some reasons men invest in deer camp memberships, set aside time to listen in to shock jocks, and prioritize time to watch loads of porn?

And finally, to circle back to the beginning, what is one reason some men purposefully pursue higher and higher standing up and up the corporate / institutional / government ladder (besides the pragmatics of increasing their income)?

I think it's the boy inside.  For these men, he's still very much in control.  Even though, he's long since been eclipsed by physical manhood.  Little boy demanding attention.  Little boy refusing to grow up.

And this is a fascinating truth to ruminate on.  It is astounding to me how much brain power many of us men exude relative to attempting to satiate our desperation for fitting into the mix.

On Wednesdays, Refill The Bird Bath With Bottled Water Only!

I'm at my most vulnerable relative to entertaining lust-fueled musings (fantasies) whilst lying next to my sweet wife immediately following turning in for the night.  Isn't that weird?  But, it's the truth.  

I have to assume this (today) is due to habit.  Habit formed literally over the course of my lifetime.  For I can vividly remember using this "turn-in bedtime" routine from middle school forward.

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For six years, I was a state of Mississippi government employee, and I loved the work.  But the one thing I quickly learned was how integral procedure is to being a member of a bureaucracy.  Exact procedure.  So much so, in fact, that a sizable portion of your value was directly linked to how adept you were at following procedure to a tee.  

Many years ago, a very noteworthy Christian book was published which detailed a procedure to best manage episodic lust as a God-fearing man.  And, as you might imagine, it became a bestseller.  For who wouldn't want a formula to eradicate lust?  The target audience were men who were wired to resonate with an instinctual bent.  And those Type A's (as I call them), soaked in the advice, and I believe for many of these men, their resolution to lust-fueled fantasies was met.

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For me, I learned early on as a teenager that my penchant for lust was directly linked to a specific purpose-driven need, and 'till that need was met healthily, no amount of procedural hurdles would keep me from it.

And God has provided relative to those needs as I've aged, though not necessarily within the compositional keepings that I would have preferred.

For example, while we lived in Cleveland, MS during the majority of 2013, I had zero friends - either there or back here in Jackson.  And that made for an extremely isolated year.  We were actively involved in our local church, but small group interaction wasn't encouraged.  Too, we were living within a rental house that didn't lend itself to entertaining - at all.

So, I took a heaping dose of reality check during that year.  And God used it to sear into my brain the importance (for me) of relational accountability (through close male friendship).

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In closing, we cannot always have circumstantially what we crave / closely desire relative to intimacy with others (or even God).  But we can take stock of those experiences when we once did have that - in fullness of measure and even overflowing.

Memory can take precedent over present-day reality.  Therefore, this is all the more reason to catalogue experiences and even photograph them.  And from there, display / ruminate on those memories when temptation strikes.

And too, there's something to be said for simply rolling onto one's stomach.

White Hot Heart(s)

Using other men as a conduit to emote.  Similar to music.  [Those are the notations I made in advance of writing out this post.  If I don't take notes, me will forget where I'd like to take the narrative.]

A young Samson guy who took to Samson Society like a duck to water used to describe how emotionally overwhelming attending meetings was for him.  And what he was referring to wasn't empathy but actual emoting.  Efficient, expedient emoting unlike any he'd experienced prior (except maybe whilst engaging in sex with is girlfriend / wife).

This young professional found the meetings provided him with a setting and therefore means to emote.  And emote he did.  All manner of emoting.  In fact, his emoting went from one end of spectrum to the other and back again (throughout the tenure of our friendship and his relation to our local Samson Society groups).  It was like releasing the Kraken.  No doubt a marvel to behold.  

It's important to note that this Samson guy didn't happen to struggle with same sex attraction, but otherwise he reeked of gayness.  And not necessarily in his mannerisms but mostly within his demeanor / outlook / temperament.  And others besides me had corroborated this to him directly.  Gay men are typically highly intelligent and articulate, therefore they're often hyper-critical relative to their outlook on just about everything around them.  This Samson guy was like that to a tee, yet he was immensely straight.  To the point of often being in anguish if he found himself out of step with the expectations of the women (mother, sisters, work colleagues, wife, daughter) in his life.  Hence, in a way, he was sorta super-straight.

There are those gay men who're out there who fall into the category of generally (averaging relational time) miserable to be around.  He could at times be one of those guys.  Nonetheless, it was very cool seeing him find such emotional challenge from the meetings and all the positive relationships that developed as a result.  For this was a dude who relished a challenge, and obviously Samson Society (meetings & otherwise) provides ample opportunity for those inclined.  As such, I loved having him with us for such a time as that.

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For Rob, the act of emoting through another guy first occurred when I was in high school.  It was whilst working at Chick-A-Fil in Northpark Mall back in the '80s.  As an only child, I'd little experience developing consistent relationships with other boys / young men except for my cousins (who mostly lived within other regions of the state). 

But at age 15, whilst acquiring my first part-time gig frying chicken, all that began to change.  

As a newbie at the Chick, I mostly passed out fried chicken samples week after week for hours on end.  But eventually, after surviving that initiation, I began learning the actual ropes, and those consisted of running a cash register, breading / frying chicken (in the "Henny Pennys") and unloading the weekly foodstuffs brought in on various delivery trucks.  The latter of which was the most difficult for I was a lean, completely nonathletic teenager who weighed all of 125 lbs. (with a 29" waist).

During this period of my life, I was so ashamed / embarrassed of my lean physique that I refused to present myself semi-nude in public, therefore that meant no swimming and absolutely no showering with or around other guys (hence, my affinity for being a member of the marching band).

For I felt my body would make for an easy target of any other guy (or girl) who might choose to point out my exceptional leanness as an act of cruelty.  Therefore, I refused to provide them with the opportunity.  Perhaps this was cowardice on my part, but nonetheless, it worked to keep me from being bullied.

On the flip side of that, I quickly began elevating certain young men who no doubt did not (& rightly so) have this same hang up.

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The private high school I attended in Madison was small.  We only graduated, in 1990, a mere 45 students.  But there was one of those young men (a classmate) who'd haunt me with his athletically built physique.  For I'd no courage whatsoever to attempt to befriend this classmate (which no doubt would have helped to defuse the situation).  And this is really where my penchant for homosexual lust went off the rails.  Not only was this classmate a varsity baseball and football player, but he was exceptionally shy and reserved.  So much so that I don't know I ever heard him say more than a few words during 10th - 12th grade.  He was that quiet.

And, of course, this only made it easier for me to take advantage of him within my sinful thought life, seeing how he was such the mystery man to all of us.

I cannot tell you how many times I begged God to forgive me for engaging in lustful fantasies that involved this dude (& plenty of others).

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My senior year of private academy high school saw me friendless, and I was okay with that.  I was excited about heading off to college the following year, knowing that I'd be leaving all of my "dumbass" classmates behind.  My two best friends were a year older than I, therefore they'd both "flown the coop" - one now enrolled at a university in TN and another in CO - the year prior.  

So, I was alone and now working more and more hours at the Chick in the mall (which I sheepishly enjoyed).  For it all felt so very adultish.

And then an older, Christian guy showed up at the Chick, and I knew he was a Christian because he quietly reeked of the fruits of the Spirit (which I was then privy to), and he was a seminary student at Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson.

The latter obviously made him a lot older than I was - likely mid-20s.  And this guy was physically built like a man.  I even moreso took note of this because he could execute physically demanding tasks twice as fast than I could.  Tasks such as mopping the dining room, behind the counter, kitchen or unloading the aforementioned delivery truck, and so forth.  I've never seen such stamina / work ethic.

But despite his physical age seniority to me, he refused to look down on me or question my role as "crew chief" (his superior).  I appreciated this for I'd years of chicken tenure (!) under my belt that he did not.  

Therefore, when he would be assigned to work with me during night shifts (there'd be three of us that would close up the restaurant at 9 PM), I would breathe that much easier.  For he was literally the ideal crew member - efficient, hard-working, respectful and kind.  The embodiment of what I aspired to be - someday - as a man.

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One noteworthy (to me) Saturday, this Christian seminary student (Dale was his name) had been assigned to my crew of three to eventually close up the restaurant, and as was typical for Saturdays when I'd work, my shift usually began around 1 PM in the afternoon.  As such, those days were typically long, exhausting endurance runs for teenage Rob at the Chick.  But, knowing Dale was there to assist me at close, that allowed me to breathe easier for he literally could expedite the work of two men with ease. 

And on that day, thankfully, the daytime hours went off without a hitch as did our closing regimen.  But something, for me at least, happened that night which unexpectedly awoken my senses to who I might very well be and how I was truly weirdly wired as a man.  

Like every other night where Dale was assigned to my closing crew, he volunteered to oversee the cleaning of "the red floor".  This verbiage referred to the dining room.  For during the 1980s, the dining rooms of Chick-A-Fil restaurants (all of which at this time were located inside of shopping malls) had glossy red ceramic tile (herringboned patterned) flooring.  Therefore, Dale had the responsibility of thoroughly cleaning this space (empty trash, clean / sanitize tables & chairs & garbage cans, sweep & mop "red floor").  And arguably on Saturday nights, this space was the filthiest, having endured a weekend day of steady usage from breakfast to dinner.  

As I was working towards double-checking all of our now completed work (by now it would have been around 9:40 PM), I surprisingly encountered Dale shirtless in the kitchen.  Immediately before that, I'd made my way to the electrical panel and switched off the house lights, therefore only the few remaining night fluorescent troffers were left illuminated throughout the front and back of the restaurant.  In looking back, this brown out had obviously given him the signal that I was satisfied and ready for us to depart, but too, it had provided him with somewhat of a veil of darkness to utilize to change clothes.

It took me a second, but eventually I realized he was simply quietly changing out of his Chick-A-Fil uniform shirt and into something else.  Perhaps for a late night date or meetup.  For I'd never had that experience before.

And then the three of us all left together with me ensuring the back door locked itself behind us.

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I've thought an awful lot about that night since then.  And here's what I know.

Though it's never easy to admit to, there are times in everyone's life when they are vulnerable to exploitation by individuals who're usually older / wiser / savvier than we are.  And mostly, on average, that vulnerability happens during our childhood years in tandem with us elevating someone within our minds.  As you can see here, based on what I've described of my private self-loathing (& the internal sin-laden self-medication I was administering as a result), it was during my high school years when I was in this isolated, critical position.  

Dale was one (if not the one) of the most ideal men I'd ever encountered.  Plus, he was a Christian.  And, on top of that, he had an enviable body & face (which I had the privilege to see firsthand) to match that humble, gentle spirit.  

It wouldn't have taken hardly any effort on his part to position himself in order to serendipitously take advantage of this young, very confused high school student (Rob).  But he chose not to.  Instead, he not only gave to me a stellar example of Christ through his work ethic / demeanor / character, but he also did so by trusting me with his own thoughtful decision to be appropriately vulnerable (the brief shirtless episode).  

Now, you may believe that as an adult I've romanticized this childhood event, and I cannot not agree with you on some level.  But, you cannot completely dismiss that what he chose to do by removing his shirt there in the kitchen - versus the men's room - must have had at least an inkling of intentionality behind it.  And for me, that decision made all the difference.  For it demonstrated trust.  And this is what I'd always longed to actually marinate in (outside of fantasy).  For it validated something in me like nothing else had prior.  And as a result, it seemingly started up an engine (idle speed) which eventually, after many additional years, trials, therapists, and Samson Society found its cruising RPM.

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Over the past month, I'd had numerous individuals comment on my physique.  Both men and women.  Most of these reactions had to do with either clothes I was wearing that accentuated my 48-year old, 196 lb, build or a lack of clothes thereof (whilst out running in the summer heat).  To experience this trend literally causes me to feel like the young Samson friend I mentioned at the beginning of this post.  Emotionally overwhelmed.  

But one antidote to those feelings is to take myself back to that night at the Chick which I've attempted to describe here.  That night where I felt I saw my ideal future self seemingly inside somewhat of a mysterious stranger.

For by doing so, I can recalibrate my heart towards the man who firstly demonstrated to Rob what he (me) might very well become.     

Thanks Dale.  Wherever you are, I love you.  For I owe you a whole lot.  And just so you know, there is a portion of me that believes you may very well have been my guardian angel.

High Performance (Overachiever) Friend

Finding yourself befriended by a high performance-oriented man when you yourself aren't wired similarly may inevitably bring about some semblance of a relational reckoning between the two of you.  At least that's been my experience.

Partnering with a high performance-oriented man in business or even marrying one brings with it a much better chance for relational long-term success.  Why?  In both instances, security is often a nice, helpful side effect of these men - financial security, that is.  And businesses (& most marriages) thrive on steady, reliable financial security.  Plus, jettisoning a business partner / spouse involves attorneys, and attorneys charge fees.  Walking away from a friend takes little to no effort.

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A question for Rob:  What are the observed originators (their prequel) relative to my dealings with high-performance oriented men?  

One, was / is high intelligence that was / is recognized early in childhood, and the second was being an outcast - for whatever reason.  In particular, a social outcast within the childhood / young adult (collegiate) years.  As such, if the dude that I've (over simplistically) described here, also chose to keep his nose clean whilst maintaining his emotional health (to some degree) along the way, you very well may now have the makings of a high performance-oriented man who's looking to prove himself to himself (& others) over and over ad nauseum.

Now, let me stop here and make a two-part statement that needs to be strongly emphasized before moving on to the whole relational reckoning mentioned earlier within this post.

Firstly, there's nothing, absolutely nothing wrong, out of sorts or diabolical - by definition - about these guys.  In fact, many of them will go on to make significant cultural and technological advances to their respective fields and / or within their families.  Secondly, and this one's the most important:  If you find one of these men latched onto you as a friend, you've won the lottery, in many respects.  For these guys, in their purest form, are few and far between, and besides that, they're the epitome of loners.

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Now, let's talk about the reckoning piece - that may very well will come - inside one of these friendships due to the implied (here) personality disharmony between you two as friends.

High performance men measure, constantly measure their gains - personal, financial, spiritual (as they recognize it).  If they didn't, they'd have no means of proving their own value / self worth to themselves.  And this system of measurement that they utilize is considered an unquestionable failsafe for them.  At times (or maybe over time), a byproduct of this internal adjudication is a keenly deliberate hand at utilizing you - the friend - (& whomever else might be within their sphere of influence) as a reference point.  

And this is where the reckoning may perhaps come about.  For based on what I've experienced, the love of brotherhood is quite difficult to sustain within such conditions, though it can certainly can get kickstarted as such (with you either seen as an equal or demigod, though usually the latter).

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A month or so ago, I had lunch with a high-performance friend who I'm intentionally not very close to.  I've known this man (who I highly revere for his commitment to his profession) for many years, and I needed to spend a meal with him in order to deliver some pertinent news - face to face.  Towards the end of our juncture, he announced his surprise that our time together hadn't been more productive / useful (of he himself) towards me in light of my simple (to him unimportant) announcement.  Now, not all high-performance men make as bold of statements as this friend trends to, but this guy is 8 to 10 years my senior, and as such, his approach has always been more gloating bull elephant than Pee Wee Herman.

Based on what I've both observed and been told flat out, the root behind much of this modus operandi for these men is deep seated insecurity.  But you already knew that.  And as a caveat to that, most all of them vehemently disagree with the label of arrogant.  Therefore, regarding that particular label, I simply remain complicit, refusing to bring it up.

And that's where it can be so frustrating, especially if you've also wrestled with insecurity.

But, let's assume your approach instead to managing / facing it isn't an attempt to "prove it wrong" by performance.  Instead, you may simply be doing what's arguably the hardest thing.  To actually go beneath those feelings in order to execute a game plan to disrupt the habitual doubt altogether versus attempting to outrun it / prove it wrong.

Therefore, if you attempt to question your friend's high-performance approach as an impossible quest, the platonic reckoning may actually come from not only his now mistrust in your value (to him), but also his not being able to fathom moving away from an approach that's been his safety blanket throughout all his livelong days.

Let's quickly break these down before closing this out.

...mistrust in your value (to him)...  

...his not being able to fathom moving away... 

Firstly, he may very well be convinced that he's surpassed you (in value).  And this can be a hard pill for you to swallow relative to these type of relationships (especially if the high-performance guy is dramatically younger than you are).

Secondly, he may be experiencing brainlock due to his approach being so ingrained to his way of doing his life.

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In conclusion, I'd like to circle back to an earlier statement I made, and that had to do with good fortune.  Good fortune surrounding the rarity in befriending, truly befriending one of these men.  Though it may only (likely) be for a season (as are most friendships), it's well worth the price of admission to observe an individual up close and personal who's completely in bondage to superlatives.  You can learn so much of how not to do life healthily from them.  And I mean that.  That is not a smartass statement.

P.S.   A word of caution.  If your high-performance friend feels so moved to recalibrate / validate his high-performance MO due to your attempts to legitimately question either his approach or his overall competency, he may very well turn on you by driving wedges, in particular, between you and other men out of spite.  Ouch.  If you experience that unfortunate pain, remember to go light on him.  For it's he who needs prayer (& support) relative to the bondage that is his life.

“The Way We Were: The Boys of Cracker Barrel.”

Happy Friday everyone! Stephen here. I know that it has been a minute since I have posted on this blog. Many thanks to Rob for his continual posting on the blog, and for his subtle nudging and encouragement for me to pick back up with my writing. I like to view this as a joint endeavor between he and I, but it has mostly fallen on Rob’s shoulders over the past year to produce blog content. I am extremely grateful that he has continued to be faithful in publishing content that all Samson brothers can relate to.

Sometimes life just throws you a curveball. Sometimes you set out on a path in life that is so subtle, you did not even realize it was happening. Sometimes that subtle path in life leads to a career change. My original goal in life was to work on computers. So immediately after high school, I went to a two-year college and got an associate degree in computer network administration. I did that for a little while, then I decided I wanted to go into teaching. I went back to college at a four-year university (where I met my future wife), and got my bachelor’s degree in English, and went into teaching for a while. After a few years, I went back to graduate school and pursued a master’s degree in English, and taught on the collegiate level for some time. Did I mention that somewhere in all that, I ended up in Arizona living at the Grand Canyon National Park on the south rim for two years while doing accounting for a store in the national park? When I look back at my life thus far, it almost feels like I got on a giant waterslide at the water park and just had to go wherever the slide sent me, because I was powerless to stop myself or change my trajectory once I had started my journey down the slide.

Life is funny like that sometimes. You know, growing up, I always loved books and I was a voracious reader thanks to my scholarly parents who encouraged my reading and my academic pursuits. However, working in a library (of any type) was not even on the radar as I was growing up and deciding what path I wanted to choose career-wise. About 10 years ago, I took a second, part-time job working as the night and weekend supervisor for the library on the campus where I taught. One thing led to another, and about six years ago I began to transition myself into full-time academic librarianship; the teaching portion became a secondary, as-needed adjunct basis. Giving up my dreams of teaching is not something that I wanted to do initially, but those of you who know my story know that I suffered a drastic hearing loss in my teens which continued as a gradual decline in my college years. Even though I had surgery to successfully restore some of it, it was never the same, and I was just losing more and more confidence each year being in the classroom in front of many students. So, when I had the chance to transition into a different area of academics, I jumped on it. However, I quickly hit the ceiling of where I could advance in my career with the degrees that I had, so about two years ago I was told that I had to go back to school yet again to pursue my Master of Library Information Science degree. Yes, I had a Master’s degree, but I did not have the right Master’s degree! I was told by the University that I must go back and pursue the correct master’s degree to remain in my job. Working full time, carrying almost the entire weight of my department on my shoulders (due to personnel issues), and being a full-time husband and dad while simultaneously pursuing another master’s degree was a pretty busy and hectic stretch of the road for me. But I finally graduated (with a 4.0, I might add); as of two weeks ago, I am Stephen Coleman, A.S., B.A., M.A., and M.L.I.S... Nah, I am just kidding. I am still simply just plain old Stephen: sometimes rather forgettable, broken down, messed up, Samson dude who has been redeemed by God’s grace. So anyway, that is my story and the cause of my lengthy absence from just about everything in life outside the abovementioned things. Life really is crazy sometimes. Here I am at 40 years old working at a career that was never even a thought I entertained in my 20s. But it is funny how life comes full circle. I still teach from time to time, do instruction in our library (a form of teaching), work with computers on the back end by doing programming, work with college students, and serve as the systems librarian for an academic library. What a mixed-up mess (career-wise) my life has been so far. But you know. God is good to me. I am very lucky, very blessed, and very thankful for the life that God chose for me and allowed me to fall into both professional and personally.

But I do truly enjoy writing, and I am grateful to have the chance to rejoin this blog. I look forward to continuing with my “Bridges” series next week. Next week’s entry, “The Bridge to Friendship,” is one that is very dear to me and is one that is making me very emotional as I write it. Stay tuned for that!

OK – Enough of my rambling….

One of the things that my family has enjoyed from the time that my son was a young tot, is going to eat at Cracker Barrel on Friday nights. I know what you are thinking. Cracker Barrel? Why in the world Cracker Barrel? Certainly, it is nothing fancy, nothing special, and is certainly nothing to write home about. But my little family just loves that place and cannot get enough of it. Something about going to Cracker Barrel evokes a sense of nostalgia that causes us to reminisce about our pasts, while simultaneously making new memories with our son as we bond together over a nice warm meal.

One of the things that I cannot stand to see is when I go to a restaurant and witness the parents and all their accompanying children self-absorbed in their own worlds, glued to electronic devices. I kid you not: a few months ago, I was in Cracker Barrel and we noticed a mom and dad and about four children who came in behind us. Each of the parents was glued to their phone, and each of the children had an iPad with headphones attached to their ears. As they were seated close to us, we were able to observe them throughout the meal, and those poor souls never once got off their devices or had any form of conversation even after their food was delivered. My wife and I have always had a rule in our house: no electronic devices at the table. I grew up eating dinner around the table with my family, and that is a tradition that we have continued with our son. Of course, there are some Saturday nights where we will gather around the television in the living room and watch a movie as a family while eating dinner, but during the week you better believe that we are sitting at the table (or the bar) eating together as a family and sharing stories about our respective days. The same holds true for when we go to a restaurant. Even though my son is growing up (he is seven, going on 17), we do not allow him to have any electronic devices at the table in a restaurant. He may be bored to tears, but he will engage with mom and dad and we will talk about life and what is currently going on in our lives.

I did not know until a few years ago, but there is a Cracker Barrel warehouse where all of the old vintage items are stored once they have been procured. In case you were not aware, or have never been inside of a Cracker Barrel, the walls are lined with old photographs, miscellaneous items, antique guns, deer heads, cigarette advertisements, and other neat memorabilia. Believe it or not, there is a curator whose only job is to go all over the United States visiting flea markets, estate sales, garage sales, etc. and select then purchase items for the Cracker Barrel warehouse. These items will then be used to decorate the interiors of the Cracker Barrel stores. If I had not already invested so much time and money into becoming an academic librarian, that would absolutely be my dream job! These items have been the source of many conversations for us three; we like to talk about what they were used for or what long-forgotten products the advertisements were trying to sell. In fact, at the Cracker Barrel store that we most frequently visit, there is a giant deer head hanging over the fireplace. I remember when my son was barely three or four years old, and he saw that deer head hanging over the fireplace. He asked me “daddy, why is there a deer head hanging over the fireplace?” I told him “that’s a good question son. I don’t know, but I do know that your mother would never have a deer head hanging in her house.” He said “good! That is a silly idea anyway!” Fortunately, my wife and I have similar ideas when it comes to mounting dead animals on the walls of our home. It is a no-go for either one of us. Now do not get me wrong: I love me some venison and I could eat it all day every day, but I sure do not want to see Bambi’s head hanging over my fireplace every time I sit down! I like my venison on my plate in the form of steak and gravy, not staring down at me accusingly from the wall.

Of all the things on the walls, the photographs provide us with some of the most interesting conversations. There are numerous photographs on the walls: men, women, and children. Since the Samson society is geared towards men, I am not including any photographs of children or women as illustrations in this blog, though I assure you, we have had discussions about the women just as much as the men. “Oh, she was a mean schoolteacher!” Or perhaps something along the lines of “wow, she must’ve worked in a brothel (I covered my son’s ears for that comment because I did not feel like getting into a discussion over dinner about the minute details surrounding brothels).

So, without further ado, let me introduce you to three of my new (old) Cracker Barrel friends: 

Subject 1.  - "Benji"

First, we have Benji. Whether or not that was his given name, I could not tell you. But it is the name that my son gave him. In the course of our family discussion, we all decided that Benji must’ve been about 13 to 16 in this picture and was quite the mischievous young fella. I mean, can’t you just see it? That twinkle in his sepia-tinted eyeball? You just know that he was always in trouble, pulling pranks on people and raising hell in the classroom. But we decided that he was fun-loving, and the life of the party, and an overall good guy with a good heart. Whatever happened to Benji? Who was he when he grew up? Where did he live? Did he ever get married and have children? Did he love his people well? What did he do for a living? How long did he live? I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.

Subject 2. - "Luther"

Next, we have Luther who is the older brother of Benji. Whether or not he was related by blood to Benji in real life, I could not tell you. But for the purpose of our discussion, we made him Benji’s older brother. Their photographs were one table apart on the wall next to each other. I am the one who had the honor of giving Luther his name. He looks like a serious, scholarly, by the books young fella. I would estimate that he was probably about late teens to mid-20s in this picture. He did a good job of keeping Benji in line, and maybe even had to bail Benji out of trouble a time or two. Luther was that solid, stable, walking the narrow path type of big brother. My wife and I speculated about whether he went to college, went to work in a respectable profession, or was in some branch of the military. Whatever he did in life, my wife and I agreed on one thing: he looked like a guy who did it well and was a solid rock for everyone in his life. He loved his people, and he loved them well.

Subject 3. - "James"

Finally, we have James. James was given his name because, well, he just looks like a James! We could not determine whether James was the uncle or the father of Benji and Luther. Whichever one he was, our consensus as a family was that he was very serious, not much fun, and very successful in his career as either a banker or an attorney. Like Luther, James was a by-the-book type of fella and commanded the respect of those in his life.

Before you tell me, I already know it, I am a weird guy. But at 40 years old, I have finally learned to love myself for who I am, and I am comfortable enough in my own skin that I don’t care what others think of me. You either like me, or you don’t. In all honesty, these photographs were a lot of fun to analyze and provided some good quality conversation during that night’s dinner.

Now that I have hit 40 years old, I am starting to think about the legacy that I am leaving in my own life. I can tell you this: I do not want my legacy to be one where I end up on the wall in a Cracker Barrel somewhere in the far distant future! Because you know what would happen? Some weirdo like myself would come along and start taking photographs of my photograph and then proceeding to make up imaginary stories about me with his family over dinner at Cracker Barrel! No, I do not want that to be my legacy at all.

The truth of the matter is that unless you are extremely wealthy or you achieve something extraordinarily remarkable, society is not going to remember you. I had a conversation a while back with my brother about how we do not even know our ancestors. The truth is you will be forgotten within a few generations. Your photographs, once so proudly displayed on the walls of your home, will be packed into boxes, and put into someone’s attic. After a while, they (or their descendants) will decide to spring clean and proceed to deliver your likeness to the nearest thrift store as a donation. And then if you are lucky, the curator for Cracker Barrel will find your photograph and you will end up on the wall in a Cracker Barrel store somewhere in the United States.

It is a sobering thought, realizing that we most likely will be forgotten within a few generations of our passing. As I think about what exactly that means, I am more encouraged and motivated than ever before to not worry about any type of legacy that I am going to leave behind, but rather, to focus on the here and the now and living in this moment. I want to love people and love them well. I want my wife and my son to know to and to feel in their very being just how much I love them. I want my parents and my brother and all the rest of my family to know that I care. And I want to be the best friend that I can possibly be to those I am fortunate to have in my life.

It is so easy to get wrapped up in life and to sometimes compartmentalize your life. I often tell people that I go through life like a horse with blinders on his eyes; I tend to only see what is in front of me and not what is in my peripheral vision. I am so guilty of compartmentalizing my life and focusing only on what’s right in front of me. But there are so many people and so many things that lie in the corners of my peripheral vision that I need to focus on as well.

So who am I going to be remembered as? I certainly hope that I will not be remembered as the guy who spent so much time in college getting all of the degrees. Rather, I hope that I will be remembered by former students and colleagues as Mr. Coleman, the guy who really genuinely cared about them. I challenge you today to love those around you. Don’t end up like Benji, Luther, and James. No one remembers who they were. At least I don’t. We can only speculate what type of guys they were. And someday, people will speculate what type of guy you were as well. But for now, let there be no doubt of the way we were. Love others and love them big.

 

I love you guys, Stephen

"Lord, Quell My Desires. Give Me Patience. Satisfy The Longings Of My Soul With You."

I recently bumped into an old friend whilst dining out with the family (& a family friend).  He was there with his family, and was gracious enough to get up from the table to embrace me during this unexpected juncture.

This old friend is an exercise addict, therefore he's built like an underwear model.  As such, putting my arm around his back meant I didn't feel anything but sinewy muscle versus the typical sponginess of Mississippi man fat.  Those few moments were electric.  I caught up more with him / gained more from him via that opportunity to embrace than I could have via 30-minutes of dialogue.

Last week, I had a free night and ventured to an off schedule Samson Society meeting, but no one else showed up.  And neither this weekend nor last was I able to meet with my Silas.

And here on the homefront, we're right in the heart of May, by far the busiest month of the year.

I'm so sick of my family.  So ready for a break from all of them.  Living only with women is absolutely exhausting at times.  

Oh Lord Jesus, give me strength.

The Frightening / Misunderstood World of Men

As a boy, I simply was terrified of the world of men.  Were it not for my grandfather, there would have been zero men in my family circle that I would have ingratiated myself towards out of trust and love.  And accordingly, this fear resulted in some sizable issues for young Rob.  For without finding comfort / peace within the circle of your same sex, boys must look elsewhere or exclusively inward.  And this is not at all healthy as a stopgap solution.

My Paw Paw (mom's father) was kindhearted and tender.  He hugged me whenever we encountered each other and similarly upon leaving.  Masculine posturing wasn't in his vocabulary.  This man was the epitome of non-threatening, therefore he was absolutely perfectly suited for little Rob.

Thanks be to God for my Paw Paw!

Nonetheless, I only saw him on occasion (mostly holidays), therefore my time with him wasn't nearly enough to overcome the confusing mysteriousness of manhood (particularly whilst reaching my teenage years).  Therefore, these fears simply expanded within my mind as I seemingly accelerated (begrudgingly) through adolescence towards adulthood.

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As a result of this, one of the most difficult "manly" / masculine challenges for me as an adult was spending time in a gym.  Especially within the section / zone where the free weights, cable machines, benches, and so forth were stationed.  For the gym was a representation of that mystery of men for Rob because that was where (mostly) men intentionally came to exercise - alongside each other.

As a real world example, I think it's important for me to divulge here that I was drawn to the gym primarily because I truly wanted to overcome these fears, therefore the gym, I knew, could serve as a petri dish of sorts.  Plus, I knew how physically beneficial (good health) working out at a gym would be for me in the long-term.  It was a win-win situation.  So long as I could endure the consistent trepidation.

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As a 48-year old man, I cannot tell you how gratifying it is to look back on how faithful I've been to physical fitness over the past 12 years (& then some).  Sure, the physical / psychological results are wonderful in and of themselves, but every time (even today) that I step into the gym, I'm reminded of how much irrational fear I used to face.  It's as if its aroma still lingers in and around the equipment.

Of course, God provided the cover over me to look this elephant in the eye.  Without his Spirit living within me, this fear would never have been overcome as it was.

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My Silas is an athlete.  Obviously, athletes aren't nor ever have been scared shitless relative to the mysterious world of men.  Instead, athletes embrace this world.  For it's their comfort zone.  That being within organized, goal-oriented community.  

One of the most profound benefits of having this man as my Silas is I can lean into him when I find myself adrift relative to my understanding of the world of men.  

For example, I found myself yesterday experiencing a situation that befuddled me.  It was one that seemed abnormal to me after it occurred, but really wasn't abnormal in the least.  Particularly considering who exactly (the specific two men) was involved.  My Silas rectified this for me soon after I reached out to him for support / guidance.

When you spend your adolescence in the shadows as I did, you miss out on situations / circumstances that are / would be beneficial to fully comprehending the world of men.  This was / is Rob.  As a boy, I refused to risk being rejected by other young men, therefore my intentional isolation served to protect my fragile heart.  But there was a cost to taking this approach.  And that cost was as follows:  It set in motion my avoidance modus operandi, and eventually, this MO solidified into how Rob engaged with his fear.  And one could argue that as a result, my fear increased exponentially as a result of my reactionary acknowledgment.

My Silas did no such thing.  Not because he was any less fragile, but due to his recognizing how essential this process truly was to his well-being, growth, development - into (eventually) a grown man.

It is so shocking to me to have the Silas I have today.  For if you'd shared with me at my outset into the community of Samson Society here in Metro Jackson (back in August of 2014) that I'd be formally connected to this dude, I would have been stunned (& pretty frightened).  Too, I believe it's important that you know that he did not become my Silas 'till years of regularly scheduled formal junctures - one on one - took place.  Junctures that allowed each of us plenty of breathing room to gain enough trust in each other for the next step to proceed from.

My Silas represents, in so many ways, the most misunderstood / mysterious aspects of manhood that I did face / continue to face.  Therefore, it truly is an electrifying, iron sharpens iron relationship.  

Thanks by to God for my Silas!