Man UPrising – Page 2 – The Defiant Spirit

Worn-Out Erasers, Sharpened Pencils & The Dancing Defiant Spirit

Worn-Out Erasers, Sharpened Pencils & The Dancing Defiant Spirit Lessons In Resilience and Grit From My Son, Aviv Every morning, I come downstairs to the same sight: pencils strewn across the desk in the family office. But there’s something about these pencils—none of them have erasers. They’ve all been worn down to the nub. And invariably, my son Aviv’s math work is buried beneath a dusting of pink eraser shavings. He’s in seventh grade. He gets good enough grades—except in math. Because math is his personal hell. Aviv is dyslexic, and numbers simply do not click for him, no matter how hard he tries. Every equation, every word problem, every test is a battle. And every morning, when I see those pencils with their erasers ground to dust, my heart holds two things at once: sorrow and gratitude. Sorrow, because I know how hard he struggles. I know the long hours, the frustration, the fight against that voice in his head telling him he’s not enough, that he’s stupid, that he doesn’t have anything to offer the world. I know how much it costs him to sit there and erase, and erase, and erase—working through problems over and over, only to still get the answer wrong. But also, gratitude—because every morning, there’s another pencil without an eraser. That means he’s still fighting. He hasn’t given up. He sits in his personal hell, erasing and trying again, erasing and trying again. He refuses to surrender. And in that refusal, in those countless hours of rewriting and erasing and trying again, something remarkable is happening. Aviv is being shaped—not into a great mathematician, but into something far more important: a man of resilience, a man of wisdom. Viktor Frankl and the Inner Concentration Camp My teacher and mentor, Dr. Viktor Frankl, called this the inner concentration camp—not a term he used lightly, having endured four years in a Nazi concentration camp. He knew that, while most of us will never experience something as horrific as the Holocaust, we will all face our own version of captivity—the inner darkness, the suffering that feels inescapable, the daily battle we must fight to maintain our dignity, our will, our defiant spirit. For Aviv, that inner concentration camp is math. It’s the mental processing that doesn’t come easily. It’s the way our society demands and shames him into conforming to a system that wasn’t built for him. I’d be lying if I said he has made peace with it. He hasn’t. He hates it. He struggles with it. But every morning, once again, there are more eraser bits all over the desk. And that means he’s still showing up. Life’s Curriculum We don’t get to choose our curriculum in this life. If we did, Aviv wouldn’t have chosen dyslexia. He wouldn’t have chosen math. He wouldn’t have chosen the frustration, the hours of trying and failing, the tears and the self-doubt. But this is the curriculum he was given. And he is doing the work. Each of us has a curriculum—our own set of struggles, our own erasers worn down to nothing. Some of us were given loss. Some were given failure. Some were handed the weight of addiction, heartbreak, betrayal, trauma. We didn’t sign up for it. But we are in the classroom nonetheless. And there’s a choice to be made. We can resist it. We can rage against it. We can sit in bitterness, wishing for a different syllabus, demanding an easier path. Or we can do the work. We can pick up the pencil, erase, try again. Erase, try again. Not to master the subject—but to master ourselves. The Wisdom of the Body In our world, intelligence is worshipped. Our education system, our culture, our values—they are all built around what happens between our ears. But there is another kind of wisdom, an ancient wisdom, one we have forgotten in the modern age. The wisdom of the body. And that is where Aviv shines. While math is his battleground, dance is his sanctuary. He’s been dancing for ten years. Competitive dance. Hours and hours of training, late nights, weekends filled with rehearsals and competitions that stretch from morning to night. And here’s the thing—no one has to push him to do it. No one has to tell him to practice. No one has to remind him to show up. Because on the dance floor, there are no worn-out erasers. There is only a sharpened pencil. Up there, he is beyond numbers. He moves with an intuitive rhythm, a precision that can’t be captured in a formula or measured by a test. He executes intricate choreography with the kind of poise and control that defies his struggles with math. While numbers confine him, dance frees him. And he’s not just good. He’s great. He wins competitions. He earns the respect of his peers and coaches. He pushes himself, refines his movements, perfects his craft. Because on stage, he isn’t battling dyslexia. He isn’t erasing mistakes. He is creating something beautiful. And yet, those hours spent wrestling with math problems are not in vain. Because while he may never conquer algebra, he is learning something far more valuable—grit. Persistence. Emotional depth. The ability to feel his frustration, to name it, to process it, and to keep going anyway. We All Have Our Worn-Out Erasers Each of us has our version of Aviv’s math work. The thing that breaks us down, that makes us question ourselves, that asks us, Do you really want this? For the men I coach, it might be rebuilding a life after divorce. It might be wrestling with failure, regret, loneliness. It might be facing a painful truth about who they’ve been and who they want to become. But those worn-out erasers are proof of the work. They are evidence that we are showing up, erasing, trying again. And the goal is not to erase forever. The goal is to one day pick up the sharpened pencil and write—not with hesitation,

Men and Mastery: Your Why is Bigger Than Your Work, Bank Account, or Success

Men and Mastery: Your Why is Bigger Than Your Work, Bank Account, or Success Your Why is Not Just Your Work Lately, I’ve been talking a lot about knowing your why—your purpose. Not just in one area of life, but in all areas of life. Because as my teacher and mentor Viktor Frankl said: “He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.” But here’s the problem. Too many men think their why is their work. Their business. Their career. Their empire. And while your professional why matters, it’s only one piece of a much bigger picture. The Empire That Crumbles at Home A man walks into my office. I do a lot of men coaching—or as I sometimes call it, meaning coaching—helping people in general, and men in particular, dig into their lives to discover, articulate, and live their why. This guy? A powerhouse. He’s built an empire. Runs a multi-million-dollar company. Measures his worth by the size of his business, his bank account, his portfolio. (Men are obsessed with the size of their empire.) Just ask him—he’ll tell you. He’ll also tell you he’s the smartest guy he knows. And when it comes to finance and numbers? He probably is. That’s why he has the corner office in the C-suite. But as Socrates reminds us: “Being highly skilled in one area does not mean you possess wisdom in all.” Mastery in one domain does not make you a master in others. In fact, it can blind you. Because while this man has everyone answering to him at work, while everything in his professional life runs like a well-oiled machine, the moment he pulls into his garage and steps into his kitchen… He plummets. From master to mediocre. From being in charge to, at best, a second-class citizen. At worst? An unwanted outsider. He feels estranged from his kids. Distant from his wife. The Why That’s Missing But B, he tells me, I’ve spent my lifeblood building this empire. Achieving mastery—all for them. So they never have to want. So they have everything they need. The vacations, the private schools, the cars, the homes—whatever they want, they’ve got it. And all the while, he believes his own bullshit. He’s told himself the story for so long, he thinks it’s true. But what his family really needs isn’t more professional mastery. They don’t need more money. They need him. They need him to master the other arenas of his life. They need him to master being a father. A husband. A man with a deeper why. So I ask him: “Joe”—changing his name to protect the innocent—”What’s your personal why?” No hesitation when it comes to his company. He’s read Simon Sinek. He knows the drill. He can articulate his company’s why like a well-rehearsed investor pitch. Boom, boom, boom. Then I ask again: “But Joe, what’s your personal why?” And the man who has mastered his industry sits there, blank. No more mastery. Because no one’s ever asked him that question before. Because he’s never asked himself. Because he simply does not know his why. Your Why is Bigger Than Your Career Every man needs a why. Yes, literally—to recite every day, to ground yourself, to keep you anchored when life gets messy. But also figuratively—as the internal compass that moves you toward holistic mastery. Most men have only been taught to master one domain: Professional Success. But true mastery requires four domains: The Four Domains of True Mastery Professional Mastery – Your work, your career, your ability to provide. Personal Mastery – Your own well-being: body, mind, and spirit. Family Mastery – Your relationships: spouse, children, loved ones. Community Mastery – Your impact beyond yourself: legacy, service, purpose. These are the four buckets we focus on in Man Uprising peer groups. And when men check in at our meetings? Their seven-minute update is always in descending order of mastery: First, professional—where they thrive. Then, personal—where they struggle. Then, family—where they feel lost. And finally, community—where there’s often nothing at all. It’s not just a descending order of mastery. It’s an ascending order of neglect. A Why That Covers Every Domain Men in midlife are being called to rise up—to become the king, the patriarch, the source of certainty and security for all four domains. Professional – Yes, but not at the expense of the others. Personal – Yes, because if you’re not taking care of yourself, you can’t take care of anyone else. Family – Absolutely, because your wife and kids don’t need a paycheck. They need a present man. Community – The most neglected bucket of all. But as Viktor Frankl calls it, self-transcendence—the need to contribute to something bigger than yourself. Why Do You Get Up in the Morning? Men, we are not here to just master one domain while letting the others collapse. We are not here to just make money. Money is a means, not an end. We are not here to just succeed in business while failing at home. We are here to master ourselves. To build holistic success. To ensure that, at the end of our lives, we don’t just leave behind a bank account—but a legacy. What’s Your Why? Because if you don’t know it, you’ll never be the man you were meant to be. Simon Sinek was right. It all starts with why.

Unmasking True Strength: Lessons in Vulnerability from The Golden Bachelorette and Man UPrising

I swore I’d never watch The Golden Bachelorette. For years, I’d made The Bachelor franchise my favorite punchline, poking fun at my wife’s devotion to it. To me, it seemed like a carnival of superficial drama, manufactured tears, and fake roses. While she watched, I’d roll my eyes and retreat to another room, convinced I was too evolved for reality TV. But then a friend challenged me: “You’ve got to watch The Golden Bachelorette. It’s different.” I resisted at first, brushing it off as nonsense. Yet curiosity got the better of me, and I caved. Except, I wasn’t ready to admit it. I started watching in secret. Like a teenager hiding a guilty pleasure, I’d turn it on when my wife wasn’t home and quickly switch it off if I heard her walk in. I was hiding The Golden Bachelorette like it was something far more scandalous. Why the secrecy? Maybe it was because I didn’t want to admit I’d judged her so harshly. Maybe it was because I didn’t want her to know I’d been wrong. Or maybe it was because I wasn’t ready to face what the show might reveal about me. The truth is, I don’t think I was wrong about The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. But The Golden Bachelorette? That’s a different story entirely. What Makes The Golden Bachelorette Different Unlike its younger counterparts, The Golden Bachelorette isn’t about Instagram fame or petty rivalries. It’s about men in their 50s and 60s who’ve lived full lives—men who have experienced heartbreak, loss, and the kind of hard-earned wisdom that only comes with age. These men aren’t competing to win; they’re seeking connection, intimacy, and belonging. As I watched these older men navigate their relationships, something unexpected happened. I began to see reflections of myself—my struggles with vulnerability, my desire for connection, and my ongoing quest to redefine what it means to be strong. Watching these men open their hearts wasn’t just compelling. It was transformative. It reminded me of the very transformations I’ve witnessed in the men I coach through Man UPrising. From Armor to Open Hearts One of the greatest joys of my life has been watching strong, successful men step into a Man UPrising group. These men arrive guarded, carrying the scars of countless battles fought in careers, families, and friendships. They bring the same shields that have protected them in boardrooms but also left them isolated, burdened, and unseen. But something remarkable happens in those groups. Over time, I watch their armor crack and their walls lower. By the end, these same men leave transformed—open-hearted, compassionate, and deeply connected to themselves and others. I know this journey intimately because I’ve lived it. The Cost of Armor I’m an Enneagram 8, known as “The Challenger.” My life has been defined by relentless drive, an iron will, and a deep-seated belief that toughness equals strength. That energy has propelled me through professional successes and personal challenges. But my “armor”—the anger, the need to control, the refusal to show weakness—came at a cost. My wife, lovingly (and sometimes not-so-lovingly), calls me the “8-hole.” Anger has always been my first reaction—a fire I’ve worn like a badge of honor. For years, I believed that wall of anger and toughness was proof of my strength. But I’ve come to realize that the same wall that kept me safe also kept me stuck. With my wife, I became unreachable. She’d tell me she couldn’t find me beneath the layers of my walls. With my kids, I jumped to fix their problems rather than listen to their hearts. With friends, I used humor to deflect vulnerability, sidestepping real conversations in favor of easy laughs. The truth is, my so-called “strength” was rooted in fear—fear of being exposed, of not being enough, of being seen as weak. The Power of Vulnerability It wasn’t until I stepped into my Man UPrising journey that I began to understand what true strength looks like. In these groups, there’s no room for bravado. Advice-giving, a classic move to avoid discomfort, isn’t allowed. Humor, another common deflection, is gently called out. A subtle tap on the heart reminds the group: “You’re safe here. Let yourself be real.” I’ve seen men—tough, battle-worn men—break open in these spaces. I’ve watched them cry, not out of weakness but out of courage. I’ve witnessed them sit with their fears and insecurities without trying to fix or fight their way out. And when they do, something profound happens. They receive what so many of us long for: unconditional acceptance. Through these men, I’ve learned to take off my own cape and step into the circle as just me—flawed, imperfect, human. Lessons from The Golden Bachelorette And this brings me back to The Golden Bachelorette. Watching older men redefine masculinity on national television struck a chord. These weren’t the posturing, performative men we often see in media. They were tender, open, and willing to fight for connection in ways that had nothing to do with competition. What I saw mirrored the transformations I’ve witnessed in Man UPrising. These men weren’t focused on “winning.” They were focused on love, intimacy, and being truly seen. For once, the masks were off, and it was beautiful. It reminded me of a truth I’ve come to embrace: true strength doesn’t lie in the armor we wear or the shields we hold. True strength is in taking them off. Living with an Open Heart Today, I’m working every day to lead with an open heart. It’s not easy for someone like me, who spent decades relying on toughness to get by. But I’ve learned that vulnerability is the real badge of honor. It’s not just about tearing down walls—it’s about having the courage to keep them down and let others in. The Challenge to All Men To every man who feels stuck behind his own armor, I offer this challenge: let it go. Let yourself be seen, not as invincible but as real. Trust others with your

Confession of a Retired Rabbi

In the 1950s, IBM looked much different than it does today. Back then, they produced punch-card systems. Exciting stuff.
In fact, the company repeatedly rejected developing computers because the CEO at the time, Tom Watson Sr., thought they were overpriced and unreliable.

9 Lives: A Spiritual Roadmap to the Life You Truly Seek

Welcome back to The Defiant Spirit Podcast! Leadership is a critical aspect of any organization, but it’s often misunderstood or neglected. In this episode, Adam and B explore what leadership is, what makes effective leaders, and how to navigate the roadblocks that create breakdowns in leadership.