Men & Mirrors Series: Part 1
“Go to the mirror. Take off your clothes, and tell me what you see.”
That’s what I tell the guys I coach, counsel, and guide. No, not somewhere down the road after a bit of therapeutic foreplay. Right there. In our first meeting. On our first (coaching) date.
No, no, no, I don’t want any out-of-shape, middle-aged, naked dudes in my office mirror. I see enough of that in me. However, please make no mistake: fully clothed, in front of that mirror, every guy feels like a nervous, blushing high school girl on her first date.
I don’t care how successful, talented, accomplished, or powerful he might be. He hems. He haws. He tells me, “Ya, ya, ya,” I get the point. It’s a metaphor, an idea. You don’t really want me to look into that mirror. Do you???”
It’s true. The naked thing is not literal. But it’s also true that the mirror is literal and as real as it gets. If he can’t look into my mirror, he has to look in some mirror somewhere at some point. That’s my prerequisite for working with me.
“Go home,” I’ll tell him, “stand in front of your bathroom mirror and tell me what you see.”
This is my threshold test to find my guys, the ones I can work with and help. Those who won’t look, can’t yet look, or are too embarrassed, heartbroken, or ashamed to look are my guys, my tribe, and the men with whom I connect and who connect with me.
The guys, however, who get in front of that mirror and primp and preen and tell me about their glistening work, their blemish-free marriages, or their “no regrets” life. It’s bullshit.
Why?
I meet men in The Afternoon of Life. These guys are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, and there is no possible way to live that long without regrets. Life is too complicated, confusing, difficult, and messy to arrive without shattered mirrors. If you tell me otherwise, you’re lying, faking it, or still lost in the Morning of Life game.
You know that game. It’s the game guys play swinging their big clubs up and down the golf course with other big swinging Tom, Dick, and Harrys. It goes something like this.
Dick: “How you guys doing?”
Tom: “I’m good. Are you good, Harry?”
Harry:” Yep, good here. 10, 10, 10 across the board for me. What about you, Dick?”
Dick: “To be honest, I’m struggling a bit in my marriage – OK, it’s actually on the rocks. My kid is addicted to drugs. My father is dying of cancer. I’m afraid I’m going to get fired at work, and I have a big lump on my nuts.”
But that’s not what Dick says. Nope. “Wife’s good. The kids are good—work’s good. Nuts are good. All good. Now shut up and play golf!”
So Morning of Life Dick keeps playing the game long after the Morning tee time has come to an end. He’ll keep faking it till he makes it. Playing through the pain. Playing through the heartache, all the while, his shattered mirror is starting to fall apart. Oh, don’t worry. He’ll end up on my couch twenty years from now, just like all of the other Dicks.
But to the guys who stand in front of that mirror, it’s truly humbling and awe-inspiring to see real men taking real responsibility for their lives. These are guys who have the courage to face themselves. These are men willing to embrace their shortcomings, betrayals, and failures. These are men who show up, week after week, and do the work of what it takes to put that mirror back together, to look into its cracks and all, and to learn to like, respect, and even love that man staring back.
So, to all of you women out there who might think toxic masculinity has destroyed all the good men – it has not.
To all the lonesome dudes in golf foursomes who feel like they are the only ones with shattered mirrors, you’re not alone.
And to all of my Morning of Life brothers, it’s never too late to put down your worn-out clubs and cliches, turn to your golfing buddies, and tell them not today. I’m not good. I can’t keep playing through the pain. I’m done being a player. I don’t want to be just another Tom, Harry or Dick. I’m ready to look into the mirror, and I’m done playing this game!
