Lynchburg Living

"Just a Thought..."

By Jon Dupin

It is hard to be a man. Yes, I said it.

I know for some that statement might sound either ridiculous or downright insensitive. In fact, right now, I’m haunted by the ghost of Beyonce, shaking her head and finger at me with an “If I Were a Boy” swag. And, my editor has already countered this article with “it’s harder to be a woman.” But, please know, this is not about a compare and contrast of genders, just a statement that often goes unsaid. And, for the man who is supposed to lead, protect and provide for his family and others, while not permitted to express fear, sadness, loneliness or any other emotion for that matter, he was likely awakened by that reckless opinion.

Here’s the biggest challenge: Men are not supposed to admit things like that, much less think them.

It’s hard to be man. Yeah right. Get some real problems, whiner-baby.

And yet, T.D. Jakes writes in his book, He-Motions, “We [men] are being boiled alive by our own fears and insecurities, those thoughts that gnaw at us below the surface of our attempts to look like we have it all together.” The truth is, men stuff away all their emotions until many either become soulless machines; self-focused escapist or put a gun to their head (more than 80 percent of American suicides are men). Why all the pressure, though? What’s going on to make men either static or volatile? Why aren’t men at peace with themselves?

Let me self-deprecate to explain: Last month, I played Broom Ball with some high school students and volunteers from my church–it’s basically hockey without skates. Overall, I had a blast, but things didn’t start out so nobly for me, especially with my fragile male ego. I showed up to the ice center, excited to get out there and play–this being a new experience for me–but then, the organizers got us in a circle and downloaded how teams were picked.

“Alright, we’re going to choose some captains,” the guys said. “And then it’s going to be school yard pick ‘em from there.”

What? Schoolyard pick ‘em? You mean, each captain looks over us like we’re sheep and values us based on pecking order? Suddenly, I was in 7^th grade gym class again, standing on that old, dead grass soccer field in my Napoleon Dynamite gym shorts and matching shirt with my last named Sharpied across the front. That’s when I weighed a buck-nothing and sported some Harry Potter, Coke bottle glasses … before despondent wizards were cool, of course. Bottom line, I was such a dork, I honestly wanted to bully myself.

Anyway, back to the ice. I stood there at 35 years old, as hunched and rejectable as my 7^th grade self, lingering anxiously for the first name to be called … then the second, fifth, twelfth, twentieth. Finally, when there were just four of us left, one captain moaned, “I’ll take, Jon.” No kidding, I heard misfortune all over his voice, like someone finally had to settle for taking Urkel on his team.

So, by the time the game actually kicked off, my insecurities told me I had to erase the giant “loser” stamped to my forehead. I hit the ice and scrambled like a wild stallion, a man on fire, in a conflict to prove I was greater than 21^st pick. And, side note, I broke my thumb five minutes into the game, but it didn’t stop me from unleashing fury upon my rivals. Really? This was Broom Ball with church friends, not the Stanley Cup Finals, so why the theatrics?

Here’s why: On the surface, my Ice Capade breakdown seems overblown and laughable, but most men face similar conditions at home, work and publicly every day. Inside, he can’t seem to relax, because he believes someone else is either ahead or gaining on him in status or success. He wrestles with whether or not he’s still a catch for his wife, a hero to his kids or creditable to his boss and buddies. Fundamentally, he scraps day-by-day to change his pecking order and to believe that he has what it takes to be a better man.

Then there’s that voice–the one that gets louder as life gets hurtful and uncertain; it’s an audio track that plays in his head. It harasses him and says, “You’re a failure. You think you’ve succeeded, but you’re nothing. You don’t measure up or have what it takes. You’re weak. Everybody knows you’re a disappointment, and eventually they’ll reject you and leave.” Then it goes for the deathblow, “Oh, and by the way, you can’t tell anybody you feel this way, or you’ll be an even bigger loser.”

There’s two disastrous realities to this cycle: 1) Men will never be at peace if they’re comparing and competing against the world for status and success. Why? Because, no matter what pecking order he is in, there will always be someone else ahead and another ready to pass him. And, 2) a man will only get more static or volatile if he isolates himself and does not deal with his own feelings hurt and uncertainty. Did I mention it’s hard to be a man?

So, where’s the hope? Well, I must resist the persuasion to handle all that in a closing paragraph, but here is what I do believe. The hope is in the answer to these significant questions: 1) What if a man changed the way he measured success, from outward ranking systems with others to an inward stewardship of his own virtue and relationships? And, 2) what if a man gave himself the green light to feel emotions, like love, hurt and rejection for starters, to not have it all together and then to express that aloud to supportive people?

Maybe then, it wouldn’t be quite as hard to be a man.