I had it all. No?
But we had it all. Didn’t we? I had it all. A lovely home, garden dominated by a huge jacaranda tree with treehouse just challenging enough to keep the adults grounded. A gourd shaped swimming pool with a diving board that could lift you high enough to see the eucalyptus glade in the park next door. Then there was the smart and sexy partner, the fascinating work for Her Majesty, yeah yeah, fascinating. And Sara, the wise and wonderful live-in nanny with her son who played with the boys all summer, making light of the daily chores.
You will have your own version of this. No? Sans Sara perhaps.
But wait. There is more. There had to be more because in my mid forties, in that life with all the toppings, I was miserable. Why the long face? It wasn't a long face. I had no right to a long face. My cup runneth over. Yet as a man in the thick of it, dependents all the way up my arm, I was aching and alone, the ultimate imposter, empty, and ashamed for not being able to align my feelings with my good fortune.
A deep breath here. I am reminded of my friend Simon back in our Tanzanian days. He had a fabulous remedy for any and all ailments, inherited from his mother, a no-nonsense British nurse. “Stop winging and buck up!” was all he would say when one of us had a bout of malaria. Or a long splinter under the nail. He could heal almost anything. The label however carries a contraindication. Not to be used for Social and Emotional Maladies sic. Loneliness. See: Delayed Toxicity.
Go ahead and try it next time you get a migraine. “Stop winging and buck up!” Let me know how it goes.
I digress. I want you to know that around this time, I met a group of men. Broken and wise men. Lost and raging once, now open and compassionate. Men who knew what was going on in my head, because they too were deafened by the looping conversations, the chatter between me, myself and my assumptions. I sat in their circle, listening, just listening. Each time I heard a man open his heart, I felt less alone. Finally I too dared to lay bare the dissonance in my life, the grief of not being present to what matters most, and allowed the tears to roll as the men's hands rose in solidarity and respect.
That was over a decade ago. And I have been part of men's circles ever since. I love men. I know men. Misunderstood, unheard, underappreciated, rough, romantic, secretive, defensive, protective, loyal, broken, tender, yup, all of them.
This week we began to circle up again after a year of Covid caution.
And I am celebrating. Where my cup once runneth over with stuff, it now does so with love.
For the men who want in, you are welcome. You will however need to learn the chorus of Alexi Murdoch's song “Orange Sky” (Attached)
In your love
My salvation lies in your love
My salvation lies in your love
My salvation lies in your love
In your love, in your love
