That’s the problem with this type of writing. The men who’d read this don’t need it, and the men who need it won’t read it.

But maybe this isn’t how good men are made. Not with lists, or instructions, but with showing up. Making goodness visible. More than ever. A bold goodness.

The Men Who Won’t Read This

My friend called a mechanic because she needed help with her car. They sent a guy who started hitting on her, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He told her he’d like to take her to church so she could discover God like he did. That she was lost in life because she didn’t have a real man to take care of her, and once she found that real man she could finally be safe in his care. “God has a plan for your life, girl” he kept repeating. But the most surprising thing he said was that he didn’t know she was pretty when she called. “You could have been old or ugly for all I knew.” As if that was the generous part. As if he was so noble for coming even though he might have found her “old or ugly”. Religion and toxic masculinity and misogyny and objectification all braided together. This is the kind of man who needs good men.

And then there are the influencers. The ones promoting misogyny and “traditional values” to young impressionable men and promising wealth and fame as the centrepoint of life. The ones making headlines for controversial legal issues and public stunts. They’re Hydra. The monster from Greek mythology whose head you cut off only to reveal two more. You can’t tell these guys they’re wrong. Even pointing and laughing at them helps them gain popularity, wealth, and status among the very people they’re misleading. Telling them they’re ignorant only makes the box they’re in stronger.

I’m much more sensitive. If I’m told I’m wrong, it could derail me for weeks, months. I’ll let it rearrange my entire life, let introspection rule me for a time, before I can comfortably move forward trusting myself again. I’m not saying this trait is good or bad. It’s just who I am. I think there’s strength in that, if you spin it right. But there’s a detachment in some men that I can’t relate to. An ignorance that keeps them from evolving.

So where does that leave us? Six guys in a room agreeing with each other. Well, it makes me want to write preachy lists.

The List That Won’t Work

I had a whole list, by the way. I sat down to write and got all self-righteous and had a tidy little list on how to be a good man.

• Show up.

• Be kind.

• Regulate your emotions.

• Don’t be a toddler.

• Hold yourself accountable.

• Go to therapy.

• Be strong (however that looks to you).

• Protect others.

• Uplift others.

• Be curious.

• Learn to cook.

• Clean your dishes.

• Think about your values. (See below for the results of my online test)

• I had it all listed out neatly in bullets like this.

And then I realized I was writing it for myself. And for the five other guys in my group who already agree to most of this. And for the kind of person who clicks on things like this.

We’re all just standing in a circle nodding at each other.

This doesn’t mean the list is wrong. It was a good list. Loaded with good stuff. It was all there. It was all true. But it all just felt… trite.

We don’t learn from telling each other how to be. Learned behaviour comes from observation.

It’s Albert Bandura’s Social Learning Theory (which is exactly what it sounds like).

The Thing That Does Work

I keep returning to visibility. Showing up. Just being visible in the way that works for you. Being kind. Being soft out loud. Because softness isn’t weakness. Openness has so much power even when it doesn’t feel like it’s working. Even when it feels like shouting into a void while the loudest, cruelest voices get all the attention.

I think of a video I saw of John Cena hugging a fan who has stage four cancer. It was such a real hug. Not the typical man hug you get where you clasp hands and bump chests. This hug should be studied. I felt this hug.

I did notice something important with our men’s group, too.

I noticed how each of us show up day after day. In our relationships. In our communities. In our own lives. I noticed how we hold each other accountable, how we uplift each other. And how those efforts inevitably reach out into our individual lives. I notice it in my own work. In my intentions. In my values. And in writing this very thing I’m writing.

The change doesn’t happen from telling each other how to be, but by being a witness to each other.

Mister Rogers said “listening is where love begins.”

The Trash on the Trail

The ill-intended, misguided, greedy men of the world will always be more visible. That’s what they want. Good is quieter by nature. Good doesn’t care if it’s noticed. It also doesn’t have algorithms on its side. It doesn’t have the outrage machine. It just has to show up. And I think that has to be enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

We’ll never see the trash on the trail that’s been picked up. We’ll only be outraged by the trash that’s left behind.

For now, we’re here. On a beautiful blue marble floating in space. And we need to try. We need to be visible and be good and show that goodness persists, even when it’s quieter, even when it’s slower, even when the men who need to hear it most may never hear it.

I don’t have it figured out. I don’t think any man does. If he tells you he does, he’s probably a grifter trying to gain something from you. But I think the figuring out part is the whole thing. We’re all students. We’re all teachers.

Does this resonate with you at all?

Did I miss anything?

Did I get something wrong?

Will you share this with someone it might resonate with?

Please let me know in the comments. We need your openness.

With love,

Andrew

Hi, I’m Andrew. I mostly write over on my other Substack How to Be a Dog, I live in British Columbia, and I make children’s books with my dogs. I started this Substack with my really good friend Tom who also writes on here, you should read his stuff.

Don’t forget to subscribe. I’m still figuring out what I’m doing here, and I’d love to have you along for the ride.

In my last post, I discussed the circumstances that led to the formation of Really Good Friends Club - A space for men to share their experiences, talk openly about life’s struggles, challenge traditional masculinity, and hold each other accountable. The group has been incredibly helpful to all of us over the past year; it’s helped me understand that everyone struggles despite how great their life may seem from the outside. It’s been a place to ask for help when guys have been in the midst of a mental health crisis. And, it’s helped me grow in confidence, pushed me out of my comfort zone, and encouraged me to be a better support to those in my community.

But as I sit here today, the overwhelming feeling I have is that this is not enough. Specifically, men need more opportunities to be vulnerable, to learn how to have healthy conversations about mental health, and to build a network that can support one another.

About an hour ago, one of my close friends came over to our house in pieces; she’d just found out that her dad had killed himself yesterday. I’m heartbroken. For her. For her family. And for her dad. I don’t have the words to process this specific situation right now. All I know is, we (society) need to do more to help men who are struggling in isolation.

Initially, this post (part 2) was going to focus on the beginning of our men’s group, the cute awkwardness we all felt when we first opened up to a group of strangers, and how blown away I was by how vulnerable guys can be when you simply give them permission. But recent events have coloured my mood, and although I’m proud of what we’ve created, I find myself frustrated that having compassionate people around you with whom you can share your insecurities, worries, and challenges is the exception rather than the norm.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened, either. Last fall, one of the guys in our group was chatting with his neighbour, the mother of a young man in his early 30s, who she said was having a rough time. We talked about inviting this guy to one of our meetups. A week later, we learned he’d driven out along a service road to the middle of nowhere and shot himself. This still causes the skin over my temples to tighten and makes my heart feel like it’s been beaten down into my gut.

So where do we go from here? Well, I have to take some hope from what we’ve created with Really Good Friends Club. Beyond the internal success of the group, it’s also been an exercise in articulating to my friends and family, many of them ‘men’s group’ skeptics as I was, why men need these spaces and how groups like these can have a positive influence on the wider community. The overwhelming response has been positive. The response from women often goes something like, “Jeez, [insert partner’s name] could do with that.” Men’s responses vary, from quietly staring at the ground, awkwardly kicking their feet, and then looking up with a sort of longing look, as if to say, “I’d love to join you, but I say that in front of my buddies,” to looking wide-eyed and asking questions with genuine curiosity, as if this is something they didn’t know they had the option of doing.

Here’s the thing:

Each of us has an inherent influence on those around us, whether we acknowledge it or not.

Too often, the influence of men on the people around them is less than ideal (this may be the understatement of the century). From the toxic masculinity on display all over the internet and beyond, to the heartbreaking impact on the families left behind when men aren’t able to get the support they need. This needs to change. We need to support men so that this narrative changes and they become a positive impact on those around them.

Which brings me neatly back to this Substack. Our intention here is to continue to share and discuss the evolving ideas around men’s mental health and positive masculinity. How can we make this situation better?

Have you been involved in men’s groups? What was the experience like? What positive outlets have you seen for men to talk about mental health?

Something has to change. Let’s make it happen.

There is, however, a real issue facing many men and our society at large. Men are struggling. In the US, suicide is the second leading cause of death in young men. Only surpassed by ‘unintentional deaths’, which include motor vehicle accidents, drug and alcohol related accidents, and overdoses. Many men are isolated, don’t have the support or emotional skills to get help, and are finding answers in all the wrong places.

For the most part, my mental health is pretty good. I have a compassionate, understanding wife, and access to counselling when I need more support. But, like many, I struggle with depression and anxiety from time to time. It comes and goes, sometimes lingers, or meanders into dissociative episodes.

As I entered my late 30’s, I found myself with fewer opportunities to connect with other guys, and when I did, conversations often felt generic, repetitive, and guarded. Honestly, it started to bum me out. It was as if we (men) were all acting out this script we’d been given and adhering to the traditional masculine disposition—keep up the illusion that we’re doing just fine, keep your emotions to yourself, and whatever you do, don’t deviate from the script. It got to the point where I could predict the next few exchanges in a conversation and was just waiting for my turn to say my line. I was complicit too. What really got me was the level of apathy around it. It wasn’t like it was this big performative act; it felt more like everyone was just resigned to the fact that this is how it is.

But there was one area of my life where I was having great conversations. Ones that energized me, allowed discourse, and the space to compose my thoughts on all kinds of subjects—Running.

When you’re out on the trail for an hour or two with someone, you get into incredible conversations. Sure, there’s the initial surface-level ‘running chat’ about your gear, what races you’re doing, and so on. But then, something interesting happens; people open up. Perhaps it’s the perceived anonymity and peace of being out in the forest, or the endorphins flowing through your body, or the sheer fact that you’re one-on-one with another person for an extended period of time with no distractions. Whatever the reason, I loved it. I just needed a way to have these conversations without having to run for hours.

Around this time, I’d just finished reading Cory Richards’ book - The Colour of Everything, and was listening to an interview where Cory discussed his men’s group and delivered the following ethos behind it:

“[It is] an agreement to align on integrity, vulnerability and authenticity to unburden ourselves from the isolation that so often comes with the masculine identity we’ve been taught in our culture and the idea of individual exceptionalism.”

— Cory Richards

That was the catalyst for me to create a space where I could have meaningful, open conversations with other men. Where we could ask ‘how are you doing?’ with genuine curiosity, and answer it fully with vulnerability and authenticity. Where we could discuss the challenges we face both personally and collectively as a society, and evolve our thinking by listening to others’ perspectives.

“We gotta have a safe place to deal with it [our anger, sadness, pain]. That’s brotherhood”

— Ashanti Branch, The Mask You Live In

With this, I put my negative connotations of Men’s Groups to one side—with a little help from my counsellor—and set out with the mindset of Intention over Perfection. It felt uncomfortable, and I had no idea how it would turn out, but I decided to start, to act with good intentions, and see what happened.

That was the beginning of Really Good Friends Club. In Part 2, I’ll continue this story and talk about how the first year of our group has gone, including the first meet-up and how visibly nervous I was, the incredible support and vulnerability men can show when they have permission, and sadly, the missed opportunities to support other men in need in our community.

Until then, thanks for being here.

Tom

Subscribe now

In the labour market, in education, in suicide rates, men are struggling. And young men are far too commonly finding help and leadership in all the wrong places. So how can men step in to be better role models? How can we show up?

If you’re here, you’re curious, and we like you for that. We think you’d be a really good friend. So subscribe, and if it feels right, share this with someone who might be find this helpful.

Let’s introduce ourselves.

Hi, I’m Tom.

I’m a husband and father. I’m a technology consultant. And, like many men, I pick up various hobbies and go all-in on them, the latest one being ultra running.

It’s one of the many questions we find ourselves grappling with, especially as we approach middle age. How did I get to this point in my life? Why am I the way I am?

My belief? It’s turtles all the way down. Determinism. The idea that everything is the result of actions that occurred in the seconds, minutes, hours, weeks, decades, even millennia before. But unpacking those seconds, minutes, hours, weeks, and decades is where the answers lie.

While I’ve always ruminated on these questions, they’ve come into sharp focus over the past few years. Maybe it’s having kids and that jarring moment I caught my dad’s voice coming out of my own mouth. Maybe it’s the countless hours spent listening to Rich Roll, Annika Harris, Hakim Tafari and others discuss the human experience and the nature of consciousness. Maybe it’s moving out of the city and quitting my corporate job, affording me the space and stillness to finally pause and take stock of where I am and wonder, how the fuck did I get here?

Most likely, it’s all of the above, plus myriad social, neurobiological, and environmental influences that led me to this curious moment I’m in right now.

This curiosity sparked the creation of a Men’s Group, Really Good Friends Club (more on that, including my hesitation about calling it a “Men’s group”, in another post), a space for folks to come together and have meaningful conversations about humanity, masculinity, and life.

This, then, is the next step in the evolution of Really Good Friends: A space to write about these ideas, to ask difficult questions, to throw ideas out there and be challenged, and hopefully, to help folks support other men in their communities.

There’s another reason for starting this blog. In one of our recent group meetings, I shared that in a world where everyone seems to have strong, overbearing opinions, I often stay quiet. Not because I don’t care, but because I’m still working out what I believe, knowing there’s a good chance I’ll change my mind as I learn more. Honestly, I’m also anxious about being wrong! So it’s easier to sit on the sidelines, safely out of the line of fire, watching the world chew each other out.

Someone in the group challenged me on this. To paraphrase:

“We all have valuable perspectives to share. Keeping them inside is to do a disservice to those who taught us and to those who can learn from us.”

It’s not about having conviction or being right. It’s about discourse. It’s about sharing experiences and learning from each other, and having the humility to admit we don’t have it all figured out.

That’s why I’m here: to learn, to share, to evolve, and hopefully, support others on their own journeys.

“Alas for those who never sing, but die with all their music inside them.”

— Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Hi, I’m Andrew.

I’m a photographer, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, writer, and lover of dogs and the outdoors. I spent about 20 years travelling, making books, taking pictures, and designing things. My life choices have been consistently antithetical to what was expected, and I guess that’s how I ended up child-free in my early 40s, living a quiet life in a small coastal town.

My career revolves around noticing things. Colour, patterns, details, and little moments that could lend themselves to a page in a children’s book. And while photography (and having a senior dog) taught me to slow down, writing taught me to sit long enough with myself until something honest emerged. Eventually, this led to turning inward, a place where men are too often told to ignore.

This publication grew out of a conversation with Tom, who you just met. I shared something on my other substack called Good Men Needed, about the importance of good men showing up as an antidote to the bullies with the loudspeakers. Tom reached out and we started a little men’s group, something I had mixed feelings about at first. Ultimately, it gave us a space to be honest, to support eachother, and to appreciate both our differences and our similarities.

It’s important for a man to ask himself what it means to be a man. Look, I can bench press double plates, I like power tools and old trucks, I love my big wild dogs, but those are old tropes. True strength is elsewhere. My mistakes define me more than these things ever will. More importantly, the question of what it means to be a man is made up of other questions, like: what do I value, who can I support, how can I support them, and what impact can I have?

This publication, for me, is about exploring what masculinity means to me, and how it might mean something different to you. Ultimately, it’s about asking the question: how does a dude like me, with all of my hangups and flaws, show up for his community, for young people, and more specifically for other men?

This is Really Good Friends, and if you’re here, I hope you’ll join the conversation.

@andrewknapp

@andrewknapp on Instagram: "When a line keeps playing in your h…

Subscribe now