I’ve turned a corner. After years hoping that I would uncover and feel some of the softer emotions available mostly to women, I am finally beginning to experience them myself. Yes – this lumbering lunk of man clay has begun to cry at romance novels.
I came here quite by accident. After enjoying 30 or so detective thrillers by J. D. Robb, Nora Roberts’ pseudonym, I turned to Roberts’ romantic novels and found, surprisingly, that no one had to get murdered in order for me to stay entertained.
Right now, I’m reading the third and final book in her Irish born trilogy about a family from County Clare. Women are the protagonists and feelings, as much as plot and good dialogue, are keeping me engaged.
If you look at the arc of my life, the choices I’ve made, the talents I’ve developed and the fact that I have spent the last 33 years surrounded by women, it all makes sense. Even my work in men’s groups has had the same goal – to move from doing to feeling, from numbness to being fully alive.
Movies and literature are a gateway. We can immerse ourselves in a fictional world courtesy of a talented author or scriptwriter and find common ground with the characters. Such is the case with the people I’m meeting in these novels.
Like me, they are normal folks struggling at times, celebrating at others and, importantly, discovering their own potential to fall, to surrender into the arms of a beloved, wonder at the magic of innocence in children or grieve the losses we all must face. In short, they are reflections of not just the outer us but revelations of what it means to evolve by trusting ourselves and others. It’s quite beautiful, really.
Like many of Roberts’ characters, I found myself missing something of what life had to offer in my thirties. Marrying Beth, it still took decades before I truly “defrosted” enough to start to fully and unconditionally start to really love her…and myself.
As a boy, I was prone to weep, but the version of adolescence and then adulthood I observed and longed for was mostly macho. I never cried after my parents divorced. I wasn’t a total failure as a feeling human, but I was mostly role playing. In ACA, we refer to this as the False Self and I became adept at playing Scott, the good guy.
This is all standard fare for American men. Most of us “normal” guys grow up idolizing astronauts, businessmen or rock stars, men who set out to achieve dreams, make their mark and then settle down and have a family. Nowhere in that description is the ability to develop our tenderness, a trait that women, it seemed, owned alone. Real men were supposed to ride motorcycles, eat steak and identify with Dirty Harry. Heck, in the 1980s we were even told, “real men don’t eat quiche.” What a bunch of horseshit.
In other words – most of us were limited by a truly simplistic version of male adulthood. It’s still here, today, as you can tell by reading the news.
As I said, the arc of my life, living among women, children, teachers and artists has brought me to a more complete version of Scott. Talk therapy and 12-step group have also helped develop my ability to feel, to understand that life isn’t just about thinking.
The rewards are many. I’m a better husband, father, friend and teaching artist. I’m a better sponsor and fellow traveler within ACA. Yesterday, for example, I guided a 72 year old man to an increased understanding of his own worth and, yes, tenderness. We went there together and it was wonderful. This kind of stuff happens weekly in my life and I’m glad of it.
So, yeah, I read romance novels, hold my wife’s hand when she’s scared or tell my daughters that I love them. I listen deeply to children, honor the work of teachers, over tip waitresses and try to learn how to marvel at the intricate patterns of a leaf or move slow enough to wonder what the ladybug on my sleeve is doing. And I’m seeing more men who are doing the same!
Yesterday afternoon, I fell down on the ice and bumped my head. For about 15 minutes, I was pretty dazed, even experiencing some short term memory loss. With understandable concern, my wife and some friends doted on me, wondering out loud if I should go to the hospital. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t but I know this- I am loved and that’s not just something in a novel.
May your smile and your tears be real and may you know you are loving and loved.
P.S. Waking up this AM, I’ve decided to go get a CT scan. That’s part of “I love Scott; I love my body; and I make good choices” and the gentle urging of my wife and friends.
