Were I compelled to choose the one quality possessed by the preponderance of men I’ve known that were good with women, it wouldn’t take me long to do so.
Of the myriad qualities they may share, there’s a sole contender that jumps out at me.
That singular trait:
Loss
Without exception, they had a tremendous heartbreak at some point.
Something downright earth-shattering.
Usually a vicious betrayal.
Although, rarely, a very difficult upbringing may act as a substitute.
The unsuccessful, however, generally share the opposite quality:
Ease.
This is not to say their lives were without troubles, rather to say they’d been sheltered or generally spared certain harsh realities.
(Or discounted such as flukes, when encountered, which is why so many otherwise clever, young men hobble themselves.)
Now, I’m sure my comments could be filled with exceptions on both fronts.
But I’d wager they’d still be insufficient to counter the lesson.
See, the loss (while miserable, in and of itself) is the crumbling of a stone blocking the larger path.
(That larger path being a wider breadth of success.)
It shatters pedestals and illusions of perfection, alike.
Leaving a man to deal with what is, rather than what is imagined.
Whereas as ease, well—
Tilting at windmills gives no useful experience at besting dragons.
“He who learns must suffer, and, even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”
This past weekend found me attending the wedding of a friend in the area.
Needless to say, I was honored to be invited and witness the important, joyous occasion.
Sadly, I discovered I’m still too fat for my formal clothes (though working on changing that even harder now) and I’m a shamefully lapsed Roman Catholic.
But those aren’t the topic of today’s missive.
As I sat listening to the priest’s sermon, I contemplated a word he used with ample frequency.
That word?
“Sacrifice.”
It struck me just how poorly so many (lamentably, this otherwise commendable priest, included) employ it.
See, what it seems to mean – to far too many – is:
Loss.
But we have a word for that meaning.
[It’s “loss”, by the way.]
Sacrifice should mean, more than any other definition it may technically possess:
“The act of giving up something highly valued for the sake of something else considered to have a greater value or claim.”
Men are all too often called to “sacrifice” when really what they are being asked [read: ordered] to do is to lose something.
Their money.
Their time.
And, terribly, their very lives.
Now, to read this as saying men should not surrender specific treasured things at certain appropriate times, whether it be in love or war, would be to selfishly misunderstand me.
What I am saying, in the interest of clarity, is that – at such instances – something should be gained that is of even greater value in the eyes of the one sacrificing.
Anything else is punishment (at best) and theft (at worst).
In short (and to combine it with previous words of mine):
Bend the knee judiciously and be certain your sacrifice leads to a greater prize of your estimation.
The drum I beat loudest, hardest and longest here is for men to learn who they are, embrace it and develop it.
But one thing that often becomes a stumbling block is where to begin.
Sure, there are myriad articles out there giving solid advice.
Start eating well.
Begin an exercise routine.
Or, the now popular “clean your room”.
Admittedly, all of those are excellent suggestions.
And I’ve no complaint about any of them.
However, I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t offer an alternative.
See, I’m of the mind that – should one find oneself lost and alone in the midst of a dark wood…
The first thing that should be done is to retrace one’s steps.
How far back?
As far as necessary.
No doubt, retreading these tangled thickets and gnarled copses of painful memory and traumatizing experience will induce flashbacks of all too familiar terror.
Which is, very likely, why so few self-reflect; choosing instead to simply (stubbornly) press onward.
While persistence and perseverance can certainly be admirable qualities, the culmination of such must be a worthwhile achievement.
Consider: that method (blithely pressing onward) is quite possibly the reason one crashed through bramble after bramble until firmly centered in the frightening, strange landscape currently occupied.
So, I say stop.
Look back.
To years or decade past, as needed.
Adolescence or boyhood.
Where did you lose yourself?
Seek and you’ll find.
Then walk again.
But this time with careful determination.
“In a dark wood
where the straight road had been lost sight of.
How hard it is to say what it was like
in the thick of thickets, in a wood so dense
and gnarled
the very thought of it renews my panic.”
– Dante’s Inferno Canto I, Translated by Seamus Heaney
80-Proof Oinomancy 