Guys with Gratitude
I’m a guy, but I really don’t know much about guys. I’m not a high testosterone type like George Clooney, Brad Pitt or Matt Damon, who, at least in my active imagination, love to hang out with each other, get drunk, and play practical jokes, in a never-ending Ocean’s Eleven movie. That’s not my style. In truth, I prefer hanging out with my female friends, who are all very powerful women – strong, sensitive, and self-aware. It’s not that I haven’t tried to hang out with guys. I’ve read Robert Bly’s Iron John, I’ve been in men’s support groups, I’ve dealt with my father issues, and I have men friends that I love dearly. But I often feel uncomfortable around other men. I’m not sure what it is. I feel awkward, not sure of what to say. I revert back to being a little kid again, in awe of their grown-upness. Do other men feel like this, I wonder?
Thus, it has been an extraordinary experience over the past year, to be part of a group of men (and several women) who venture out into the open ocean almost every day, to swim about a mile, battling wind, waves, and current. I’ve found this a great way to bond with other guys. Besides swimming, we do crazy things, like yelling and shouting at the top of our lungs as we reach our destination. You’d think we were macho Navy Seals, but we’re not.
What distinguishes each one of these men friends is that they are sensitive and aware, as well as being tough and determined. They help me to understand my own maleness. What I appreciate most about them is that they live their lives from a place of gratitude.
One of them is Tom, a multi-media artist, photographer, and filmmaker, is the unspoken leader of the group. He’s been doing these daily swims for years. Even at 75, Tom lives life to the fullest. His philosophy is, “Happiness loves company.” He’s never happier than when he’s in one of his groups, from his swim club, to his film club, to his Snork and Fork Sunday swim group, to his group of interns and assistants. Like a cheery leprechaun, he says hello to just about anyone he comes across . . . on the beach, on the street, or at an event. For someone like myself, who would never dream of doing this, I’m forever amazed to see how he lights up everyone he meets.
Peter, “I’m so glad to have you as a friend,” he shouts to me over the wind one day, as we bob up and down in the water, far out from shore. He looks like an alien from another planet in his black wetsuit, orange and green swim cap, and mask. “I so appreciate that you come out here and swim with me. It means a lot.” “Thank you, Tom,” I shout back, my mask up on my head. “I love being out here with you. These swims have changed my life!” What a gift it is to be seen and appreciated.
Another swim buddy is Barry, an MD and part time practicing psychiatrist, a marathon runner, a distance swimmer, a vegan who loves animals, a DJ on a community radio station, and, above all, a poet and a dreamer. I love Barry. Whenever we meet, I’m always touched by how much he appreciates his life. Even though he’s lived on Maui for years, he sees nothing but beauty. Earlier this week I met up with him on the beach. He was wearing his board shorts and a wildly colorful baseball cap. His body is deeply tanned from all the time he spends outdoors. He has a thin red leash in his hand, and at the other end is his little dog Emma, his constant companion. She is a sensitive soul, just like Barry.
“Barry, how are you?” I say, giving him a pat on the shoulder by way of saying hello, a little embarrassed to be patting another guy’s bare skin. We both seem to intuitively recognize the deep connection between us.
“I had an incredible run with Emma on Sugar Beach this morning,” he says. “We got up at 4:00 am and ran three miles down the beach so Emma could be with her friends, then ran back. I’m so happy to be here.”
“You’ve run six miles? It’s only 10:30 I the morning!”
“Well, we got up at 4:00,” he smiles, blinking his eyes in a nervous gesture.
“Barry, how do you do that?”
“Well, I just do. Emma loves it too. I mean, if we’re not having fun, why are we here?”
The third core member of our swim group is Daniel, who was born in Switzerland, and has lived on Maui for 29 years. A former Ironman triathlete, Daniel was severely injured in a bicycle accident 15 years ago, putting an end to his racing career. Even now, in his sixties, he has a solid, strong body and amazing physical stamina. With his receding hairline and grey hair brushed straight back, it’s easy to imagine him on a Swiss ski slope. Every morning he walks barefoot with us to the beach in his board shorts, carrying a pair of swim goggles, and nothing else, while the rest of us are loaded down with fins, masks, and wetsuits.
Daniel is one of those interesting people who has little need to verbalize his feelings of gratitude. He just radiates joy as we swim out in the turquoise waters. Mostly we talk about what’s immediate and direct. When we stop for a break and tread water, I say, “I saw your FB post about those Triathlon swimmers in Norway,” “Ya, ya,” he says. He still has traces of a Swiss accent, which I find very endearing. “Those guys jump 30 feet into water that’s 15 degree Celsius. I don’t know how they do it.” We both laugh at the craziness of anyone swimming in 59-degree water, and then get back to swimming, churning through the water side by side. In those moments we are like two wild dolphins gliding through the water, neither man nor woman, just pure joy.
When the four of us (along with Katharine, and whoever else comes on our swims), fight our way through the shore break and get back on shore, we have a tradition of raising our arms overhead and yelling, “Yea! Yea! Yea!” as loud as we can, while laughing and patting each other on the back.
At times like this I feel like a regular guy, fully alive, and with fire in my belly. I’m fascinated by exploring my own maleness, especially at this moment in my life, when I literally have no testosterone in my body. For the past ten years I’ve had advanced prostate cancer, where the treatment of choice is hormone therapy. It’s a form of chemical castration, similar to what they gave to Alan Turing, the World War II code breaker (played by Benedict Cumberbatch in The Imitation Game). It led to his suicide. Well, I’m not about to commit suicide. On the contrary, I’m about to ask for another shot. One of the side effects is that I have no sexual urges. For someone who has been ruled by their sexuality for over sixty years, this has been incredibly liberating. Life has become so much simpler . . . thank God.
This may explain why I’m so interested in knowing what it means to be a man. Who am I without my sexuality? Do I look different? Do I talk differently? Where do I fit in to all those cultural stereotypes of being a male? For the most part, I don’t see any difference, except that, for once in my life, I’m not ruled by my dick. And when I’m with Tom, Barry and Daniel on our swims, I’m reassured that I’m a guy. For that, and for our friendship, I’m extremely grateful.
PS: And thanks to all my other kind, sensitive, generous “guy” friends – Kenn, Ron, Tom, and especially my son Peter, and my brother Richard, and those I haven’t mentioned, I love you all!
And thanks to my friend Charles Armand for taking many of these photos!