I have to say, as someone who had led many discussion groups, spoken before many audiences, and suffered through many meetings and groups, today was a humbling and daunting experience.

The Mansion Men’s Group is alive; it came to life in its first actual meeting.

I first realized that no one in the room but me had ever done this before. I realized that one-third to one-half of these men had severe health issues that were mostly invisible to me.

This group wants and needs to happen, and I am committed to helping make it happen.

Today was a perfect start, for all its awkwardness, hesitation, and discomfort. There is a lot for me to learn and a lot for me to hear, but at the end of the hour, I felt very good about it.

The Mansion staff brought cupcakes and crackers and cheese, and I got each man who came a $10 gift certificate from Stewart’s Convenience Store. They were happily surprised.

I realized that I had interviewed and profiled a number of these men and helped others with different things – A TV, clothes, razor blades, cell phones, toothpaste and deodorant, music, and sneakers.

“We trust you,” said one man from the rear, “we know you. You’re a nice guy. Thank you for doing this.”

I remember the Mansion rule. What matters isn’t so much what you say and do but whether or not you show up. I’ve been showing up for some years now. They always know who shows up and who doesn’t.

It was stiff and quiet and awkward for what seemed a long time but was just a few minutes. Notoriously confident in front of groups of people, I was nervous and uncertain.

My preparations seemed silly.

We soon broke the ice with the help of one man in his 80s. I asked everyone if there was something they wanted to come out of the meeting: “yeah, strippers,” said a voice, and we all cracked up. The comment broke the ice.

The meeting was scheduled for 2 p.m.

We waited a few minutes for two of the male residents who said they wanted to come. They didn’t, but we ended up with eight people, seven more than last week.

I think we were all uncomfortable at first.

I’ve never been easy with men; I am much more comfortable with women.

Groups of men together have never meant anything good to me, and of course, there are these powerful men who seem determined to destroy the world. Women don’t do that.

I realized I wasn’t all that comfortable this afternoon either.

This could be good for all of us. I’ve always felt that men found me lacking and saw me as a weakling or a sissy.

At least that’s what my father and most of the men I met as a child told me. I could never figure out how to be a man like other men or talk men talk, which, to my surprise, turned out to be a good thing.

But I remembered I’ve been working at the Mansion for a long time, and people know me there.

I am not a stranger, and neither is Zinnia, who melted the hearts of some nervous men in just a couple of minutes.

We were all uncomfortable at first, but oddly, it united us, brought us together. We all laughed nervously, looking away from each other. It’s a rough time to be some men in this world; there is a lot of talk about privilege, but almost everyone resents them or hates them outright.

There is no such thing as a men’s movement, and there is often loneliness around men that I felt in this room today.

I’ve learned to love a lot of the Mansion men; they too are brave, and they too suffer. If I can do anything to make their lives easier, I’d love to do it.

I have never once been at a loss to start a conversation, so I took a deep breath, looked at the wall of silence around me, and plunged into the water.

I talked about trust and confidentiality – we would speak openly and in confidence.

I would take a photograph or two but not write about who said what except in general terms and wouldn’t use full names. Much of the time, I might not even use the right ones.

We could disagree but not argue or insult one another.

 

(Michael wants to come to the men’s group when it meets.)

I said I hoped we could help each other, and two men raised their hands: one needed someone to help him fix his TV, and another asked for a walking partner in the morning because he was afraid of falling if he walked himself.

Everyone agreed to those rules.

One man listened to another and said, “I think you and I could be friends.”

The other man, startled, said, “well, okay, I think that could happen.”

I smiled inwardly at that; this was the idea.

The social diversity of the room struck me; no two men were alike.

One had suffered a grievous stroke, another had severe and crippling heart disease, another was confined to a wheelchair, and two had memory and cognitive problems.

There were severe medical and memory issues I had to learn about and understand if the group was to work. Confidentiality is essential to me, but not really to them.

Their case was being heard, and they were telling their stories.

They had nothing to fear from being truthful, it seemed.

“I don’t have much to lose,” said one man, eating his cupcake, “hell, I don’t have anything to lose.”

I knew these people, but this was unlike any group I had led or formed, and I’ve never really joined any group of men in my life.

It’s one thing to know it intellectually, another to be confronted with in a closed-door hour-long meeting.

I talked and told some stories and probed for some answers.

Two or three men would not and did not speak. I repeatedly said talking was unnecessary if someone didn’t want to. No pressure, I said.

Suddenly, the room opened up a bit. One man asked if he could tell his story, and he did, and it was a powerful, sad, and uplifting story.

The others listened. One man said he had had several long talks with me, one of which was the best conversation he had ever had with another man. He hoped we could talk to one another that openly in the group.

It was still stiff, and some men were uncomfortable, but the atmosphere had eased. There was some smiling and laughing. And some stone-faced silence.

At least four or five of these men said they wanted the group to continue and liked the idea of having other men to talk with. The others didn’t seem so sure, at least not yet.

We talked about meeting at Bedlam Farm, and everyone came to life over that idea.

At the end of the meeting, I shocked everyone by asking if the group wanted to meditate, something I thought might be good for their hearts and blood pressure.

The idea was treated as if I’d dropped a dead and smelly fish on the table.

I asked if anyone in the room had ever meditated.

Silence.

No one had. It was my bombshell, saved for the end. I explained meditation and how it worked – how the Chinese had created the idea thousands of years ago. Western doctors suggested meditation to improve heart health, lower blood pressure, and significantly reduce stress.

I said I knew that many people in the room had told me they had heart and blood pressure issues; this might be of value to them.

I talked about how good it has been for me, and I said I’d like to conduct a meditation at the end of the hour to show people what it was. It was grounding and calming for me.

I said no one had to do it; people could sit silently and observe, leave at any time, or meditate with me.

Two men got up immediately and headed for the door, almost fleeing.

The five men around the table all said they’d like to try. I told them about breathing in and out to the count of four and then breathing in.

I told them there was no wrong way to meditate, you went wherever your mind went, and if you didn’t like where it was going,  you focused on your breath.

Let’s try it, I said. I set my Iphone to alert me in four minutes, counted out some breaths, then closed my eyes and descended into silence. I heard them taking and exhaling deep breaths.

When the meditation ended,  I asked what everyone thought, and the men at the table nodded. They seemed relieved, if not convinced.

Bill said he felt calmer. So did Michael.

Four of them said they would be happy to do it again.

On that note, I got up, thanked everyone, and said I hoped I would see them again. Next meeting in two weeks (there’s a boat ride next Tuesday.)

The meeting shook me; it was difficult at times; I had a lot to learn and active listening. I wasn’t sure if the idea was working or not.

But there was a lot to be hopeful about. Right away, I saw that the boundary was crossed when men told their stories to the others; that seemed to ease the mood and connect them, making the others less cautious.

I am a storyteller and have been for most of my life. I know how important it can be.

It will take time, and I hope they will stick with it. I will.

It was an encouraging first effort. It will not be easy, and it will not be quick. It might not even be possible.

But it very well might be valuable.

As I packed up my things and headed out the door, one man, who had not opened his mouth during the hour-long meeting, clasped my hand and leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll be here every time. I may not speak much, but I can hear every word.”