Print by Jamie Mills @JamieMilk

We’re not talking about highs here, were talking about lows; depressions.

So it seems only right we throw out the old cliché of ‘Mountains and Molehills’ and replace it with ‘Potholes and Black holes’.

I re-read some old journals recently. They initially started out as you might expect, almost a list of things I’d done, recorded so not to be forgotten. However, as I’ve developed, so have they. They now represent more of a tool to help me distill my thoughts and even work out how I’m feeling.

Reading them back, I noticed two things. The first is how incredibly hard I am on myself. The journal is full of my anxieties; over girlfriends, work, my life. This could be explained because I tend to only write when I’m struggling a bit, when I need to think. But it speaks volumes about my character – quick to beat myself up, slow to congratulate. I suspect a lot

of us guys are like that. The journal served as a great reminder to recognize the good job I’m doing ‘at life’.

The secondly observation, is everything that I was worried about has passed. Sure, I might still have some of the issues I had then, but I

can measure progress in dealing with them.

In the moment, we tend to see obstacles as much bigger than they are. The perspective of time allows us to measure them more accurately. It also tells us that we can get through it.

But to see how strong you are, you have to get to the other side.

I heard of another young guy’s suicide recently. A mate called me, it was his friend. From what I gather, the lad was loved by his friends and family. Obviously my friend couldn’t understand. “If only he knew how loved he was”, “If only he’d talked to us”.

If right now, you feel you’re in a black hole, and you can’t see out – then we urge you to talk to someone. You never know, they might just be able to help you navigate. We think these guys are great CALM: 0800 58 58 58 open 7 days a week, 5pm til midnight. You can also find them here: www.thecalmzone.net

I’ve always been jealous of vets. The reason being, they can see into the future. Don’t tell me I’m full of shit, because I’ve seen it. At primary school, all the kids who said they wanted to be a vet, haven’t waivered from that path.

You ask any vet (though don’t harm an animal just to get an audience with one) and they’ll tell you that they’ve never wanted to be anything else.

For the rest of us guys though, we’re left wondering what the hell to do with this mind, body and soul we’ve been lumbered (or blessed) with. We’re here, we might as well do something fulfilling with it…

But, finding that fulfillment is tough.

I hear a lot of men complaining that they are bored and fed up. I’ve been guilty of it myself. At What Men Do we are aware of how much time can be frittered away with such passive acceptance. It’s the mindset of a victim. We are told that times are tough, but that’s no excuse for letting your one shot at a meaningful life fritter away. If times are tough, get tougher.

Billy Ocean once sang: “When the going gets tough, the tough get rough.”

At WMD we were talking about this recently, and what we all had in common was that at some point, when this feeling of stagnation had set in, we’d all done something. Something – anything – to force a change.

The opportunities to answer our prayers of a purpose, a ‘raison d’etre’ hadn’t arrived, but opportunities for change had. They’re always here. Whether it was jacking in our jobs or moving overseas, we’d all ‘thrown it out there’, in the hope that by not putting up with things

as they were, the universe might just throw us something back.

And, sure enough, a few shit-scary stories later,

we’re all still here and better off for taking our destiny out of the clutches of some excuse.

If you’re currently wondering when the universe is going to throw you something, our advice would be to throw something in its direction instead. If you never throw the ball, it will never be thrown back. And while we’re on about Balls, at least that way you’ve got your Life by the Balls.

It’s either that, or become a vet.

Last night I was watching an episode of Danny Baker’s Great Album Showdown on BBC4, when I realised that my mind had wandered – not because of the quality of the show, which I found fascinating, but because it had locked on to a thought which was expanding and my mind couldn’t shake it off.

It was sparked by Danny Baker waxing lyrical on the plusses of the physical LP record over the ethereal nothingness of

downloading music – this isn’t a new thought to me as, despite being born several years after Billy Joels ‘52^nd Street’ started the mass marketing move to CD, I have a modest vinyl collection and still prefer CDs to downloading.

But I suddenly found myself becoming nostalgic for an era I never experienced.

The joy and emotion was

palpable in Danny Baker’s voice as he described the commitment required to find a new record – taking the bus to the record store, searching for a new LP to transport home, placing it on the turntable and even reading the record sleeve right down to the last word as this new music played. I got an image of an almost ritualistic process of discovery which positively oozes with anticipation.

When I compared this with the current method of, when learning of a new band, searching Youtube and immediately finding the music, I was left feeling slightly empty.

And if you think I’m only talking about music then you’ve missed the point.

By demanding instant gratification in life – be it discovering a new record, finding out the latest global news, developing a skill through a quick and easy downloadable package – we are missing out on a huge part of the process and excitement of discovery.

Since way back when our ancestors descended from the trees, discoveries have been made through commitment, dedication of time and the physical touch – our knowledge of fire, the shaping of tools, the creation of Art, the list goes on.

So as Danny Baker laments the loss of the anticipation and dedication required to discover a new record, I realised my mind was expanding his thought beyond music. I came to the realisation that the increasing irrelevance of the physical is diluting the emotion in all aspects of life.

Discovery no longer requires commitment; it’s just a click away. By taking this dedication away, are we in danger of becoming a stagnant race?

We’ve been discussing last week’s news that the ex-Leeds United soccer player, Robbie Rogers, ‘came out’ and announced he’s gay.

What we thought was significant about the announcement was that Robbie said he was now ‘stepping away’ from football. Why would he feel the need to quit football – a sport he obviously loves (on his website he even says it’s his ‘purpose’ and ‘identity’), and for which he has nothing but grateful thanks for his past involvement?

To understand this you have to understand

the tribal mentality which accounts for so much of the passion which drives the enthusiasm for the game, and how much millions of

guys

are dependent upon it for their day-to-day ‘fix’. Football, and the support they give to their team, is as close as they ever get to their Life’s Purpose.

The intensity of this was brought home to me years ago when I had a crap job at the local biscuit factory. Me and three or four other guys were responsible for tipping flour down various chutes – different combinations of sacks of flour were required for different types of biscuit.

Some Monday mornings there was a strange tension in the air. It was particularly tense if Liverpool had lost their Saturday game – doubly so if it’d happened at Anfield, their home ground – as one of the guys was excessively affected by it. Clearly he was desperate to pick a fight to help ease the pain of defeat, a loss which he seemed unable to leave with the Liverpool team. Because he himself personified the ‘will to win’, he didn’t find it easy to come to terms with the fact that they’d lost.

I found his behaviour odd and tried to discuss it with him. However, after I’d tried this a couple of times one of the other lads took me aside and said I was “cruisin’ for a bruisin’”. My seemingly (to me) innocent questions were easily misconstrued as serving to remind, and then perpetuate, the memories of the recent loss.

I was also told that this guy’s wife lived in fear each Saturday as, if Liverpool didn’t win the game, or at least draw at an away ground with a more superior team, well her chances of avoiding being beaten-up that evening were slim.

It strikes us that the entire football world – supporters as well as the players – are mentally unbalanced for the ninety minutes of the game and everyone sees themselves as part of the team.

And to be a part of the team you can not be different from their perceived norm – which requires that, sexually, you’re ‘straight’. If you’re not, you have to pretend to be. This need to conform to a very rigid code may explain why racism has been so difficult to eradicate from the game.

It may also go some way to explain why, for now, Robbie feels he must ‘step away’.

A few days prior to the end of 2012 I had a very disconcerting experience.

Lacking ready cash (no surprise there, eh?) I went along to the bank to make use of one of its three cash machines. None of them condescended to give me any bread though I was pretty sure I had at least a couple of hundred pounds available.

So, with the machines out of action I went inside and asked the cashier to let me have a hundred pounds.

“Sorry, the machines are down”, she said.

“Which means what?” I asked, somewhat narked.

“Well, the machines are down” she said again.

“Are you telling me that because your machines don’t work, I can’t have any of my own money?”

“Well,” she said yet again, “the machines are down”.

I looked at this human being one more time but it was clear she hadn’t grasped what was

troubling me. Afterall, as she had clearly pointed out, the machines were down.

To say I left the bank ‘a wee bit miffed’ is putting

it mildly. And after an unsatisfactory night’s attempt at sleep I was, as they say, ‘fit to be tied’. My mind was now blazing with frustration, though not half as sore as my groin.

Was I not a Man, a male of the species, one with the Power to ‘make things happen’, who walked ever proudly with heels firmly implanted on the ground, thereby drawing a natural strength from my assured contact with the Earth?……

…… all of which seemingly counted for sod-all when the ‘machines are down’.

Whose Power exactly was in control of my Life, asked my mind and my groin, me, or the machine?

And it was then that the real horrorshow hit me.

Subsequently,

I’ve moved out of ‘Intensive Care’ but I’m still fretting in ‘Recovery’.

But don’t bet the farm I’ll recover.

When the subject of Risk comes up for discussion amongst guys it isn’t long before the word ‘Balls’ features as a major player.

As this is a subject

covered extensively in the WMD Guide there’s no need for further elaboration here.

What I reckon needs more attention is the extent to which Risks are never taken because Fear puts the mockers on them. Years later these impotent defeats become a guy’s regrets.

But through what means does Fear assert itself?

In a lot of cases I suspect it’s the ‘blame factor’; if the new idea comes a cropper, who is going to be the scapegoat, the ‘fall guy’?

Similarly, lots of guys seem to suffer from issues to do with control; their major concern regarding the implementation of a Risky idea is that it will ‘get out of control’. Their fear is greater, of course, if it’s likely to fall under their responsibility.

They don’t see it as a new challenge, a venture into the unknown – only as something currently lacking operational know-how. Comfort, for them, is always the ‘tried and true’.

But how is it that Fear has their nuts in its harness? Is it their ‘outer’ elements – their reputation, how it might ‘look’, or be written up by the Press?

Or is it their ‘inner’ – a potential reduction of self confidence or self respect?

And if the Risky idea flops, are they bereft of resilience to bounce back?

A lack of Risk has been much on my mind recently as during the grey winter days of the past two weeks I’ve found both my energy and even my spirit somewhat on the blink.

And would you believe, during that time I’ve had this terrific – though admittedly Risky – idea.

And what’s really pissed me off is that it currently remains in my head and on bits of scrap paper. And why?

Can you believe my enthusiasm

for instant action has been chilled by the weather; the daily trudge everywhere, my baggy tights (I confess), and a lackadaisical inertia seem to have been enough to have curbed my enthusiasm. I’m like a man desperate for a shag but who can’t be arsed to unzip.

So do I need warming Mr Sunshine to renew my (obviously pathetic) powers to take a Risk, I’m asking myself.

Or is the Fear of chilly Mr Snowman enough to hold me back?

Each working day I walk the couple of miles between my home and the charity for which I work in the centre ofHalifax. This included last Monday when, thanks to a fall of snow, the walk was more of a trudge.

During the remainder

of the day I learned from various sources that ‘this guy/that guy’ hadn’t turned up for work because he ‘couldn’t get out!’

‘Out of what?’ I mused. His house? His bed? His marriage? His despair at the futility of his purposeless life? It was the typical Joe Average excuse whenever some inconvenience raises its head.

(A few weeks previously when addressing a group of young teenagers who claimed they’d been ‘inconvenienced’, I explained that inconvenience was a part of Life. Almost every funeral I’ve ever attended was an inconvenience, I told ‘em.)

What I found most depressing about these Joe Averages who ‘couldn’t get out’, was how quickly and without any sense of guilt, they were willing to become victims.

When I raised this with one of my colleagues he said my judgement was harsh. I told him he was wrong; in my opinion it was only a light snowfall, the first of the winter.

He said my assessment was typical of a county boy (which I am) … though actually his words were ‘county bumpkin’ … and then he quoted some inches that were expected which he’d learned from the Met Office, and organisation akin to our Foreign Office, both of which are inherently cautious.

I dismissed this pathetic attempt to use bureaucratic prognostications of quantity as a satisfactory benchmark when

what was being discussed was actually an issue of personal Determination. And afterall, as I pointed out, we live in West Yorkshire, the Pennines being one of the highest areas inEngland.

That was Monday. Tuesday lunchtime the Sun began to shine and those who on Monday ‘couldn’t get out’ were (probably) all in Tesco buying candles and stocking up on Coco Pops.

Ironically, in the United States Monday was a Public Holiday to celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King Jnr. I made it a point to take a looksee of the WMD Guide where, in the section ‘When Things Get Rough’, I read….

‘As Martin Luther King Jnr. observed: the ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy’.

I think as guys, we’re pre-disposed to ‘get our heads down and get on with the job’. This doesn’t just apply to work, in fact it probably applies less to work than it does to Life.

By that I mean that we are so busy trying to get ‘somewhere’ that we don’t actually stop, take a breath, and work out whether we are on the right road, or if in fact we even want to still go to that place.

For women, reviewing comes naturally; it’s part of sharing. They discuss, reflect and plan. For us, it doesn’t come so naturally. At WMD, we believe that for guys, a review can only really be done on your own. It’s not that an opinion from a mate isn’t great; it’s just that, like with a restaurant you can forget the five star reviews, it’s really only what you think that counts – they’re your taste-buds and your standards.

Because of the endless distractions that surround us it takes discipline and determination to make the time to tune-in to yourself; the deeper sensing parts and your gut feelings. We’re not saying this is a daily thing, or weekly or monthly, but as with any journey, if you don’t look up every now and again, you may find yourself in Bristol, when in fact you wanted to go to Bradford.

We think a lot of mid-life crises and miserable marriages could be avoided if guys took the time to check-in with their internal compasses more. So getting in-tune with it now, will help you make the big decisions on the horizon and then weigh-up

whether they work for you.

My big reviews usually take place when I’m on long journeys. I don’t love traveling by plane, but it has its perks. For me, I find that the combination of raised anxiety, altitude and lack of distraction (I often travel alone), create a deeper focus than I experience day-to-day. So whenever I fly, I take this as my cue to check-in with myself.

The focus I achieve, helps my gut feelings reach my mind with a new-found clarity. My latest journey has been more revelationary than usual, perhaps because it was timed with the arrival of the New Year; a natural time to review and re-focus ourselves.

With space, time and focus (and, for me at lest, an

added unsettling factor of being out of your comfort zone) deeper thoughts and feelings can wriggle their way to the surface. These could confirm that as things stand, you feel deep-down that you’re on the right road. Equally though, they may reveal that you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way (or maybe you took the train, when a taxi would have been better).

My latest delve into the abyss revealed a bit of both. For now, while I think I’m on the right road, the destination isn’t crystal clear. And I’m okay with that.

My writing

colleagues and I at WMD have been discussing an article in the recent edition of the CALMzine.

Two recently retired rugby players were talking about the depressions and anxieties that all too often affect rugby players. They’re particularly severe when a member of the team begins to consider retirement.

The problems are serious in both Union and League rugby because the image of those involved are of tough young guys who are more than capable of being able to handle any ‘problem’ that may enter their lives.

But it is the image of the physicality of the ‘man of steel’ that most effectively masks any signs of weakness; the truth is that what we see is merely Appearance.

In the WMD Guide we claim that an oak tree is the result of an Acorn with Balls.

Okay; Balls are important – vital even.

But what’s easily overlooked is what the Acorn represents – that future Reality springs from the seed with which you were born.

Such ‘toughness’ that we claim to perceive in the rugby players is essentially Appearance. The real nature of his ‘toughness’ is within; it’s inherent in his basic make-up which he’s had the courage to take on to the sports field.

What becomes very apparent is that when he approaches any separation from his team-mates the visible ‘toughness’ acts as

a mirage to Reality; the lad becomes a victim of Appearance.

This, we believe, is an increasing phenomenon which can only get worse unless we remember the Acorn and the truth it represents which we’re increasingly inclined to forget.