Why I Organized a Mens Group

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Borrowed & Learned

There’s this paradox today where, in an ever-connected world, it’s easier than ever to move through life without much real connection. Days fill up, conversations stay surface level, and before long, that starts to feel normal. I’m not talking about quick texts or passing chats, but the kind of connection that takes time and presence, that goes a little deeper. It seems men, especially, struggle to find and sustain that.

Robert Putnam, the Harvard political scientist behind Bowling Alone, has spent much of his career studying this shift. He calls it the decline of “social capital,” the trust and relationships that hold society together. I remember listening to Putnam, now in his 80s, on The New York Times podcast The Interview: Robert Putnam Knows Why You’re Lonely. When asked about his own social life, he laughed and said:

“That’s a really embarrassing question. I write about and talk about the importance of connections… but my wife actually does it. She is the one who joins everything, who has been a tutor and a teacher and a terrific mother and an even better grandmother… We’ve got two kids and seven grandchildren. In the long run, her work is going to have a longer half-life than mine.”

Even the man who has spent decades analyzing loneliness admits he struggles to live differently.

Then there’s the conversation between Rich Roll and Mark Manson on Roll’s podcast. As Roll wraps the episode, he, an endurance athlete known for exploring purpose and growth, reflected with Manson, the author of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck*, on how, aside from a few podcast episodes and one dinner party, they’ve barely hung out.

“I can be pretty reclusive,” Roll said. “I’m at home, I come here, I go back home. This is my social life outside of my family, and it’s very nourishing. Even though we’ve done three podcasts and one dinner party, that’s the sum total of our relationship.

But I feel like you’re a friend… and even after that dinner party, we said we should hang out. Did I call you? Did you call me?”

“No,” Manson replied.

“We never did anything together. I suck at that,” Roll continued.

“I don’t know if you rely on your wife for social life, but I definitely do,” Manson said.

“Yeah, I do,” Roll replied. “But I think I’m at an age now where I need to be much more proactive about my friendships.”

They ended the episode joking about scheduling play dates that required microphones. I laughed and later played the clip for Dana, but dang, if it wasn’t painfully relatable.

Men who spend their lives studying growth and meaning still struggle to make time for real connection with other men. At least I’m not alone.

A lot of that, I think, starts early. Most men are taught to keep things in, to stay in motion, to be strong. Over time, that becomes habit. We learn to be self-reliant, but not always open. By the time we realize how much we need connection, we’ve built lives that make it hard to ask for.

Some background

I’ve always had close friends and people I could count on, but I’ve carried a bit of a lone wolf mentality. I’ve never needed a big group around me to feel fulfilled. Growing up, I had a small circle of friends, and one I was especially close to, Kyle. From childhood to college to New York, we’ve been through a lot together. He now lives in LA, and while we still stay in touch, it’s different being on opposite coasts.

In New York, my circle widened. I met people who inspired and supported me via my gym, neighborhood, and work, including the co-founders of Barrel, Peter and Sei-Wook. Still, I’ve always kept a tight-knit group. As I’ve gotten older, it’s become harder to build and sustain new friendships. Life fills up, routines take over, and it’s easy to convince yourself you’re fine on your own.

After leaving the city, I found a new community at a local gym and joined a men’s lifting group on Sundays. It felt good to be part of something again, but just as those relationships started to deepen, the gym closed.

Dana, on the other hand, has always been great at fostering relationships. She has groups of friends from different stages of her life, and they all make the effort to stay connected. I don’t want to generalize, but anecdotally, I’ve heard the same thing time and time again from men about their female counterparts.

Dana’s friend groups plan dinners, check in regularly, and show up for one another. I’ve always admired that about her. She seeks out time with friends, while I tend to recharge on my own. Like Roll, time alone and time with family are nourishing to me. Still, I’ve come to see the value in sharing and learning alongside others. It’s not about needing people to feel complete. It’s about recognizing that life feels fuller when you let others in.

Mens group

Not long after leaving New York, I had this idea of starting a men’s group. I thought bringing together guys at similar stages of life could be meaningful: a place to share what we’re navigating and learn from one another. I wrote down names, told Dana about my vision, even made some notes about how it could work, and asked a few people if they’d be interested.

And? I never followed through.

There was always something else to focus on. I moved into the CEO role at Barrel, became a dad, ran a marathon, andcompeted in a couple of HYROX. Each one felt like a good reason to put it off.

Then, earlier this year, I went on a men’s retreat that shifted how I think about connection. Twenty men, mostly strangers, came together for four days to share, listen, and slow down. One of the facilitators offered an idea that I think about often: we might describe our lives as 70, 80, maybe even 95% great, but there’s that last few percent that keeps us from fully appreciating it. The weekend became a chance to explore that gap together, to look at what might be getting in the way and what it means to feel whole.

I left with a fire to make something happen back home. It wasn’t just about creating space for myself but about living in a way that reflects what I want my son, Mylo, to see as he grows up. I want him to understand that connection and openness aren’t things to shy away from, that strength and vulnerability can coexist. If I want him to believe that, it has to be something he sees in me.

Finally

Over the past few months, the thought of starting my own group felt less like a nice idea and more like something I needed to do. One weekend, while out with Mylo at a local arts festival, I ran into my friend Colin. I’d already told him about my vision for a men’s group and said, “I think I need to do this.” Colin runs a fitness and recovery studio and offered his space. We picked a date, and this past Thursday night, it happened.

On the drive there, I felt a mix of energy and nerves. I called my friend Dan, someone I’d met at the retreat who runs his own men’s group, to talk it through. I kept telling myself not to have any expectations, that just doing it would be enough.

When I arrived, I wasn’t sure who would show up or how it would go. Many of the guys had never met before and had no idea what to expect. One friend I’ve known since middle school drove over an hour to be there, leaving behind his wife and three kids for the night. That meant a lot. He and I have tried and failed to make time for each other for nearly a decade.

As everyone arrived, a few guys jumped into the sauna or cold plunge. We convened in the sauna. Opening up a conversation like this was naturally a little uncomfortable, but sweating together took it to another level.

Why not go all in?

I prepared a few prompts to help us avoid getting lost in small talk. Conversation flowed quickly. We talked about family, work, what’s been challenging lately, and what’s been good. No one tried to make it more than it was. Everyone was there for the same reason, even if they weren’t sure what that reason was when they showed up.

The night went on for a couple of hours. No one seemed in a rush to leave, probably because we were all present with our phones tucked away. My younger brother Justin joined, too. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, which made it that much more special to share this space with him. I called him on the way home, and we talked about how well it went. 30 minutes later, I was sitting on the couch with Dana, still taking it in, wondering how the other guys felt.

Before the night was over, a few of them texted to say how glad they were to be there; others who couldn’t make it asked about the next one.

What’s next?

Since that night, I’ve thought about how easy it was to bring everyone together. It didn’t take a big plan or much coordination, just the willingness to follow through. Maybe connection isn’t as complicated as it seems. Most of us want it, even if we don’t always know how to create it, and sometimes we wait for someone else to take the first step. The hard part is that, for many men, it means that moment never comes.

Connection doesn’t just happen, especially in a world where it’s easy to mistake social media and video calls for the real thing. It takes intention. It takes showing up. It takes saying yes to a Thursday night when staying home would be easier.

Watching these guys, most of them dads, make time for this said everything. I like to think everyone left with something small, a bit more perspective, maybe a little more gratitude. I’m excited to see how this group continues to take shape.

I’ll end with a quote I sent to the group ahead of Thursday night, from the book Multipliers by Liz Wiseman:

“By joining forces with a community, you need not have all the answers or even all the questions. You can look to the genius of the group to guide you.”

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