The Man On the Hill

When I came home from work the other day, I happened to glance out my upstairs bedroom window. My property backs partially onto a church parking lot and then a large grassy park-like space. It’s perfect because it’s generally quiet and peaceful. I like sitting on my patio and listening to the kids play ball or run around just having fun on their way to and from the local school which is just a few streets over. During the pandemic, it’s become a place for people to picnic and just hang out.

Anyways, as I glanced out the window, I noticed man sitting on the small hill. He looked to be in his thirties or so, but it was hard to tell exactly. His right arm was wrapped around his bent knee, cell phone in his hand. At first, it looked as though he was just a guy taking a break on the grass, surfing the Internet. No big deal. Just as I was about to turn away and go about my business, he took his left sleeve and wiped it against his eyes. I went a little closer to the window. This time he was more deliberate.

He was crying. It felt wrong to watch him because clearly, he was in some sort of emotional pain, but I couldn’t help myself. What happened in this man’s life to cause him such anguish? Of course, I had no idea. His chest heaved a little as he took a deep breath and wiped his eyes again. Part of me wanted to call out and ask if he was okay but I didn’t. It felt wrong to interrupt the moment. His moment and his privacy.

I turned and walked out of the room, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And somehow it made me feel not so alone when I have my moments of grief and pain. That it’s okay to take a moment, sit on the grass, and let it out. We all have our stories. We all have things and events that we’re trying to navigate to the best of our abilities. Doesn’t matter our gender, our race, our religion or where in this great world we live, we all struggle at one time or another.

I don’t know why that man was crying, it’s really none of my business. But I couldn’t help the feeling in my heart as I watched him. It’s weird to say but there was almost a sense of pride, a sense of pride that this man was not afraid to cry. He wasn’t afraid to let his emotions out. As a society we’re so hard on boys and even harder on men when they express emotion, especially pain. We ridicule them as being weak and not being “a man”. It’s so wrong. It’s just so wrong.

Men need to be allowed to express themselves without any sort of ridicule or condescending embarrassment attached to it. How can we expect them to understand our tears and express empathy as fathers, brothers, uncles, and partners, if we’re constantly telling them to buck up and just deal with it? As I wrote a few weeks ago, it’s okay to cry. It really is. Cry without worries. Cry without the fear of judgement.

I think one of the things I like most about being a writer is the idea that everyone has a story, good or bad, there is always a story, and I take great satisfaction in being able to tell these stories. I have no way of knowing the details of this man’s story, that’s his to tell, but I can push the narrative around his pain and encourage a conversation, and hopefully that conversation will spur even the slightest bit of spark inside you to think.

I’m always drawn to stories where vulnerability and authenticity are the driving forces behind the main characters, whether the novel is contemporary, fantasy, sci-fi or young adult. I think it’s important for readers to see heroes that are just like you and me. Characters that fail. Characters that have flaws. Even Superman wasn’t perfect and had his kryptonite to face.

When I went back about a half an hour later to check on him, he was gone. Whatever kryptonite my man on the grass was facing, I hope he succeeded. I hope he was able to gather whatever he needed to gather to face whatever issue he had to face. I send him all the love and strength I can. I understand. I truly do.

Kindness and empathy are two of the greatest gifts we can give one another. It doesn’t take much to do either, but it seems to be so lacking today. Respect the person. Respect their story. Be the type of person that opens your heart and your mind to other people’s pain. I promise you you’ll be a better person for it. Because whether you know it or want to believe it, there will be a time when you’re that man sitting on the hill.

And if you’re there right now, on that hill, crying in your sleeve, you got this my friend. Let it out. Feel what you need to feel. It’s okay. There is no shame. There is never any shame. Do what you need to do to get yourself into a better space, a stronger space, so you can take on whatever you need to take on. I know that moment can feel so lonely but know that you are not alone. And if you feel like you can’t do it, or it’s just too much, then please reach out. There are so many people that would jump right in to catch you – including me.

Life loves throwing us these nasty mud pies. Everybody gets them flung their way. Be kind. Be empathic. It’s the least you can do. I wish you all nothing but peace and love.