If you’ve ever been involved in a 20+ person conference call, you understand the sentiment. It’s hard to speak, hard to hear. Someone is in their car, someone thinks their mute button is on and it is not. And the non-mute someone is most likely chewing gum.

I approached such a conference call last week with that dread.

I’m staffing a New Warrior Training Adventure in Portland next week and this was the chance for the out-of-town staff men to meet and talk a little. The Portland men have been planning this NWTA for months; they spend dozens of hours working together before the weekend, standing shoulder to shoulder (sometimes literally, always figuratively) holding each other accountable and learning new ways to trust. To be inside the circle of local men during those months is always a wild ride.
As an out-of-towner, I’m already getting excited to staff in Portland - I have been for a month.

But giant phone conference calls? Not so exciting.

I got the time wrong and ended up having to miss my own circle of local men to be on this conference call. Though the fault was entirely my own, I still took it out on the anonymous set of phone digits and passcode as I punched the phone. Within the first five minutes I had my fears confirmed:  it was loud, hard to hear, some men thought their mute was on but it was not.

Crap.

Luckily, it was only an hour.

And then things changed.

Our facilitator asked us a reflective question and as I thought about my own response the answer made me a little sad. I was on the phone with 20+ guys and I was invited to share a part of me that I most wanted to hide. I wanted these men to see my big smile and see joy in my eyes before they heard the other truths:  that I am afraid, and I am small sometimes, cringing and whimpering. That’s the part of me they would see first.

Each man volunteered his response while we all did our best to listen.

I listened to other men tell their sad truths, the parts of themselves that were broken or outraged, furious and filled with grief. I appreciated that I was not alone in this uncomfortable spotlight. One man gave his answer and his voice quivered. One man talked about ‘wasted years’ and his voice expressed regret. I did not catch either one of their names so I know nothing about them but this:  in a group of strange men, they did not hold back.

I love staffing with men I do not yet know!

When everybody comes together for the first time, it’s both a rowdy party and quiet grace. Men might meditate or take walks. Or play junior high pranks on each other, spending the first two hours making each other laugh. You can’t do it wrong, really, just show up as you are. It’s not always instant goofiness and easy conversation either. Men can be angular and we must learn to navigate one another. Two guys deliberately on the periphery of the big group might share to each other, “I don’t like being in large groups of men” and suddenly they can talk more freely. Then another man hears then and instead of sauntering away to snicker with pals, he sits with them and says, “I feel that way too sometimes.”

Often, this is how it goes.

By Sunday we’re genuinely crushed to see each other leave, grieving the loss of new friends who could perhaps be best friends if we all lived in the same town. I like knowing I have potential best friends in other cities. The last time I staffed in Portland, I left with joyful sorrow having met men who broke my heart with their kindness towards me. Some days it’s hard for me to meet someone new and think “We’re not going to be best buds in this lifetime. There’s just not enough time.”

On the conference call last week as we neared the conclusion, one man said, “I have to speak. I have to say this.”

Everyone grew quiet, even the guys not muting.

“I don’t want to be here. I hate this technology, I hate all the background noise. I love you men, but I hate not being able to hear your full names and having to keep wondering, ‘who the hell said that?’ I can’t wait for this call to be over.”

(I think those were his words. It was really difficult to hear.)

I laughed really hard because I felt totally exposed. He had spoken my truth! Someone in our teleconferenced room had the courage to be angry and express it. I’m sure other men laughed in strong empathy, but many of us were on mute, so he could not hear our empathetic response. Some men chimed in and thanked the speaker for saying what he did, others gave a more enthusiastic “HELL YEAH” because hey, technology is a pain in the ass sometimes.

I hung up the conference call glad, really glad actually, because I heard so much compassion and love in strangers’ voices. Another group of potential best friends. And guys who say actually announce when they’re pissed off? Hell, I can trust a man like that. He will show me his true face. I will show up next Thursday in Portland all screwed up and not-perfect and they’re going to put their arms around me anyway and say, ‘Glad you’re here.’

Minneapolis is having a snow day today, so I burned a wood fire tonight, and watched the orange flames. I chatted on the phone with people I love. The phone can be a lovely way to connect on a cold February night. As the fire peaks slowly turn into red embers, I think about all the times I have thought, ‘I don’t want to be here’ and how often it’s exactly where I need to be.