As I embarked on the newsletter, I planned to begin with the first four editions describing the four pillars that support it. Today I planned to describe the “Care” pillar. And I will, but I am also going to touch on current events.
I don’t plan to focus on specific news events often, but I think the recent shooting of right-wing activist Charlie Kirk is relevant to the reason I decided to start this newsletter. I think the shooting and aftermath are pretty good reasons to think about caring and what that means right now.
I think multiple things can be true at once; and I’m not sure we’re asked to hold that idea very often. But consider: I think it’s true that Charlie Kirk said a lot of hateful, hurtful things in his lifetime. I also think it’s true that Charlie Kirk did not deserve to be murdered for them. I think it’s true that actions have consequences, and also true that murder is not an acceptable way to respond to hateful speech.
I believe there are far worse things for people who spew hate, and among them is to be ignored, ridiculed, or to lose all credibility. I wish for his children that he had been ignored, and lost credibility, because his kids did not deserve to lose their dad this way.
The aftermath of his killing has brought out a predicable firestorm on social media. Much of it is reprehensible and stupid. I’m not going to defend it. But it’s why I’ve had “f*** your feelings” on my mind.
That phrase gained popularity with some in the “manosphere” about 10 years ago as a way to dismiss emotional responses by weaponizing feelings as irrelevant.
But they’re not irrelevant.
The people who cried and posted angry tirades over Kirk’s death have strong feelings. It would be easy to smugly point out the irony to the “f*** your feelings” crowd. But I’m choosing to point out that their feelings are relevant.
They’re as relevant as the feelings of the people who were targeted by Charlie Kirk during his college speaking tours and on his podcast.
I think we should listen to our feelings. I have tried to learn how to do that, and I think it’s a pretty decent description of what I mean by “Care.” And I use the word “description” because I find “definition” too limiting.
Care is being self-aware, not stoic. It’s recognizing your emotions and needs, not pretending they don’t exist or don’t matter because that’s not manly. That’s a thing men often do.
Care is emotional responsibility. It’s taking ownership of your internal emotions, not just reacting to them.
Care is genuine empathy. Listening and considering other people’s experiences. Not performative outrage, not pushing feelings down. I’ve struggled with this, if I’m honest. I grew up without examples of empathy. I got deep into adulthood without even the vocabulary at hand when I needed to recognize other people’s feelings. Instead, indifference and stress took its place.
By working on myself, I have gotten to a place where I can recognize and empathize, even if I struggle to demonstrate it. When withdrawal is your learned childhood default, reinforced by an adulthood career that thrusts trauma in your face on a daily basis (TV journalism), it’s easy to just stay in that defensive posture. I’ve worked really hard to throw that off.
I hope you’ll consider some ways to take care of yourself and others (or share them with a guy in your life who might benefit):
Set boundaries to protect yourself but still give respect to others. This one’s really hard in today’s world where it feels like you have to “pick a side.” But you don’t. You can choose yourself and leave it at that.
Give yourself compassion. I’ll be honest, it’s felt a little weird sometimes, but I’ve learned to give myself compassion for the upbringing I experienced. Doing that, as I said last week, helps make room for allowing feelings to come in, wash over and through you without reacting.
Ask for help when you need it. Accepting help isn’t weakness; it’s practical and prevents bigger problems from happening. It also gives you the capacity to give help to others. This is a virtuous cycle.
Now what the hell does running have to do with this? Lots.
Running is not just a release valve for things that might otherwise build up inside you. It’s a way to develop the self-awareness that allows you to set boundaries, give yourself compassion and ask for help. Running teaches you the difference between discomfort and pain. It teaches you when to push harder and when you need to take a break.
Running long distance helps you learn to manage your internal dialogue. I often think of literally nothing when I’m running. But when I do think it’s usually to push away negative self-talk. Running is a daily opportunity to turn “this sucks, you should quit” into “it’s ok, you got this.”
Running allows you to honestly assess your needs. You can’t just show up on race day and run a marathon. You need to prepare for that. And you don’t run 26.2 miles to prepare for the marathon; you run shorter distances every day to build up your body to tolerate the rigors of race day. You give your body what it needs to get to that race and go for your goal, whether that’s a time goal or just finishing.
I have a feeling that when we learn more about the person who shot Charlie Kirk, we’ll find out that he experienced a lot more “f*** your feelings” than empathy that would have allowed him the opportunity to stop down the path he was on. And I also wish Charlie Kirk had been a lot more willing to demonstrate curiosity and kindness than he showed the targets of his commentaries.
So, the next time someone says, “f*** your feelings,” I encourage you to respond by ignoring that and giving yourself the care you deserve. I think it will lead to a lot less destructive behavior and a lot more inner clarity.
If you know someone who’d find this newsletter useful, please share it. Next week, I’ll wrap up the four pillars and then it’ll be on to weekly warm currents… If this is your first newsletter, you can read the first post to learn more of what this is all about.