Moving on

I don’t feel like a man. Not all the time. Or rather, I don’t know how to be one or even what one is. I don’t know if it’s because I see my father or brother and they seem so “manly.” Like, they seem to have it all together; they’re tough, gritty and nothing cracks their exterior. That’s a lie of course because I know better, but it still feels that way. Maybe it’s because in some way, I’ve had it drilled into my mind for as long as I can remember that I’m not as manly. Because I prefer to read rather than hit a baseball or because I cry when I watch an emotional film. I don’t think that’s a stretch is it? For most of my life, I’ve had the idea of vulnerability reflected back at me as a “weakness.” Inadequacy has become my nagging injury, but…