I ran 2,300 miles from Los Angeles to Jacksonville in 56 days. When people hear that, they want to talk about the miles. How many shoes. What I ate. Whether my knees are done. I understand it. The number is the part that makes somebody stop scrolling.
The miles were not the point. The miles were a way to be in one place long enough that men would actually talk to me.
That is the only reason I stand up in front of rooms now. Not because I have a speech. Because the road taught me something about how men open up, and it does not look anything like what we keep trying.
What I am not going to do in your room
I am not going to tell your men to be vulnerable. That word shuts a room down in about four seconds. Half the guys in the chairs have already decided you brought in somebody to make them feel bad about themselves, and they are right to be suspicious, because that is usually what happens.
I am not going to stand there with a clean story and a tidy ending. I did not come out of those 56 days fixed. I came out clearer, and tired, and more certain that the thing I was doing mattered. That is a different thing, and I am not going to dress it up.
I am not going to read slides at anybody. No man has ever been talked out of the worst night of his life by a bullet point.
What I actually do
I tell them what happened. The run, the part of it that was stupid and the part of it that was worth it, and what it is like to be out there long enough that the noise in your head gets quiet enough to hear. I say out loud the things men usually only think, so the guy in the third row hears his own head coming out of somebody else’s mouth and works out that he is not the only one carrying it.
Then I stop talking and let them talk. That is the part that matters. Not the talk. The twenty minutes after the talk, when a man stands near the door with his arms crossed because he wants to say something and has not got the words lined up yet. I wait for that man. He is the reason I came.
And I leave them with something they can do on Monday that is not therapy and is not a hotline and is not nothing. Walk with somebody. Once a week. Side by side, no agenda, nobody trying to fix anybody. It sounds too small to count. Men will say things walking that they will never say sitting across a desk from you, and it costs nothing, and anybody in that room can do it with any man they are worried about.
Who should bring me in
Workplaces where the men never use the assistance line and everybody has agreed not to notice. Trades. Fire houses. Shift crews. Churches with a men’s ministry full of men who talk about everything except themselves. Gyms. Teams. Recovery programs. Veterans groups. Anywhere a man is more likely to say he is fine than to say what is actually going on.
If you are reading this because somebody handed you a date and a budget and told you to find a speaker for men’s mental health, that is fine by me. Call me anyway. I would rather be the box you tick than not be in that room at all. The men in the chairs do not care why you booked me. They only care whether the person up front is telling the truth.
This is a nonprofit, not a side hustle
Walk With Me, Brother is a registered 501(c)(3). It exists for one thing, which is men’s mental health and wellness. What comes in goes back out the same door: miles, rooms, and getting in front of men before they are in crisis instead of after.
If you want to see the thing before you decide, watch the documentary of the run. Miles for Men is 2,300 miles from Los Angeles to Jacksonville in 56 days, on camera. It will tell you more about what I am like in front of people than any speaker reel ever could.
If you want to bring this to your men, start with the awareness program, then ask about a speaking engagement. Tell me who is in the room and what they are dealing with. I will tell you straight whether I am the right man for it, and if I am not, I will say so.
If you cannot book anything but you want this to keep moving, donate here. It is not abstract. Dollars are miles, and miles are rooms, and rooms are men who get reached earlier than they would have been.
No man should walk alone. I do not say that because it reads well on a shirt. I say it because I spent 56 days finding out how true it is.