The moment you decide to end your marriage, a cold reality sets in.

“When I walk out that door, I’m walking away from everyone I love — and who said they loved me. Maybe forever.”

Your kids are the exception. But the in-laws? Gone. The couple friends you saw every weekend? Picking sides — even while swearing they’re not. The parents of your kids’ school friends. The neighbors. The whole ecosystem of a shared life.

And if your wife is the more social one, and you pull back to gather yourself? You’ve handed over the narrative. People will gossip and assume the way they do about celebrities — as if they know the whole story — without ever asking you directly.

You knew all this could happen.

What you won’t see coming — I sure didn’t — is losing the real ones.

Your guys. The ones who knew you long before she did. The ones you’d call when the marriage was getting rough. The ones who called you “Brother” and seemed to mean it.

You’ll lose a lot of them, too.

Not right away. The good ones show up early. But over time — especially if they’re married — you’ll feel them pull back. They won’t say a word about it. They just get harder to reach. More guarded on the phone. Sneaking away to call you so their wife doesn’t know they’re talking to you.

“Oh shit. Him too.”

You’ll think it more than once.

Here’s why it happens: You did the thing.

The thing they’d complained about wanting to do. The thing you talked them back from once or twice. The thing they decided they never actually would.

Before you pulled the trigger, there was a quiet safety in that shared frustration. Just guys blowing off steam. Nobody actually doing anything.

Then you went and did it.

“Holy shit. He actually did it.”

In the movies, that’s where the credits roll. The camera pans to everyone who was rooting for you — or against you. They give that slow, head-shaking look: “Never thought he had it in him. Godspeed, brother.”

Fade to black.

The movie has to end there. Because that’s the climax. What comes after — people rebuilding their lives, finding their footing — isn’t dramatic. It’s just living.

But your movie doesn’t end.

It just changes genres.

Your character from the old film? He’s gone. The other actors have moved on to different roles with different storylines. Maybe an occasional cameo. That’s it.

So go ahead and feel it for a minute, while the credits roll on that chapter.

Then brush the popcorn off your lap, grab your jacket, and walk out into the daylight.

New characters are out there. New roles waiting to be filled.

This time, you’re the producer, the director, the casting agent, and the star.

Go shine.

Kev

P.S. I’d be remiss not to shout out the friends who truly stick with you. They go the extra mile to show (not just tell) that they aren’t going anywhere—even if they’re being quietly persecuted for it at home. Make sure those dudes know how much you appreciate them. And, be that guy if the shoe ever switches feet.

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Marriage… kids… running a business… finances… health… all of it at once. It’s a lot.

Men don’t voice this very often because it feels like bitching. But it adds up.

Somewhere along the way you wake up and realize you’ve become responsible for a lot of things. A business maybe. A family. People who depend on you in ways you didn’t fully grasp when you first stepped into those roles.

And responsibility has a way of crowding out reflection.

That realization is what sparked Joe and I’s conversation in this episode.

Joe brought up a line from James Hollis that explains overwhelm better than anything I’ve heard. He says “Most of our anxiety comes from the collision between our smallness and the tasks life asks of us.”

That’s a brutal sentence, because it’s true.

Life keeps asking more. More leadership. More patience. More resilience. More wisdom. And sometimes you feel small compared to the assignment.

But Hollis adds something that flips the whole thing around.

Overwhelm isn’t proof that something is wrong.

It’s evidence that something is growing.

Life is expanding the container. And if you’ve ever felt like you’re barely keeping up with that expansion… congratulations. You’re probably right on schedule.

Which led us into another strange part of getting older.

Wisdom shows up, but it doesn’t always arrive with the same urgency that drove you when you were younger.

I remembered a line from filmmaker Cameron Crowe. He was asked what kills creativity.

His answer was one word.

“Maturity.”

When you’re young, everything feels enormous. Rejection feels personal. A mistake feels catastrophic. Every opportunity feels like it might be the one that changes your life.

Which makes us bolder, braver, and more daring.

Then you live long enough to realize most things don’t matter nearly as much as you thought they did.

That realization is freeing, on one hand, on the other it can also take the edge off your curiosity and willingness to take risks.

So midlife becomes a strange balancing act. You have more perspective… but you have to work a little harder to stay curious… to stay awake to the mystery of things.

Which is where the conversation landed in a place that felt both simple and important.

Joe said, “If you’ve got three to five friends you can really talk to… you’re doing incredibly well.”

Not golf buddies.

Not people you compete with for fun

People you can say real things to.

Because men don’t build those friendships easily. We gather around activities. Work. Sports. Shared interests.

But very few places exist where men say the quiet part out loud.

“I’m overwhelmed.”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing next.”

“I’m trying to figure this part of life out.”

And the strange thing is, the moment one person says it, the whole room exhales. Because everyone else was thinking the same thing.

Which is why conversations like this matter.

They remind you that the pressure you feel isn’t some personal failure.

It’s the cost of growing into the next version of yourself.

And if you’re lucky, you’ve got a few people you can talk about it with along the way.

If that kind of conversation resonates with you, this episode of Man in the Middle goes deeper into it. Sometimes the most useful thing a conversation can do is remind you that you’re not the only one trying to figure this part of life out.

Listen on Apple Podcast

Listen on Spotify

Watch on YouTube

Kev

A road rage flair up had us pulled to the side of the busy street, the other driver rushing towards our car.

Who knows what led to it. They’re all the same on paper.

What I do remember was feeling terrified.

The other driver was the kind you hope not to see get out of the car and lunge towards yours.

Bigger, angrier, and showing zero restraint.

I was about ten and hated conflict then as much as I do now.

Maybe it’s a flaw. I do admire those who never back down from a fight. But, I’ve made my peacekeeper instincts work for me. We use what we’re given.

In this situation, though, all I knew was the fear I felt.

This random thick-limbed hothead was about to beat my dad’s face into the Florida pavement.

I’m sure that was the plan until he looked in the car and saw me sitting in the passenger’s seat.

My dad was always up for the fight.

He’s was never a tough guy, but when anger took over, he was all in.

That’s how he was taught growing up in Lowell, with no dad of his own around.

He was being bullied, and one day after school his mother told him to go visit the toughest kid in the neighborhood.

No explanation. She had asked for his help.

The neighborhood tough instructed my dad that the next time he saw that bully to walk up and punch him in the face. No words. Just swing.

“Otherwise, I’m gonna be your new bully.”

He did. And it worked.

From then on, punching first was the rule.

So, fearing the inevitable roadside brawl, I did what a scared, conflict avoidant 10-yr-old does; I pleaded.

“Dad, just go! It’s not worth it. Please!”

The big guy heard this and took the cheapest shot.

“Yeah, listen to your kid. Just go before you regret it, asshole.”

At that moment, I wanted to kick his ass as much as dad did.

I saw all the rage my dad was struggling to contain double. The veins in his temple bulging.

I said softly, “Please Dad. Let’s just go.”

To my shock, he did.

He swore something at the guy about being lucky his kid was with him, and drove on.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

It still bothers him.

It came up recently during one of our visits.

He’s at the end of his ride now. Longterm affects of Parkinson’s Disease. A cruel slide down.

Funny thing is, he’s still pissed about it. Recalling the moment recently, forty-five years later, even in his wobbly state, the rage rose back up in his face.

“'Listen to your kid,” he mocked. “Oooh I’d love a shot at that fuckin’ guy.”

—

Last week I was driving home form the gym with my 22-yr-old son. The light changed to green. The car in front of me, blinker flashing, sat still.

I gave the driver the 3-second courtesy of looking up from their phone and moving their ass.

Nothing.

Beep, beep.

Still nothing.

The driver’s door swung open and a frazzled looking woman stomped towards me in a fit.

“I’m stuck you fucking asshole! Can’t you see my hazzards. Fuck! GO AROUND!”

I felt the spike, but caught it.

I started to pull around, then stopped. Put my car in park and walked to her door.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, using my best late-night DJ voice (as taught by Chris Voss, the former hostage negotiator in his book, Never Split The Difference.) “I only saw the one flasher. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’ve been stuck here twenty minutes with people honking at me.”

“Do you have help coming,” I asked.

“Yes, they said they’re on the way.” Then described how the car is running, but just “does nothing” when she puts it in drive.

She assured me she’d be fine, and I apologized again.

“I get it,” she said. “This is just my life today.”

I signaled to the other drivers about to honk to go around, then got in my car and did the same.

My son didn’t say a word.

I turned up the radio and sang along.

In this episode, Joe and I recall the moments of impact our fathers had on us, good and bad, and how those have made us, if not better dads, eager to try.

As always, we’d love to hear your stories of son and dad-dom, what you’ve learned and how you’ve tried.

Listen on Apple Podcast

Listen on Spotify

Watch on YouTube

See you there,

Kevin

“Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself.”

Heavy, right?

Loneliness isn’t about being alone.

It’s about being unheard.
Or worse — being unknown.
Even to yourself.

You can be:

– Married
– Leading a company
– Hosting a podcast
– Sitting at dinner with people who love you

…and still feel completely isolated.

Why?

Because the part of you that actually matters isn’t making it into the room.

In our latest episode of Man in the Middle, Joe and I went into shadow work — the traits, emotions, and impulses we repress because somewhere along the line they were labeled unacceptable.

Too emotional.
Too ambitious.
Too needy.
Too angry.
Too soft.
Too much.

So we edited ourselves.

We learned to be funny instead of hurt.
Tough instead of scared.
Easygoing instead of honest.

And over time, that editing creates a quiet fracture.

You’re present… but not fully there.

That’s the loneliness Jung was pointing to.

Not a lack of contact.

A lack of congruence.

The real pain isn’t “no one understands me.”

It’s “I’m not showing what really matters.”

And midlife has a way of forcing that reckoning.

You wake up and realize:

I built a life.
But did I build it as me?

That’s the shadow conversation.

It’s uncomfortable.
It’s humbling.
It requires moral effort.

But here’s the upside:

When you integrate the parts you’ve been hiding — the anger, the grief, the ambition, the softness, the desire — you stop feeling alone even when you are alone.

Because you’re no longer divided inside.

If you’re feeling a strange kind of loneliness lately…
Even in full rooms…

Ask yourself:

What am I not saying?
Where am I editing myself?
Who actually knows what’s alive inside me right now?

That’s the work.

We went deep on this in the new episode. It’s one of our most vulnerable conversations yet.

Have a listen.

Listen on Apple Podcast

Listen on Spotify

Watch on YouTube

And then ask yourself the harder question.

What part of me is still in exile?

Kevin

If you were born in America, relatively healthy, reasonably intelligent, and you’ve got your physical abilities…

You already hit the f***ing lottery.

You just haven’t scratched the lottery ticket. Period.

I was talking to my 16-year old son about this in Chicago after a five-hour metal concert at Soldier Field, which, by the way, he said was the best experience of his life. Big win for Dad here :-)

I told him this…

“Buddy, you’re not Paris Hilton. Nobody’s handing you anything. Everything you want out of life, you’re going to have to work for.”

But then I said something else.

“You already won the lottery. You just have to scratch the damn ticket.”

Most people don’t.

They wait. They hope. They scroll. They complain. They resent. They assume.

But they don’t scratch the damn ticket.

And this isn’t just in life, it’s in relationships too!

You see, one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned, and I had to learn this the hard way, is this…

If you’re sitting around waiting for people to show up for you, you’re going to be disappointed.

And I get it. I’ve been there.

You go through something hard and you look around and think “Man… I’ve known this guy for 20 years, he calls me a brother, how hard is it to send a freaking text dude?”

But here’s the truth my mentor shared with me in 2015:

Unstated and unrealistic expectations are actually premeditated resentments.

If I’m waiting for someone to read my mind and love me the way I want to be loved, that’s on me.

Back in 2018, I made a decision.

For one full year, anytime someone entered my consciousness, I would reach out.

I didn’t overthink it all. It wasn’t something that needed some in depth analysis. I removed all the bullshit excuses we tell ourselves like, I’ll wait for the “right time.”

If I had time, I called. If I didn’t, I texted. And just kept that shit simple.

My most common text - “Hey, you popped into my head. Just wanted to say I love you.”

It radically transformed my relationships.

Why?

Because love compounds.

And most people are too uncomfortable to initiate it.

We hide behind bullshit excuses like:

• “I’m busy.”

• “I don’t want to bother them.”

• “I’m not good at that stuff.”

• “It makes me uncomfortable.”

And I found out very quickly in my internal conversations that this message kept showing up…

It’s not about you. It’s about showing up.

Because there’s a motto that I have lived by since getting sober: Choose growth over comfort.

When we had Jim Hollis on the show he talked about the three factors of change:

1. Insight

2. Courage

3. Endurance

Everybody loves insight and everybody wants the breakthrough!

BUT… aint nobody want the courage shit lol

So often I get these thoughts:

• “I should call him.”

• “I should fix that.”

• “I should apologize.”

• “I should take better care of myself.”

• “I should start that.”

Where did that thought come from?

I don’t know. But I do know this…

When a thought moves from unconscious to conscious, it’s not random.

And the moment you feel resistance, that’s the exact moment courage is required.

Choosing growth over comfort once is easy.

Choosing it again and again?

That’s the path.

Often I think maybe I’m just wired for suffering or something. Like I have some sick and twisted relationship with going hard on growth so I can “feel” life.

It may stem from a lesson my father taught me early in life…

Go Hard on What You Can Control

(I use the Serenity Prayer as a practical tool to navigate this actually)

Here’s where powerlessness comes in.

I get clear on what I can control. Then I go violently hard on that.

Everything else?

I don’t give it energy. That’s God’s work dawg…

Timing? Not mine.

Other people’s reactions? Not mine.

Outcomes? Not mine. (Nick Saban talks a lot about how Outcomes are distractions)

But my effort? Mine.

My presence? Mine.

My discipline? Mine.

My love? Mine.

So I focus there. Like really f***ing hard.

And here’s something my friend Ron taught me which I’ve taken with me along the way…

Be wildly impatient with action that’s in your control. Be radically patient with results.

Most frustration in life is wrapped up in timing & expectations of outcomes.

“I want it now.”

“I should be further by now.”

“This should have worked by now.”

No.

Do the work. Endure. Let timing handle itself.

It sounds great in conversation yet it can be difficult in execution.

So like normal it brings me back to what our brother Jim Hollis has taught us…

Psychological and spiritual maturity is not reached by knowing more, but by enduring more.

So Endurance Is the Whole Game

That’s it.

Not reading more. Not posting more. Not talking about it more.

Enduring more.

Going into the dark. Staying in it. Returning to the path again and again.

Especially when no one sees it. Especially when it costs something. Especially when you’re tired. Now that’s character building baby!

You want a purpose-driven life?

Look at an 85-year-old man still writing manuscripts and giving talks.

He’s not sipping mai tais on a beach two hours a week.

That whole “cash out and coast” fantasy?

It’s empty.

Real fulfillment comes from scratching the damn ticket!

As always Kevin and I are grateful for lending us your eyes and ears as we lay our shit out on the line for the sake of shared learning.

As we’ve said time and time again we don’t claim to have all the answers, we’re not practicing therapists or counselors…

We’re just two guys navigating midlife in our own way, having conversation about where we’re really at…

In hopes, this opens more men up to talk about what the f*ck is really going on so…

They know they’re NOT alone.

I’d be honored if you share this with someone who needs it, and will reply to any comments or feedback you guys have.

Thanks for tuning it.

Cheers,

Joe

That’s the moment that Joe made a vow, back in 2018… to never hear himself say that again to a friend.

Instead, at the very moment he thought of them, he’d pick up his phone and send a text: “Hey man. Was just thinking of you. Hope you’re doing great.” or, when applicable: “Love you, bro.”

That’s it.

Five seconds.

No agenda, or expectation for what happens next. How, or if, they respond. Just a simple expression of the thought you had.

Maybe when they read the text, they’ve just sat down for a group lunch. They smile, forget all about it, and never respond.

Totally fine.

Or, maybe, when they read the text, they’ll be sitting alone, working through some shit. Maybe even wondering if anyone in the world cares about their shit - or them. So, the five seconds you spent to share that they crossed your mind will feel like a lifeline from the divine.

Again, the outcome is beside the point. But, not sending the text ensures that they may never know you were thinking of them.

There’s also a flipside to this. And I discuss this upfront in the episode.

There were times in the first year of my separation, where I would fall into self-pity and take a short inventory of those who’d reached out, and those who hadn’t.

Not a completely random list. It was usually after learning that a person I considered a close friend had gotten together with my ex and some others, in a clear show of support to her. Which, I always felt sincerely grateful about.

But, then you can’t help but think, “Well, you sat with my ex that day, and likely discussed some of what’s happening with us, and now it’s been a week and it never occurred to you to check on your brother?”

I’ll be the first to say…

• It’s unfair for me to assume anything about why they did not reach out.

• It’s unlikely that they thought they should and decided not to.

• It’s wrong to assume their lack of communication is a silent signal that they’ve ‘chosen a side.’

And, most importantly…

• I also own a fucking iPhone that sends a text in five seconds flat.

So, this is MY issue to either sit and sulk about, or, ya know, proactively open dialogue about.

I’ve moved past that phase now, but I felt it was important to talk about with Joe on the show because, logical or not, it’s something that comes up for men during divorce.

So, if we all make a similar pact with ourselves, to not just ‘think of’ someone, but to actually spend five seconds letting them know we’re thinking of them… the amount of good that springs from it could be life changing.

Listen on Apple Podcast

Listen on Spotify

Watch on YouTube

I’ve been doing this, and, as anticipated, the result is a mixed bag. However, when you show up at random for someone who happens to really need it at the moment. Man… it truly is divine.

Give it a try.

Rooting for you, always.

Kev

P.S. In Episode 16, we also explore The Shadow” — what it truly means.

When Carl Jung spoke of The Shadow, he wasn’t talking about evil. He meant the parts of you that got pushed into the basement because someone—family, culture, church, school—decided they weren’t acceptable.

It’s a hardy look into an often misunderstood aspect of our psyche.

Dive in.

You’re not crazy!

Someone said this to me. I said it to Kevin. And this simple 3 word sentence can rip you from the depths of loneliness like no other.

To finally be “seen” in a world that has no time for middle aged men that sentence could potentially save lives.

If you’re somewhere in midlife and things that used to work don’t anymore…

If success didn’t deliver what you thought it would…

If you feel restless, discontent, or quietly unsettled for reasons you can’t fully explain…

That doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.

It means something honest is happening.

Kevin and I just finished one of the most meaningful conversations we’ve ever had on the show, sitting with Dr. James Hollis (who asked us to call him Jim), whose work quite literally gave us the language for why Man in the Middle Show exists at all.

And what struck me most wasn’t some big new idea.

It was the permission.

The permission to stop treating this season like a problem to solve and start seeing it as a passage to walk through (hence the name of his book The Middle Passage).

My first life taught me how to survive.

My second life asks me what I’m here for…

I spent the first half of my life doing exactly what I was supposed to do.

I adapted, performed, and followed instructions.

I got a good job, then built a career. I was dependable, I provided, and kept it all together because I had to.

And for a while, that worked.

But then something started to happen.

The goals didn’t satisfy me the way it used to.

My passion dried up, and my energy began to drain from my body like a flushed toilet. The roles I played started to feel tight.

Hell… I even succeeded… and still felt like something was missing.

WTF?

That’s the moment most men panic.

They try to fix it externally:

• New job

• New city

• New relationship

• New distraction

Jim Hollis calls that the Seattle solution, wherever you go, you bring yourself with you.

What’s actually happening is deeper.

The first half of life asks, “What does the world want from me?”

The second half asks, “What does my soul want from me?”

And those two questions rarely have the same answer. At least they didn’t for me.

But The In-Between Is Brutal… Yet Necessary

Here’s the part nobody likes to talk about.

There’s a hallway between those two lives.

And it’s uncomfortable as hell.

I don’t know what’s next yet, my old map doesn’t work anymore while feeling lost, and the new one hasn’t been handed to me. Now what?

Jim talked about this spot exactly. He said:

“Haste is of the devil.”

I hated hearing that, because I’m wired to move, build, execute.

But the truth is, this season doesn’t respond to force, it responds to honesty.

This season take Patience, which I lack tremendously lol.

Endurance… hell I got this, so I’m good to go here.

And a willingness to admit I don’t know (this is something I’ve been practicing since 2018 and has been life changing, beginner mindset is the path to mastery).

For me personally, one of the strangest, and most beautiful shifts has been learning how to live without needing to explain the sacred.

In this context it’s meaning: entitled to reverence and respect

So I don’t need to justify this inner movement anymore and it doesn’t need to be packaged neatly.

I don’t need certainty to take the next honest step.

That’s new for me.

And it feels like… I am lacking nothing. My whole state of being is abundance.

One of the clearest signals Hollis talked about is energy.

Not the kind you manufacture with discipline but the kind that speeds you up.

When you’re aligned, hard things feel meaningful.

When you’re misaligned, easy things exhaust you.

Burnout, depression, and anxiety are not always disorders. Sometimes they’re messages from my soul reminding me not to forget about it.

The psyche has a way of getting your attention when you’ve drifted too far from yourself.

And if you don’t listen early, it will speak louder later. I talked about this in my last writing where I felt like my soul was screaming at me lol.

But that doesn’t mean you blow up your life. It means you stop pretending nothing’s happening.

Because I Still Have Duties… But I Also Have a Duty to My Soul

This was big for me.

I can’t abandon my family, quit responsibility, and then burn everything down.

But I also can’t ignore the quiet summons inside myself (that only I hear).

There are competing duties in midlife:

• Duty to others

• Duty to the self

• Duty to something larger than my own ego

Wisdom is learning how to hold all three without betraying any of them. This has been super tough for me.

And no, sorry to disappoint all the “Relationship Instagram Influencers,” that’s not narcissism.

That’s maturity.

So If You’re Here Right Now, This Is the Work

Jim said something to Kevin and I that was a mic drop…

The ego is a tiny wafer floating in a vast ocean.

We are not as in control as we think, and thank God for that. Playing God is exhausting.

Something deeper knows us better than we know ourselves.

It speaks through feeling, energy, dissatisfaction, a deep longing, and even through our dreams.

If you’re in this season and wondering what’s wrong with you…

Let me say what someone once said to me:

You’re not going crazy.
You’re waking up.

And that’s not the end of the story.

It’s the beginning of a more honest one.

As always, thanks for reading and listening. Kevin and I appreciate you all as we put ourselves out there for the world to see what it looks like being a Man in midlife.

See you next time.

Cheers,

Joe

It’s true: you don’t ask you don’t get.

So, I asked Dr. James Hollis, via email, if he would be a guest on The Man in the Middle Show with myself and Joe.

To my shock and delight, he agreed. Sort of…

“I am absolutely jammed for the next two months. Perhaps we could reconnect during the summer” was his polite response.

Needless to say, I marked my calendar to follow-up in early June.

If you needed any proof that Jim Hollis believes in his work, consider that he is 85-years-old and “absolutely jammed” with writing (more books), teaching (in live workshops), and, of course, his bustling therapy practice in Washington D.C.

Yet, he still agreed to carve out an hour and take a chance that two knuckleheads with microphones from Florida wouldn’t waste his time or diminish his work.

As Joe mentioned in the interview, Hollis doesn’t write books to sell books, he writes them to help the people who need their wisdom. He referred to his almost twenty published books as “mobile classrooms.”

After re-listening this morning, I can say with confidence that the conversation went as well as we hoped it could. Which means Joe and I talked as little as possible, but revealed enough about ourselves—and current experiences—to lend context and credence to our questions.

To have him answer us directly, with the same depth of urgent wisdom he brings to his work, was almost surreal. And, at the same time, incredibly comfortable.

A thought I often have about Hollis, when I immerse in his work (and certainly after spending this time with him), is that if he were to live forever, his teaching would only become more effective. More relevant. More regarded.

So rather than attempt any street level view of what you’ll discover about yourself by watching or listening to this discussion, I’ll simply implore you to find a quiet, uninterrupted moment, as soon as possible, to sit with it.

If this is your first taste of Hollis, then Joe and I are proud and honored to turn you on to him. It certainly won’t be your last.

Dude kinda saved my life.

Your moment may not be as dire, but, man, knowing his work will confirm, in times when it feels like it, that you are not crazy.

For many men, that simple relief is step one to all the growth that follows.

Listen on Apple Podcast

Listen on Spotify

Watch on YouTube

As always, we’d love to hear your thoughts.

Kevin

It’s been there the whole time, I just got better at ignoring it.

Kevin and I call it the dark side, or what Carl Jung called the shadow. And for a long time, I heard that phrase and assumed it meant something bad. Something dangerous. Something shameful.

That’s not quite right…

The shadow isn’t evil. It’s unacceptable.

Unacceptable to my family.

Unacceptable to my culture.

Unacceptable to the version of myself I learned I had to become in order to survive.

So, like any good man, I pushed it down. Just like our fathers before us.

And now, in midlife, it’s surfacing and it’s really loud lol.

But the shadow isn’t what I’m afraid of, it’s what I wasn’t allowed to be.

One of the biggest misunderstandings I had was assuming my shadow was only about destructive behavior… addiction, anger, lust, aggression.

Well, sometimes it is, but just as often, it’s about life. You know…

Joy that didn’t fit the mold.

My intensity that made others uncomfortable (if you know me you know this one lol).

Curiosity that didn’t align with expectations.

Grief that no one knew how to hold (want to make people squirm? Have a man show sadness publicly).

Something that’s become clear to me is how often what we call “dark” is simply what wasn’t approved.

I’ve seen this play out even in simple, ordinary ways. Comfort in my body. Enjoying movement. Expression. Presence. Doing something that feels alive instead of productive.

It doesn’t take much for people to label that. Interpret it. Question it.

Why?

Because comfort in myself is threatening to people who never learned how to be.

Sometimes the shadow isn’t dark. It’s just unapproved.

And here’s the thing, just because I suppress something doesn’t mean it disappears.

It waits… that shit is just chiilin and hanging out inside me haha

One of the most powerful moments for me recently came from watching my son after the final performance of Footloose.

Four months of work on this play. Learning lines and had some late nights. Built tons of Friendships. And had found true purpose in this experience and work.

And when it ended, he cried.

Not privately. Not quietly. He hugged people. Thanked them. Grieved openly. This dude was heavy breathing sobbing (not joking lol)

And I watched the room tighten.

Other kids didn’t know what to do. Parents looked wildly uncomfortable.

A teacher even joked that someone should tell him to “buck up.” And I thought, “I wonder how much she was required to suppress her own humanity growing up?”

That moment told me everything.

We still don’t know what to do with male sadness.

So boys learn all this shit early:

Don’t feel that. Move on. Be strong.

But here’s the truth I’ve come to understand…

If sadness doesn’t move through us, it doesn’t leave. It hardens.

For me? It turned into irritability. Distance. Anger that feels justified. Addiction.

What I suppress early shows up later, not as emotion, but as behavior.

And even when I’ve “done the work,” the shadow still lives close by.

One of the most humbling realizations for me is that awareness doesn’t eliminate the shadow. What I know means jack squat.

It just makes me responsible for it.

Doesn’t matter if life is going well, I’ve grown and evolved, hell, even when I “know better.”

I’m still one decision away from violating my own integrity. Which is one of my top core values!

That’s the shadow.

Not the mistake, the capacity.

The willingness to cross a line when I’m tired, distracted, or out of alignment.

What matters isn’t pretending that capacity doesn’t exist, it’s fucking owning it.

It’s facing it. Learning from it. Putting guardrails in place.

My integrity isn’t built by perfection. I’ve tried guys, believe me.

It’s built by consciousness.

And I always thought consciousness was to elevate and then I started doing Jungian work only to realize that it’s actually a journey inward to my soul.

And then Integration became the goal, NOT elimination. Here’s an example of what I mean…

For a long time, I used humor as armor.

If I could make light of something, I didn’t have to feel it.

If I could get a laugh, the pain didn’t fully land.

That worked for a long time… until it didn’t.

Then I swung the other direction. I got super serious. My mother and wife called me rigid.

The same thing happened with my addictive personality.

Left unconscious, it nearly destroyed my life, yet Integrated, it became one of my greatest strengths.

I have hyper focus abilities. Insane drive. Unmatched Intensity. And dogged commitment and consistency to something I’m “all-in” on.

The work isn’t about killing parts of myself, it’s about assigning them the right role.

The traits that almost ruined me are often the same traits that, once integrated, make me effective, grounded, and capable of real leadership. They showcase my humanity.

So why does this matter so much in midlife?

Midlife is when I discovered the soul stops cooperating with denial.

Integrity is in direct connection with the soul.

The roles I played no longer satisfied me, the coping strategies that once worked stop working.

The shadow stops whispering and starts demanding attention. Mine was screaming at me!

And here’s the uncomfortable but empowering truth I’ve had to accept:

No one is coming to save me.

But that also means I’m not powerless.

I can sit with discomfort. Ask better questions. Notice my triggers. Examine my judgments. Pay attention to patterns.

The shadow isn’t here to destroy me.

It’s here to make me honest.

And honesty, in the second half of life, has been the doorway to freedom for Kevin and myself. As different as we are, we definitely align on that.

If I’m feeling, as we say in the recovery world, restless, irritable, and discontent, I no longer assume something is wrong with me.

I assume something in me wants to be acknowledged.

That’s not weakness.

That’s the beginning of becoming whole.

It was only last year after 16 years of deep intrinsic work that I felt completely and usefully whole. Totally “filled up.”

And then in a matter of months I felt the deepest emptiness I have ever felt (Jung talks at length in his work about this exact experience).

And in both instances I sat with it. Stared at it. And asked myself like I always do in my contemplation:

• What is this teaching me about myself?

• What is this teaching me about the world?

• What is this teaching me about life?

Most importantly… Who is asking the question?

As always, thanks for reading. If you feel compelled, share your thoughts by leaving a comment, send me a message, or even share this with a friend.

Kevin and I appreciate all of you for the support!

Let’s just keep the conversation going between men. It’s important.

Cheers,

Joe

While I’m still embarrassed about it, it led to a hardy discussion about guilt, shame, and the personal moral code all of us establish with ourselves.

I remember how stupid I felt the next day, and the “stern talking to” I gave myself about what I’d done.

The consequences for getting caught would have upended my life at the worst possible time. Just when the personal turmoil of a grueling year was beginning to level off.

But I had gotten away with it. Used up that one last lucky chit that must’ve fallen between the seat cushions.

Some say if you don’t have regrets, you’re not living hard enough. I get the sentiment. Thing is…

Regret is like a pack of Necco Wafers, it comes in a whole bunch of different colors and flavors.

Some flavors are delicious, some are disgusting, but you gotta buy the whole pack to get your favorites.

So, I invite you to hear, and share, my shame in this episode.

Listen here on Apple Podcast

Listen here on Spotify

We’re all gonna screw up on occasion.

Question is, what are you gonna do about it?

Kevin

But what happens when you’re laid off 2 weeks after your 10-year anniversary in a 70 person corporate layoff?

Unplanned. Unannounced. Unexpected.

The “day of death” for many people is how it was taken. People 5 years, 10 years, 20 years, and even 30 years with the company were axed.

I still went and had lunch with my team after my termination as it was planned. I didn’t really eat much, yet it was planned, and I wanted that last connection with them.

I remember texting a colleague after they asked how I was doing only to say, “a job doesn’t define my value as a human being. It’s what I do, not who I am.”

Too often men take on their job or business as their identity. No bueno.

For me, it was sad, painful, and very memorable. It was rich with meaning and impact.

It was God’s timing for me to move on as I had planned to leave in the next year or so to pursue something in the entrepreneurial space as I stood out like a sore thumb in corporate America even though I loved it.

So on I went into the big pond :-)

One of the skills I had polished was my ability to recognize what I had built within myself working with so many great leaders and mentors over those 10 years.

• Leadership

• Project Management

• Conflict Resolution/Crisis Navigation

• Team recruitment & development

• Business Acumen

These are highly transferrable skills into any industry and I discovered many people like making but NOT running a business. I love the game of business. And when you see it as a game, it’s not work.

Quite often we can get trapped in this long-term career silo psychology where imagining anything beyond what we do and where we do it, is never possible or…

Even worse… not valued!

So if you’re in this spot, do what I did. Do what any wise person would do. Do what any person in recovery or running a physical product business would do.

Take Inventory!

Write down everything you’ve done in a list. And then break each one down in detail as to what the make up is of that skill set. This was wildly impactful for me and I was able to help a lot of folks coming from that layoff do this same exercise.

Seeing your skills and abilities in black & white is very empowering, especially sitting in a small form of hopelessness and resignation.

Take the leap. Shoot your shot. Do the thing.

We are not starting from zero like the mind loves to tell us, we’re starting from decades of experience.

That means something and has value.

This isn’t really a crisis, it’s a calling. Suppressing that inner call is what creates anxiety, irritability, and discontent. Not the change itself.

Drawing from our buddy Jim Hollis, the real question is not “What job should I get?” but:

“What wants to come to life in me now?”

So what is meant to come to life in YOU?

The world may desperately need what that is.

Thanks for reading and hoped you listened to Episode 13.

Cheers,

Joe

And, yes, there are some things being said, and done, that you should know about. Maybe even do something about.

The problem is…

Most people, as evident in any twenty second scroll on social media, spend the majority of their time “weighing in” on the external noise.

Wrangling their thoughts to match the identity they’ve propagated by regurgitating random sound bites from a source they can’t actually cite.

Because, God forbid anyone think for a second they don’t have a take.

All that noise though, is just a ruse. Chosen by the almighty algorithm to steal your attention and provoke your take. Social media is designed to work like a casino in your brain; loud, colorful, stimulating, and very hard to find the exit.

Worse, the goal of the noisemakers is to distract you from hearing your own internal noise. Those thoughts and emotions that most definitely need to be heard, and examined, and addressed. Otherwise, they grow to deafening volume, and left ignored, can upend your life far worse than anything the algorithm demands you weigh in on.

Addressing the internal noise… That’s the real work.

The hardest work we’re asked to do.

In Episode 13 of MiM, Joe and I talk about career change in midlife, and why it’s a crucial time to stop listening to everyone else’s noise about what you should be doing, and listen closely to what life is asking of you now.

Listen here on Apple Podcast

Listen here on Spotify

See you there,

Kevin

Did I actually work towards my dreams? Like setting goals and all that shit, nope…

My teens and 20s we’re busy chasing the seat at the end of the bar to drink whiskey and talk about all the things “I was gonna do.”

But in spite of that, I always had it deep within me that I would be entertaining. All my jobs had other staff members and manager telling me, “you should be on radio, you could be a comedian, or you’d be a great actor.”

I’d smile in sadness and say, “Ya, I know right?”

Navigating the endless waves of disappointment that alcoholism has to offer was what I would be resigned to, never being able to step on that stage I so desperately desired (and was gifted with abilities to do).

Once I sobered up and changed my nasty ass behavior, who I actually was began to surface again after being dormant due to spiritual sickness.

What will I do with this new found lottery ticket of life?

Go into the restaurant world, that’s what! haha

The real island of misfit toys where “has beens,” “could’ve beens,” and “never was” type peeps go to make a buck in the midst of madness and chaos.

I thrived :-) (no booze just chaos!)

I built a solid foundation in a playground of developing my leadership skills, presenting skills, speaking skills, facilitating skills, and essentially “putting on a show” 7 days a week entertaining people in my restaurant.

I did it, and did it well.

Then I transferred into this wild world of Internet Marketing and Entrepreneurs with the likes of Kevin Rogers. The dude knows a thing or two about comedy and being on stage. A match made in heaven buddy!

We started this Man in the Middle Show. Now in Season 2.

I listened to our second episode here about childhood dreams and this is the learning I had come up for me today from it:

All my gifts from childhood are now serving me well in my stages of life…

Not childhood stage, early 20s stage, middle age, old age, etc. NOT those stages.

These stages, the ones I stand on now:

Leading a family - Leading teams - Entertaining guests in my home - Being an committed friend - Honoring my duty as a son and brother - and the list goes on!

Because here’s the thing…

In those moments, I have an audience.

And for years I performed the way I thought everyone wanted me to, not as I am. In Jungian work we call these “masks.”

So what has Midlife work taught me about standing on these stages in every facet of my life?

That the meaning and depth of the performance is rooted in my ability to fully show up as myself. No performance boys and girls, just me.

And what a show that is. What fun that is. What a gift that is.

So I’ve now gone back and answered the call of that child through my actions by using my gifts to be me.

And it reminds me of one my favorite Carl Jung quotes, “You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.”

Five year old me would be smiling, because I’m actually doing it.

Cheers,

Joe

P.S. Having a sarcastic mother is a blessing and a curse. One time she said that her and my father were going to start calling me “I’m Gonna.” Because all I ever do is say, “I’m gonna do this and I’m gonna do that,” and you don’t ever do shit. Thanks Mom!

I say “impossible” because that’s the very first thing I asked James Hollis, who authored the concept in his book, The Middle Passage: From Misery to Meaning in Midlife, when Joe and I spoke with him last summer (you’ll hear the conversation soon).

He could not answer.

Not the way I was hoping, at least. You know, a sure sign of progress. A mile marker. A treasure map. Something!

We’ve become so conditioned in this life to be handed the answers, to even the most complex problems, that it feels wrong to not know where you’re headed and keep going anyway.

It’s freaky to think back on how, as a stoner stand-up comic in my twenties, I found my way to hundreds of tiny clubs in small towns with nothing but a paper map. Somehow missing only two shows in nearly a decade (once when I wrecked my car on the icy roads of Chicago, and the other when I was jailed for a small bag of weed in South Carolina).

These days I set the GPS on routes I’ve driven a hundred times “just in case.”

But, the Middle Passage? No GPS. No workbook. No daily calendar with inspiring quotes to flip as you go.

What I can tell you, as a man currently inside the Middle Passage is this: when it begins, everyone will have a theory on “what’s wrong” with you and how to fix it.

“It’s that weird supplement you started taking”… “You’re not getting enough restorative sleep”… “It’s called ‘burnout’, man. Book a vacation.”

So you test all that stuff, and damn if conditions don’t persist.

Even if you are fortunate enough to have friends who care, trying to explain it can feel useless because you still don’t know yourself what it is. Let alone how long it will last, or how or why things will be better on the other side of it.

All you know is, it’s real. And you’ve got to keep going.

That’s the definition of faith: trust in something that cannot be fully proven or controlled.

In S2, Ep. 2, Joe and I talk about the things we thought would be our thing when we were young. Before the pressure to “be responsible” kicked in.

How do you carry faith towards the next thing without allowing everything you’ve built to crumble down behind you?

Let’s explore…

Listen here on Apple Podcast

Listen here on Spotify

See you there,

Kevin

Yes. Mid December 2024.

That’s when Joe and I released the final episode of Season 1.

Truth be told, we had no idea at that time whether or not there would be a Season 2.

Joe had just become Dad to the amazing Violet (this little girl’s smile could melt the sun), has an active and inspired teenage son, Damien, who relies on him for life guidance and trips to metal concerts. A strong wife navigating the shifting waters of Momdom, with a business of her own. And, Joe, as COO of an online marketing business, running a multi-million dollar company whose speedometer starts at 100 MPH.

Oh yeah, he also decided to become an Iron Man triathlete and trained like an animal to compete.

Me? Total opposite.

I was in the midst of UNDOING my entire life.

Marriage.
Business.
Social.

Every role and identity I’d proudly built over the previous 20 years, pushed into the center of the slow burning fire in front of me.

Why in the f’k would I do that?

Believe me, no one wondered that louder than me.

So many times I thought, “If I could just go back to who I was and how I felt, all my problems would go away.”

Of course, that was bullshit.

I was deep inside The Middle Passage, very much like James Hollis describes it in his book of the same title.

No clear end in sight and no turning back.

Just ride it, like an acid trip.

So, that’s the backdrop of life for Joe and I as we recorded Season 2.

But, of course, this show is not about Joe and I.

It’s about you. About us. As men facing life in The Middle.

The Middle of service and self-awareness.

The Middle of performance and permanence.

The Middle of what has been and what comes next.

Those are the topics — the meaning is what you make it.

One major highlight of Season 2…

We had the amazing opportunity to interview James Hollis, the man whose essential work is the bedrock of this show.

You’ll hear it in the middle of the season, appropriately.

As always, we welcome your thoughts and ideas. Whatever’s on your mind. You can leave a comment here on Substack, or write privately to kevin@maninthemiddleshow.com.

We’re here. We’re listening.

Right now, make a moment for yourself and dive in.

Listen here on Apple Podcast

Listen here on Spotify

Kevin

And you’re left staring into the middle distance thinking: Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

It’s not just about money. It’s about identity.

Because when the job goes away, something else goes with it—your sense of worth, your usefulness, your confidence. That feeling of I know who I am and what I do.

And when that disappears, it’s hard not to spiral.

That’s what Joe and I talked about in Season 2: Ep 3 of The Man in the Middle Show—the quiet, identity-level crisis that comes with career change in midlife.

He told a story about a guy he was coaching—a high-achieving, high-earning guy who had just lost his job. Laid off. No warning. No plan. And suddenly, this man who’d spent years defining himself by his role and his resume was sitting across from Joe, eyes wide and hollow, asking the question:

“What if I’m just done? What if I already did the best thing I’ll ever do?”

If that line hits a nerve, you’re not alone.

The culture doesn’t give men many tools for this part.

We’re taught to produce, perform, provide. And if you’re doing all three, you're fine. But what happens when one of those pieces disappears? What happens when the career engine stalls—and you’re left trying to figure out who the hell you are without it?

Here’s the mistake a lot of us make: we try to discipline our way through the confusion. We start grinding. Pushing. Rebuilding. Hustling.

Because sitting still feels too much like failure.

But here’s what Joe said that stuck with me: Alignment comes before discipline.

It’s not about working harder. It’s about getting honest enough to ask, "Am I still supposed to be doing this?"

That’s the scarier question. But it’s the one that leads somewhere real.

For Joe, that answer showed up in a weird, unexpected way: endurance sports.

He went from lifting weights and chasing definition to running triathlons and discovering a different kind of strength. One that wasn’t about image—it was about resilience, grit, and pushing his own edge in a way that felt expansive.

He didn’t just find a sport. He found a new identity.

We all need that. A “triathlon” of some kind—something that makes us feel alive again, even if we look stupid doing it at first.

When I stepped away from stand-up, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I’d spent over a decade getting good at something that I thought was going to be the centerpiece of my life. Then I realized I was good at it, but I wasn’t called to it anymore.

Letting it go wasn’t just scary—it felt like betrayal. Like I was giving up on a dream. Like I was wasting all that time and effort and sacrifice.

But when I zoomed out, I saw the bigger truth: that dream was the bridge that got me to the next chapter. And the next chapter was calling louder than the applause.

If you’re in the middle of one of those transitions right now, here’s what I’ll say:

You’re not broken. You’re just in between identities.

You’re not falling behind. You’re reorienting.

You’re not lazy or lost. You’re listening—and that’s something most people never even try to do.

Ask yourself:

If I stopped doing what I’m good at, what would I start doing that feels more like me?

That’s where the alignment lives.

Thanks for reading.

If you’re walking through your own professional shakeup, or you know someone who is, pass this along. Let them know they’re not alone—and that starting over doesn’t mean starting from scratch.

It might just mean you’re finally doing it right.

—Kevin

Before the student loans, before the mortgage, before the job that made sense on paper—what lit you up?

If you’re like most men in midlife, you’ve probably forgotten. Not completely. It’s there in the background—fuzzy, quiet, easy to ignore. But every once in a while, it taps you on the shoulder.

You’re driving, or shaving, or scrolling through someone else’s highlight reel, and there it is:

The version of you that didn’t compromise so much.

It’s not about fame or money or chasing some lost fantasy. It’s about meaning. Expression. The part of you that still wants to feel alive in your own skin.

In Season 2: Ep 2 of Man in the Middle, Joe and I talked about those early dreams—the ones we chase, the ones we bury, and the ones that start whispering louder as we get older.

As a kid, Joe was obsessed with SNL. Memorized sketches. Studied comedians. Rehearsed in front of mirrors. That creative urge didn’t go away—it just morphed into something new: leadership, coaching, and helping other men find their voice.

For me, the spark was always about connection. Making people feel seen. Saying the thing everyone else was too scared to say. I’ve used that instinct in everything I’ve built since.

And here’s the thing—we don’t outgrow those early passions. We just get busy. We build lives around other people’s expectations. We trade creative energy for stability, and call it maturity.

But those parts of us don’t die. They wait.

Carl Jung once said, “Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on their children than the unlived life of the parent.”

We don’t just carry our own dreams—we carry the silence of theirs.

So when your dad told you to “get a real job,” or when your mom got nervous about your ambitions, or when no one showed up to encourage the weird, wild thing you wanted to do—you adapted. You got realistic. You put the dream in a drawer.

And now it’s showing back up. Maybe not as a career, but as a craving. A restlessness. A need to create something that isn’t just another invoice or meeting or deadline.

Here’s what I know now:

Regret isn’t weakness. It’s information.

It’s your soul flagging something that still matters.

You don’t have to “go back” and do it all over again. You don’t need a radical reinvention. But you do need to listen.

That dream? That version of you that felt fully expressed, curious, reckless, and alive? He’s not gone. He’s just been waiting for you to come back and pick up the thread.

You’re not too old.
You’re too alive to keep lying to yourself.

—Kevin

Not because it failed.
Because it’s over.

But instead of walking away clean, most of us drag it behind us like a busted suitcase. Still trying to prove we’re that guy. Still looking for someone to validate a version of ourselves we quietly outgrew years ago.

Why? Because starting fresh feels like failure. Especially in midlife.

When you're younger, reinvention is sexy. It’s brave. People root for you.
When you're older, it feels like a demotion.

In Season 2: Ep 1 of Man in the Middle, Joe and I talked about what it takes to drop the old identity and begin again—even when your pride’s screaming for you to stay put.

Joe told a story about prepping for his first triathlon. He used to be a competitive bodybuilder—jacked, intense, commanding. He walked into every room like a man who’d already earned the spotlight.

But endurance sports don’t care how many plates you can bench.
They require a different kind of strength.

So Joe shaved off his hair, his beard, and God knows what else. Not just for speed. For clarity. For a clean break.

He walked into the gym—a place where he used to dominate—and started over as the most awkward guy in the pool.

No applause. No respect. Just him, alone with his choice.

That’s the moment most people avoid.

The beginner’s moment. When your ego’s too loud, your skill’s too low, and your past achievements don’t mean a damn thing to the thing in front of you.

I’ve been there.

Letting go of who I thought I was. Sitting in silence. No crowd. No “next step” to post about. Just me, the work, and the question: What now?

Most days, I didn’t have an answer. But I had a broom.
And the guy with the best broom? He’s the one who sweeps the most.

There’s no shortcut. No hack. Just showing up again and again until the new version of you shows up too.

If you’re feeling that nudge right now—like something inside you is done pretending, done performing, done clinging—listen to it.

Start over. Look stupid. Keep going.

—Kevin

The other day, I did something I’ve spent decades telling people never to do.

I broke one of my own rules. One of the important ones—the kind you create so your life doesn’t end up wrapped around a telephone pole or dragged through a courtroom.

I didn’t tell anyone at first. Not out of shame. Out of caution. I needed to sit with it. Feel it. Let the lesson burn a little before I decided what it meant.

Then Joe and I recorded an episode of Man in the Middle called “Facing the Dark Side.” All about the shadow self. The parts we hide, repress, excuse, or try to outrun with hustle and charm. I told myself I wasn’t going to mention it.

And then I did.

And it felt good. Like finally unclenching your jaw after pretending you’re fine all day.

I didn’t go into full confession mode, but I said enough. Enough to be honest. Enough to make my point. Enough to remind myself—and maybe you—how close we all live to the edge.

I made a dangerous, out-of-character decision. Nothing happened. No damage done. But the shame hit hard. I spent two full days dragging myself across emotional concrete—on purpose. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted the lesson to land.

Because the real gut-punch wasn’t what I did.

It was how easily the old me stepped up and said, “Don’t worry, I got this.”

He didn’t. And he never did. That’s why he’s not in charge anymore.

I used to think “the dark side” was reserved for the big sins—addiction, betrayal, cruelty, violence. But sometimes, it’s subtler. More polite. More insidious.

Sometimes the dark side is:

• Letting people take advantage of you because you don’t want to seem “difficult.”

• Staying in the wrong relationship because you feel obligated to keep the peace.

• Laughing off pain because your father taught you boys don’t cry.

• Ignoring your own needs because it’s easier to be the helper than the helped.

In my case, it was a moment of false confidence. I stepped outside my own values, and I knew it. No one caught me. No one had to. I caught myself. That’s enough.

Joe told a story in that same episode that wrecked me in the best way. His son had just finished performing in a school musical—four months of work, countless hours of rehearsals, the whole thing. When the final curtain fell, his son broke down. Tears, hugs, that full-body emotional come-apart that most boys are taught to stuff down and bury.

Joe watched it unfold. Watched other kids squirm. Watched grown adults shift in their seats. One even said, “You need to put that kid in a room with my mom for 30 minutes. She’ll tell him to buck up and wipe those tears away.”

Joe didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t shut his kid down for the comfort of the room. He just stood there and let his son feel what he needed to feel.

That’s how you break the cycle. That’s how the work becomes real.

Because here's the thing: this isn't about wallowing in guilt or shame. It's about owning your shit before it owns you.

We’re all just one or two bad decisions away from wrecking something that matters. The goal isn’t to become perfect—it’s to become aware.

And once you see the shadow, you don’t unsee it. You either confront it or keep pretending it’s not there, while it quietly steers your life from the backseat.

If you’ve been in that spot recently—saying one thing, doing another—this is your cue to pause. To check in. To ask, without flinching:

What part of myself have I been avoiding because I’m afraid it’ll change how I see myself?

You don’t need to make it public. You don’t need to confess. But you do need to face it. That’s how we grow. That’s how we stay honest. That’s how we start trusting ourselves again.

Thanks for being here.

If this hit something in you, pass it on to someone else doing the work. Or just sit with it a while. That’s what I did. And I’m better for it.

—Kevin

And you can double the need for such a filter when you’re in the midst of a major life transition.

If you’ve been following this show, you know that when Joe and I began recording these episodes, I was very fresh into the biggest journey of my life.

Selfishly, these conversations with Joe, and subsequently, the ones I’m now having with many of you, have been a great source of relief and validation for me.

I’ve come to realize, however, that my benefits in doing the show have come at great cost to others.

People I would never want to hurt, and, in fact, would do anything to protect.

It’s been incredible to hear from so many men and women how (and why) these conversations are so needed.

It has inspired both Joe and I to keep at it.

Yet, when I shared with Joe how much my public yammering on the topic of my current journey is hurting others, he didn’t hesitate to say…

“Let’s take a pause, man.”

He was right.

That’s what a true friend does; stays focused on the big picture. And lobbies for the right thing, no matter what the cost.

There’s a great saying about wisdom: You don’t teach from wounds, only scars.

These wounds are fresh. Much of the bleeding has stopped, but the scars have yet to form.

So, the weekly episodes will end at Ep. 10, for now.

I’m not considering this a final episode, just the final episode of Season 1.

We’ve barely broken the ice on the depth of this conversation.

We have big goals for the show, and a whole lot more to say, and learn, about the needs of men in the middle passage of life.

So, if you haven’t already, please subscribe to Man in the Middle Show with Kevin & Joe.

That way you’ll get automatic updates when Season 2 launches.

I’m deeply grateful for everyone who has reached out, shared the show, and given us your enthusiastic support.

Don’t go anywhere, we’ll be right back.

Much love,

Kevin

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