Have you ever won an argument but lost the connection?

Most of us have. When we’re hurt or frustrated, we get so invested in being right that we forget about being close.

Picture this: you’re telling your partner about something that matters to you, and halfway through, their eyes drift down to their phone. A little voice says, That phone matters more than I do. Maybe you go quiet. Maybe you get sarcastic. Or maybe you reach for two of the most dangerous words in any relationship: “You always…” (“You always look at your phone!”) or their cousin, “You never…” (“You never listen to me!”).

And the fight is on.

After more than forty years of working with couples, I’ve found that most couples don’t have a conflict problem. They have a conflict-resolution problem. No one ever gave them a playbook, so they fall back on familiar patterns: blaming, defending, attacking, and withdrawing.

“The Clearing” is that playbook

When conflict goes unresolved, resentment builds and emotional clutter piles up. Before long, two people who love each other can barely see each other through the mess. The Clearing creates a space where you can both put down your verbal weapons, listen, and reconnect.

Step 1: Recognize the problem

Before you react, notice. Name the specific behavior that’s bothering you, and pay attention to what’s happening inside you: your thoughts, your feelings, your urge to react.

Don’t stuff your feelings or pretend something doesn’t matter when it does. But don’t launch an attack either. Recognize before you react.

Step 2: Request a time to talk

Many conflicts go wrong before they start. One person is upset and insists on talking right now, while the other is exhausted, distracted, or caught off guard. Soon you’re arguing about the argument.

Instead, ask: “Something’s been bothering me, and I’d like to talk about it. When would be a good time?”

That’s an invitation, not an ambush. Go in thinking of this as a “we” problem, not a “you” problem. The goal isn’t to defeat your partner; it’s to solve it together.

Step 3: Become the Pitcher and the Catcher

Take turns in two roles.

The Pitcher has five minutes to describe the problem using “I” statements: “When I’m talking and you look at your phone, I feel hurt and unimportant. I start to think you’re not interested in what I have to say.”

Compare that with: “You’re a selfish, inconsiderate narcissist who loves your phone more than me!” Which one is more likely to be heard?

The Catcher has one job: catch the ball. Don’t hit it back, don’t throw it into the stands, don’t argue with the umpire. That means no interrupting, defending, debating, fixing, or attacking. (For some of us, five minutes without defending ourselves can feel like five years.)

When the Pitcher finishes, the Catcher reflects back what they heard: “Let me see if I understand. When I look at my phone while you’re talking, you feel unimportant and disconnected from me.”

The Pitcher confirms or clarifies. Then you switch roles, five minutes each, with another round if needed.

The goal isn’t agreement. It’s understanding. Understanding doesn’t require agreement.

Step 4: Ask the magic question

Once you both feel heard, move from the complaint to the solution with one simple question: “What do you need?”

Underneath most complaints is an unmet need. The partner upset about the phone might say, “I need your attention,” or “I need to feel important to you.”

Then follow up: “What can I do to help you meet that need?”

Now you’re not arguing about the phone. You’re talking about connection. A request might become: “Could we have some time together each evening with our phones put away?” And the answer might be: “Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you checked whether I’m free before starting a serious conversation.”

Each of you names what you’re willing to do differently. Competition becomes cooperation.

Step 5: End with appreciation

This is the step most couples skip. After working through something hard, they just walk away.

Instead, take a moment to appreciate each other:

• “Thank you for listening.”
• “I appreciate your willingness to talk.”
• “I’m glad we’re on the same team.”

Appreciation shifts the emotional atmosphere from conflict back to connection. And sometimes, a hug says more than another five minutes of talking.

Will this end all conflict?

Of course not! If I ever meet a couple who never disagrees, I’ll want to know which one has stopped talking.

Conflict is inevitable in any close relationship. Fighting destructively is not. Healthy conflict resolution is like a muscle: the more you practice, the stronger it gets. Over time, you stop seeing conflict as a threat to your relationship and start seeing it as an opportunity to deepen understanding, strengthen trust, and build intimacy.

So the next time you feel “You always…” rising, pause. You can win the argument, or you can keep the connection.

Clear the space between you, and let love find its way back in.

What Happens When Men Take Off Their Armor

Every man knows the rules of the men’s room.

• Rule one: We don’t talk.
• Rule two: We avoid eye contact.
• Rule three: At the urinal, we never look sideways.

And absolutely no networking.

But there’s another kind of men’s room, where men look each other in the eye, face each other directly, and talk to one another. I’ve been going to that men’s room for more than forty years.

A Room Full of Strangers

It started In 1984 in Sydney, Australia. I was 35 and a stay-at-home dad, which in Australia back then was practically unheard of. I felt isolated, so I went to a community center to join a men’s support group.

I looked around at 65 strangers, all men, and thought, What the hell am I doing here? No beer. No scoreboard. Just chairs in a circle. Nothing scares a man like chairs in a circle.

But I stayed. We broke into small groups, and I discovered something. I had grown up without the love and support of a father, and many of those men had grown up the same way. Week after week, we gave each other what we had missed growing up: time, attention, and acceptance.

Then came the night I finally talked about my dad. My voice shook. I stared at the floor. When I looked up, every man in that circle was looking right at me.

One of them said, “We’re here for you, mate. We’ve got your back. We believe in you.”

Those Aussies spoke the words I had longed to hear from my dad. That experience changed how I understood friendship, trust, and what it meant to be a man.

Since then, I’ve been in men’s groups in Sydney, Chicago, and Orange County. I’ve led many of them, and today I attend two: one online and one in my living room. These men have carried me through crises, cheered my victories, and challenged my thinking.

The Other Men’s Room

So let me take you inside that room.

The first thing you’d notice is four walls. Those walls provide structure, and men like structure. Say, “Let’s share our feelings,” and a man panics. Give him an agenda, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

So we check in. We have a theme. We take turns sharing. We listen. We ask for help. We hold each other accountable. But the most important thing that happens inside those walls is something you rarely see men do: we take off our armor.

Taking Off the Armor

It isn’t easy. Some of us have worn it so long it’s rusted on. A few guys need a crowbar. Others need the Jaws of Life.

We built that armor when we were young, following traditional rules of manhood: Be strong. Don’t show weakness. Solve your own problems. And never admit you’re wrong or afraid.

That armor may protect us from rejection, criticism, and shame. But the same armor that protects us from getting hurt also prevents us from getting close. Ever tried hugging a man wearing a suit of armor? Ouch.

In the men’s room, we slowly peel off the armor. When that happens, I’ve often heard a man say, “I thought I was the only one who felt that way.” Suddenly, we’re not alone.

What the Room Has Taught Me

Vulnerability isn’t weakness. It takes more courage to say, “I’m struggling” than to say, “I’m fine.” The strongest man in the room isn’t the one wearing the toughest armor. He’s the one with the courage to take it off, speak honestly about his struggles, and stand beside other men facing theirs.

Listening beats fixing. When a man shares his pain, he doesn’t need a toolbox. Sometimes, he simply needs someone to listen. That’s when the room goes quiet. We stop trying to fix one another and start understanding one another.

Connection matters. That means recognizing my own emotions rather than hiding them, accepting my imperfections, and connecting to others with an open heart. I don’t have to pretend to be stronger, smarter, or more successful than I am. I can just be myself.

Laughter heals. Men can be pretty ridiculous. We refuse to ask for directions, insist we don’t need help, and pretend we know what we’re doing even when we haven’t got a clue. But when we laugh at our mistakes and shortcomings, we realize no one is perfect. Laughter brings us together.

My Challenge to You

If you’re a man reading this, find a men’s group. Or gather a few trusted friends and start one of your own.

And if you’re a woman who loves a man, encourage him to find other men with whom he can share his struggles and victories.

True strength isn’t about facing life’s challenges alone. It’s about having the courage to ask for support and the compassion to offer it.

In 1984, I walked into a room of 65 strangers, wondering if I could trust other men. I entered that men’s room wearing armor. More than forty years later, I have a band of brothers.

Why Strength and Vulnerability Make Us More Fully Human

When you hear the word masculine, what qualities come to mind? Strong? Tough? Competitive? Independent?

And when you hear the word feminine? Emotional? Sensitive? Nurturing? Caring?

Those would have been my answers when I was a boy growing up in a tough neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago.

My father left our family when I was young, so I looked to the men in my neighborhood as models of manhood. They were warriors, protectors, providers, and fixers. Men were supposed to be tough, invincible, competitive, and self-reliant. We weren’t supposed to be soft, weak, sensitive, or emotional.

The movie characters Rocky and Rambo captured that image of masculinity.

As a boy, I didn’t show many feelings. Anger was acceptable—like fighting with my older brother, our version of conflict resolution. But vulnerability? Tears? Sensitivity? Those belonged on the feminine side.

Over the past 50 years, my ideas about masculinity and femininity have changed. Several experiences helped reshape them.

My First Teacher: My Mother Taught Me About Strength

After my father left the family, my mother raised four children on her own. She was the breadwinner, working at Campbell Soup factory. She tackled problems I assumed belonged to men: plumbing, electrical work, carpentry.

Apparently, nobody had told my mom what women weren’t supposed to do.

She taught me an important lesson long before I fully understood it: Strength doesn’t just belong to men. And nurturing doesn’t just belong to women.

Later, as a family therapist, I saw how families benefited when parents weren’t confined to rigid roles—mothers as nurturers, fathers as disciplinarians. Children benefited when mothers could also set boundaries and fathers could also be emotionally available.

My Second Teacher: Fatherhood Taught Me About Connection

Before having children, much of my self-esteem as a man came from achievement. Work hard. Accomplish. Succeed.

Achievement brought money, recognition, and status. Those became measures of success—and, to some extent, measures of my manhood.

When my daughter Melissa and my son Nate were born, I discovered that parenting wasn’t about performance or achievement. It was about relationship.

My children needed qualities I had once considered feminine: nurturing, tenderness, and sensitivity. Being tough and competitive didn’t help much when I was holding a crying baby. But holding that baby made me realize I needed another set of skills.

Years later, I found the perfect metaphor for what I was learning while watching one of my favorite athletes.

My Third Teacher: Michael Jordan Taught Me to Use Both Hands

I loved watching Michael Jordan play basketball for the Chicago Bulls. He would drive toward the basket intending to make a right-handed layup. But if a defender blocked his right side, Michael would switch hands in midair and score with his left.

That became a metaphor for my own development as a man.

Most men of my generation had been well trained in what I call the right-handed way of manhood: Be strong. Protect. Compete. Fix problems. Be self-reliant—all valuable qualities.

I don’t believe men need to abandon them. But many of us had not developed the left-handed way: Expressing emotions. Listening. Showing empathy. Being vulnerable. Opening our hearts.

The problem wasn’t that the right-handed way of being a man was bad. The problem was that we were trying to play the game of life with one hand tied behind our back.

Attending men’s groups became an important part of my own development. They gave me a safe place to practice using both hands—to embrace openness and vulnerability while discovering that those qualities didn’t diminish my strength as a man. They made me stronger.

That brings me back to Rocky and Rambo.

Sylvester Stallone, who portrayed those iconic characters, spoke candidly in his memoir, The Steps, published this September 2026. He talked about growing up with a violent father and absent mother.

Rocky and Rambo became cultural symbols of toughness. That toughness helped Stallone survive and succeed, but he has also described the personal cost, including anxiety, struggles with body image, and regret. He said that he had built a castle out of thousands of stones of regret. As he told it, it took him until he was 70 to experience real love.

His reflections resonated with me because we need to realize that one hand isn’t enough.

This Isn’t Just About Men

Women have also been confined by traditional gender roles. Just as men can embrace tenderness, vulnerability, connection, and love, women can embrace strength, assertiveness, independence, and power.

We don’t have to divide these qualities into two boxes labeled masculine and feminine. Strength doesn’t have a gender. Neither does tenderness. Courage, empathy, independence, vulnerability, assertiveness, connection, and compassion are available to all of us.

They are human qualities. And the more of them we can access, the more choices we have in responding to life.

• Sometimes life requires us to be strong. Sometimes gentle.
• Sometimes we need to stand our ground. Sometimes we need to listen.
• Sometimes we need to fix the problem. And sometimes we need to ask for help.

We all need both hands. Like Michael Jordan, we play a much better game when we use both hands.

On Mother’s Day in 2009, I flew to Cleveland to spend time with my mother. She was 96 years old and suffered from dementia. She lived in a nursing home near my sister.

When I walked into her room, I found her sitting on a chair. She wore a bright red sweater displaying a large Campbell Soup emblem. She had worked there for thirty years.

She didn’t recognize me, but she was happy to have a visitor.

I handed her a box of chocolates wrapped with a bright red ribbon. She loved chocolates. When she struggled with the ribbon, I told her, “Just pull the ribbon and open the box.”

She looked at me and asked, “Are you sure?”

Of all the things to remember, she held on to one of her favorite phrases.

I flashed back to when I was eight years old.

My mom would often ask, “Lenny, did you finish your homework?”

When I told her, “Yes,” she responded, “Are you sure?” Then she’d ask, “Did you finish your chores?”

It didn’t matter what I said because my mom double-checked everything with, “Are you sure?”

That was her way. Mind you, not the best way to build self-confidence in a little boy.

I grew up haunted by that question. Whenever I made a decision or believed what I had done was good enough, a voice inside me would ask, “Are you sure?”

I tried to overcome my self-doubt by working harder and driving myself to achieve. That helped me accomplish many things—writing books, building a therapy practice, and pursuing goals I cared about.

But no matter what I accomplished, the question remained. Are you sure?

During that visit with my mother, I was sure of one thing. She didn’t remember me. Yet, I still had to ask, “Do you know who I am?”

She nodded and smiled.

“What’s my name?”

With a twinkle in her eye, my mother said one word: “Accept.”

“Accept? Like, accept myself?”

She nodded and smiled.

I looked at her and said, “Are you sure?”

She smiled again.

Though my mother had dementia, in that moment, her soul spoke to me: “Accept.”

Perhaps that was the answer I had been searching for all those years. I didn’t need to accomplish more to prove I was good enough. I didn’t need to have all the answers or make all the right decisions. I needed to accept myself—the successes and failures, the strengths and shortcomings, the person I had been and the person I was still becoming.

Acceptance doesn’t mean we stop growing. It means we stop condemning ourselves while we grow.

All of us make mistakes. We fail. We fall short. But when we remain trapped in feelings of failure, inadequacy, or unworthiness, we stay imprisoned by the past.

Acceptance allows us to learn from our mistakes without allowing them to define us. And something else happens when we begin to accept ourselves. We become better able to open our hearts and accept other people—with all their differences and imperfections.

Before my mother passed away, I often told her, “Mom, I am sure of one thing. I love you.”

She would reach for my hand, squeeze it, nod, and smile.

Today, I pass her message on to you.

ACCEPT YOURSELF.

Can you accept yourself just the way you are?

Will you accept yourself?

ARE YOU SURE?

This summer, my son and I spent an amazing father-son week in Glacier National Park, Montana. It was heartening to share the breathtaking scenery—and the adventure—with my son.

Not only did the journey reinforce our bond, but it also taught me something about three different kinds of intelligence:

• Artificial Intelligence
• Organic Intelligence
• Divine Intelligence

Each contributed to the trip in their own wonderful way.

Like most travelers today, we relied on Artificial Intelligence to gather information, solve problems, and help us make decisions about flights, accommodation, weather reports, restaurants, hiking trails, even our e-bike rentals. AI made planning easier.

However, it did have limitations. It didn’t pedal my bike.

I had to do that myself when my son, Nate, and I rode pedal assist e-bikes on the famous Going-to-the-Sun Road—a spectacular climb past glacial lakes, waterfalls, and alpine valleys. Our goal was Logan Pass—32 miles round trip, climbing some 4,000 feet to nearly 7,000 feet in elevation.

As I rode, I had to conserve both the battery and my stamina. The higher we climbed, the harder I breathed. Before long, my legs started sending messages I didn’t want to hear.

Slow down. Take a break. You don’t have to rush to the top. Enjoy the journey!

At first, I ignored those messages. Then something wiser took over. Organic Intelligence. My body knew exactly what I needed—a drink of water, a peanut butter sandwich, a few minutes of rest. When I paused long enough to listen, I became aware of what my body and senses were telling me.

And something remarkable happened. Instead of fighting my organic intelligence and pushing myself relentlessly to the top, I began working with it. My body was already producing what I needed—endorphins to ease discomfort, dopamine to support motivation, and serotonin to help regulate my mood.

The question wasn’t whether I had Organic Intelligence. The question was: “Am I listening to my body?”

Organic Intelligence includes the physical and emotional messages that tell us how we’re doing and what we need. Our minds help us solve problems. Our emotions provide information. Our instincts quietly guide us.

But then something happened that neither Artificial Intelligence nor Organic Intelligence could fully explain.

When Nate and I reached Logan Pass, we stopped and gazed at towering mountains, some still covered with snow. Time seemed to stand still. For a few moments, nothing needed to be accomplished.

No emails. No schedules. No notifications. Simply being there was enough.

Can you recall moments like that? Watching a sunset. Holding a child. Walking through a forest or along a sandy beach. Looking up at a full moon. You probably felt connected to something larger than yourself.

I call that Divine Intelligence.

Divine intelligence reminds us that life is more than staying busy, accomplishing goals, and checking things off a to-do list. It invites us to become still, experience wonder, and remember why the journey matters in the first place.

Standing beside my son at Logan Pass, I realized something. Years from now, I may not remember the AI that helped plan the trip or book the e-bikes. I may not even remember the Organic intelligence that told me to eat my peanut butter sandwich, stop for a rest, and take in the fresh mountain air.

But I know I will remember the conversations we shared along the road. I will remember the quiet among those majestic mountains and the feeling that, for a little while, I was exactly where I was meant to be. Totally at peace with where I was.

The next time you’re facing an important decision, consider drawing upon all three kinds of intelligence:

• Use Artificial Intelligence to gather information and expand your knowledge. It may make you smarter.
• Listen to your Organic Intelligence—your body, emotions, mind, and instincts. It may help you live healthier and more wisely.
• Become still and open yourself to Divine Intelligence. It may remind you what it truly means to be alive—that every day holds the possibility of wonder, meaning, and connection, and that none of us travels this journey entirely alone.

Aging is a curriculum we all must take. Yet we often resist the lessons, trying to stay young even though we’re getting older every day. Actress Bette Davis once said, “Old age is not for sissies.” That may be true, but the curriculum of aging offers incredible life lessons. Here are my top ten.

1. EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED.

We can’t predict when we’ll face a health challenge, have difficulty remembering a name, or encounter another reminder that we’re getting older. Aging is inevitable, just like the changing seasons. Each day brings surprises. Some bring joy, like a phone call or text from a friend or grandchild—or even a good night’s sleep. Others bring pain, like an aching joint or difficult medical news.

2. ACCEPT WHAT IS.

As we get older, we may be unable to continue activities that once brought us joy, like surfing or tennis. However, we can appreciate what we can still do, like walking with friends, and we can develop new hobbies and activities, such as pickleball or bridge. When we accept our frailties, we can become more accepting of the frailties of others. Acceptance also means welcoming the love and support from family and friends.

3. GRIEVE THE LOSSES.

With aging comes loss—of dreams that won’t be realized, of physical abilities, and of friends and loved ones who die. Loss tenderizes us to life and deepens our connection to our emotions. As we age, we are meant to grieve because just as we say hello to life’s experiences, we must also learn to say goodbye.

4. WELCOME WISDOM.

We can recognize the gifts that come from past mistakes and failures. That wisdom helps us make better choices today. We can recognize how people and circumstances offer us opportunities to grow and evolve. Wisdom reminds us that it’s okay to ask for and receive help.

5. SHARE THE JOURNEY.

Aging is not a time for isolation. Life lessons are meant to be shared with family, friends, and others in our community. Participating in groups where people openly talk about the aging process gives us opportunities to both receive and offer compassion, support, and love. We’re not meant to travel this road alone.

6. HAVE A “WHAT THE HELL ATTITUDE.”

Getting old means that we have earned the right to say, “What the hell, I’m standing up for myself.” That attitude can make us less reluctant to speak up, especially when dealing with someone in authority, like a doctor. Age can give us the courage to ask questions, challenge assumptions, and advocate for what we need. If we don’t stand up for ourselves now, then when will we?

7. MAKE TIME FOR FUN AND PLEASURE.

If not now, then when? We can do something fun or pleasurable every day. It may be as simple as taking a walk, enjoying a scrumptious meal, laughing with friends, or creating an intimate moment with someone we love. We can still enjoy sensual and sexual pleasure—with less pressure to rush to the finish line!

8. BE GRATEFUL.

Gratitude is worth cultivating because there will be days when we won’t feel particularly grateful, especially when we’re struggling with our health. Yet we can still be grateful that we can see a sunset, hear music, taste wonderful food, smell the roses, and feel the touch of someone we love. Being grateful for each moment makes each moment precious.

9. CREATE A LEGACY.

With age comes the realization that our time is limited. That awareness can create a sense of urgency about how we want to spend the rest of our lives. We can create a bucket list of experiences we still want to have, relationships we want to deepen, and contributions we want to make. We can ask ourselves, “How do I want to be remembered?” Then we can use the time we have left to create a life—and a legacy—worth remembering.

10. CONNECT WITH OUR CREATOR.

Since our time on Earth will someday end, it becomes increasingly important to develop and deepen a spiritual relationship. A connection with our Creator can provide inner peace as we navigate the final chapters of our lives.

Since today is the youngest you’ll ever be, don’t wait until you’re older to embrace the lessons of aging. A life well lived isn’t measured by how long we remain young, but by the choices we make to grow wiser, love deeply, and live fully.