(self)help

Am I some sort of misogynist alpha-male, out of touch with my emotions and harbouring deep-seated conflict towards my father? Am I struggling to survive as a man in this topsy-turvy world?

I never thought so.

BUT – these are questions I asked myself one day in 1997.

I moved from Adelaide to Canberra to study science communication. The 14 others who did the same and I were plonked into Fenner Hall, an ANU student residence. Thinking I was oh-so-above that, I promptly found a sharehouse in Todd St., O’Connor, with Claire, Michelle and…shit, can’t remember – Heather? Sorry. Bugger. Anyway, we all got along OK but it never really felt like home so after a couple of months I moved back to Fenner, where I ended up having much fun including two failed efforts at sleeping with girls for the first time. Maybe the “fail” part of that wasn’t so fun at the time but, really, in hindsight it was all good.

I wanted to end things on a good note with the Todd St. girls, so I bought what I thought was a pleasant and appropriate gift. The room I’d been in had something of a jinx on it. They couldn’t get anyone to stay for more than a few months and many of the itinerants were quite strange: the guy who told them he was gay so they could wander around in their underwear, and who then fell in love with Michelle. The guy who was barely ever there except when having very loud sex with his girlfriend. And me.

Anyway – I bought them He died with a falafel in his hand. A book about sharehousing and the odd characters one meets when doing it.

They seemed appreciative and I think they probably thought, Shit, we better get something for him! (Don’t mean that nastily – I am completely crap with gifts and, if that’s the truth, can only empathise. So the next day they reciprocated with … Manhood by Steve Biddulph. Now I am sure that Steve is a good guy and that his books contain some sound advice and have quite probably helped numerous confused men, and I certainly don’t mean to malign them for having so benefited. I just never thought I was one of them. Sure I have my own confusion and frustrations – career, work, decision-making etc etc. But I don’t think any of them are due to internal conflict about my role as a man.

Part of the description of Manhood reads as follows:

Beginning with the confronting words ‘Most men don't have a life’ it begins to unfold the ‘seven steps to manhood’ which tens of thousands of men have now taken and therapists worldwide have reported to have brought about significant change.

Fixing it with your father. Being a real equal to women. Finding a job with heart. Experiencing joyful sex. Being a real dad to your kids. Friendship. Trusting your wildness.

I think “it’s” fixed with my father. I think I am a real equal to women. I pride myself on my rich and diverse friendships. I don’t have kids. Sure, I could probably take a few pointers on the job thing. But I like to think I experience joyful sex.

I confess I’ve never been into self-help books. Never even read one. But it came as a shock to think that I came across to people – three of them, at least – as somebody clearly in need of (self)help.