Have you ever stood in front of the mirror and wondered what got missed with you?
I’m not just talking about looks—though let’s be honest, that’s part of the conversation too. I’m talking about that deeper, quieter question that sneaks up on you when no one’s watching.Why does it seem like everyone else got the memo?The memo on how to be successful. Confident. Strong. Manly. Put together.
And you? Not the version of you that shows up for work or church or social media—but the real you. The you underneath all the effort. You don’t feel like you’re even close.
I had one of those moments yesterday.
Thankfully, it didn’t last long—but it was real.
My wife and I have been blessed in our work, especially in real estate development, and that’s opened doors for us to give our family experiences we never had growing up. This Christmas, we brought our boys—and mi madre—to the Dominican Republic. A break from the snow, the cold, the grind. A gift we don’t take lightly.
Yesterday, I took the boys on a fishing trip.
Now, if you don’t know me yet, you’ll figure this out pretty quickly if you hang around here long enough: I’m not what most people would call “manly.” That’s a strange sentence to type, but it’s true. I didn’t grow up with a dad. I had uncles who modeled incredible things—faithfulness, kindness, showing up—but hunting, camping, and fishing weren’t exactly staples.
Camping still feels like a strange financial decision to me. We spend a lot of money… to pretend we don’t have a house?
The extent of my fishing background was bobbers, worms, and the dock at my Aunt Judy and Uncle Tom’s summer trailer. Uncle Tom always made sure I had a rod in my hand. We just lost him last week after a long, hard battle with cancer and sickness. I love you, Aunt Judy.
So there I was, on a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by reels the size of my head, crew members moving with purpose, lines everywhere, buttons being pushed, things happening fast—and I had absolutely no idea what was going on.
The boys and I sat there waiting for someone to say, “Alright, let’s fish.”
We waited.
And waited.
No one explained anything. No one slowed it down. It felt like we were supposed to already know. And in that quiet space, that old voice crept in.
You should know this.
This is basic stuff.
This is what men do.
I felt my man card slipping out of my back pocket.
But then I looked at my boys.
And something shifted.
Because “man up” for me has never meant pretending to be something I’m not. It’s never been about muscles, or tools, or outdoor skills.
Man up has meant staying when everything in my life fell apart. It meant walking through divorce. Becoming a single foster dad. Then an adoptive dad. Choosing presence over comfort. Love over ego. Commitment over escape.
No one ever asked me about fishing experience when I adopted my boys.
They asked about my heart.
So I stood up, walked over to the first mate—Kiki—and said the most manly sentence I could think of in that moment:
“Hey man, I have no idea what’s going on right now. My boys would love to learn. Is there any chance you could teach them what you’re doing?”
And you know what happened?
No judgment. No eye roll. No sigh.
Just joy.
Kiki lit up. Like I had handed him a gift. He started showing the boys everything—trolling, baiting hooks, checking lines, even letting them help drive the boat with the captain. He brought them into his world, because I had the courage to admit I didn’t know.
The day went from awkward to unforgettable.
We didn’t catch a single fish. But if you ask my boys, we caught monsters. Because fishing stories aren’t about facts—they’re about imagination.
That was my man up moment.
Not pretending. Not performing. Not proving.
Just being me.
And maybe that’s the word you need today too.
Maybe you’ve been exhausted trying to live up to a version of yourself that was never actually you.
Maybe you’ve been shrinking, posturing, overcompensating, or hiding because you were told—explicitly or subtly—that who you are isn’t enough.
So let me challenge you, gently but honestly:
Man up. Woman up. Human up.
And stop.
Stop trying to be someone else.
In a world starving for uniqueness, the most powerful thing you can offer is you.
No one else has your DNA. Your story. Your mix of strengths and scars. Your way of seeing the world.
You aren’t behind. You aren’t missing something. You aren’t defective.
You’re the piece of the puzzle shaped like you.
And we need you in this beautiful picture of ours called humanity.
Not the version you think you’re supposed to be.
The real one.