Justin Baldoni - Man Enough: Undefining My Masculinity

When I started being more open publicly about my journey with masculinity, I often used the phrase redefining masculinity. I wanted to start a dialogue and create a new conversation around how we can expand the definition of masculinity to include more of us and more parts of us. At the core of that was a deep need to know that I was included, that I wasnt alone, that I had permission to be who I wasdriven, sensitive, resilient, ambitious, impulsive, stubborn, emotional, fallibleand yet still belong.

All the messages surrounding what it means to be a man in this world created a boxa definition of masculinitythat to fit into forced me to wage war against myself. Not only did I have to numb my feelings, I also had to sever myself from them. Not only did I have to ignore my insecurities and shame, I also had to insult them. Not only did I have to put on a mask, but also I had to put on a full suit of armor to protect myself from the incoming attacks. But eventually, after learning how to navigate the battlefield and dodge the attacks, I realized that a suit of armor does nothing to protect you from the attacks being launched from the inside, that redefining masculinity only expands the room between myself and the armorit doesnt take the armor off.

I want to take the armor off.

I dont want to redefine masculinity.

I want to undefine masculinity.

I wish I could say this journey has been fun. It hasnt. But then again, Ive never written a book before, and from everything Ive heard, nobody really finds it fun. Its actually quite the opposite, in a weird yet good way. Like when youve had three bites too much of that rich chocolate cake and now feel sick to your stomach but also emotionally fulfilled because its chocolate cake. In some ways Ive found the process therapeutic, and in others just strange, messy, and uncomfortable. I uncovered traumas I didnt know I had, let alone had big feelings about. I wrestled with my reasons for writing this book in the first place and honestly with whether I should even be writing it at all.

As the days, months, and years went by, I found myself constantly going back, rewriting and updating my views and opinions as they changed in real time. I think thats why this has been such a tricky and difficult experience for mehow can I write a book about my experience and thoughts around masculinity when I feel like my experience and thoughts are changing and evolving every single day?

In the entertainment industry, we often joke that a movie is never done, it just gets released. But what about a book? How the hell do other authors do this? Words are forever. I cant take them back if my opinions or views change. If my thinking evolves, if I learn or read something that changes my perspective or challenges my understanding, I cant just go back and update this booka book that at this point has become a living, breathing, almost human thing in my life akin to a child. So I have learned to come to terms with the understanding that while this particular book may be done, my learning and growth is not. And so long as I am breathing, it never will be.

This is not a memoir, but it is a personal exploration that attempts to frame my perspective using oftentimes uncomfortable (at least for me) personal stories on what its meant to be a man and also what it has the potential to mean if we approached manhood a little differently. Because its so personal, it forces me to brush up against the codependent part of me that wants everyone to like me, accept me, and think what I have to say is profound and interesting and all the other words of affirmation that will come in one ear and go out the other because no matter how much Im applauded, Ill struggle to really believe it. But Ill have no problem believing the other onesthe negative ones, the mean ones, the ones that reinforce that I was right, that maybe I shouldnt have written this book. The ones that force me to ask myself the question, What do I really have to offer?

Ive learned through therapy that I question my worth because underneath the question is a statement, a belief that for some reason has been held, formed, brainwashed, projected onto me and socially reinforced in me every day of my life for as long as I can remember. That belief is that somewhere, deep down, who I am, as a man, a friend, a son, a father, a brother, a husband, an entrepreneur, an athlete, an X, is just simply... not enough.

ENOUGH.

ENOUGH.

ENOUGH.

Enough of what? How much is enough? How do we know if its enough? Who even decides what enough is? By whose standards am I even comparing myself to?

Sometimes I wish we couldjust for one daybe real with each other. Just one day. To say what we mean and mean what we say. I wish we could expose our innermost guarded and protected secret dreams and fears. A day of vulnerability, of openness, of true freedom where we show up just as we arebeautiful, complicated, messed up, and perfectly imperfectand watch as our biggest weaknesses become our greatest strengths. A day where not just the people but all the leaders and nations on earth do the same. Where for once we realize that not only do we all have no idea what the hell were doing here, but that more than anything, if we are ever going to figure it out, we need to lean on each other to do so. Now odds are this dream will never become a reality, but it doesnt mean you and I cant model it, that we cant practice it and, like any other socialized behavior, start the socialization by passing it down to future generations, even if we arent perfect at it.

Perfect. I dont think Ive ever liked that word. But imperfect, now thats a word I like. Theres something about it that has always drawn me in, something Ive always connected to. Ironically, its also become a word I use a lot as a goal in much of my work. Whether its the way I shoot my films or the messiness of how I try to use social media, theres just something about imperfection that recently has become a goal of mine. Maybe its because for so long I felt like I was not enough and creating a goal of imperfection became a way for me to cope with, and accept, my own imperfections. Or maybe it was the realization that true perfection is unattainable, and as a believer in God, a higher power, the universe, I believe that perfection ironically exists in the imperfections. Then one night in a conversation with my wife, Emily, I realized what I had missed had, ironically, always been there from the start, and all I had to do was look at the damn word. IM PERFECT. Being imperfect was the very thing that in fact made me perfect. Even the word itself was telling me. So if our imperfections lead so many of us into this feeling of lack, of not being good enough or enough as it relates to our work, our friendships, and romantic relationships, then maybe its time we rethink what being enough even means.

We need to. We have to because:

Enough is enough.

So why now? Why this book? Well, because I need this book. Badly. I needed this book as the ten-year-old boy who was shown porn for the first time long before his body or mind was ready for it, likely paving new neuropathways linking images of naked women to happiness and false feelings of self-worth. Images that he would later use to attempt to fill voids in his lifevoids that, when he was not aroused and in the moment of using porn, would be replaced by shame. I needed this book as the eighteen-year-old freshman in college who felt the need to prove his masculinity by hooking up with as many girls as he could, without any regard for their feelings or attachments in the process. And as the twenty-year-old who didnt know how to say he wasnt emotionally ready to have sex for the first time, and as the twenty-five-year-old man who was heartbroken and so financially broke that even if he could have afforded to eat for that month after he learned that he was cheated on, he wouldnt have. I needed it as the twenty-nine-year-old who had finally found the love of his life, staged one of the most elaborate proposals of all time, and then also found himself having cold feet for no other reason than what society was telling him would happen to him once he got married. I needed it as the thirty-one-year-old who was about to have a daughter and had no idea what to do or how to raise her because he realized that for most of his life, despite believing in equality, he had not treated women with the respect he knows they deserved, both socially and romantically. And I need this book as the thirty-six-year-old man who is typing these words right now, who now also has a son and desperately wants to raise him to be not just a good man but a good human. And I need this book as the son of two loving parents, who despite deep affection and love still finds himself feeling the frustrations and annoyances from his childhood when in their company, even while knowing he will regret wasting that precious time with them one day when they are gone. I need this book for every other year that I have been alive. Even more, I need this book to heal from those formative years where the other boys first taught mescratch that