![]() It’s the only logical explanation for why we react so poorly when direction or help is provided. I’m convinced that men, as a gender, are hardwired with a GPS in the brain. I follow instructions initially as the disembodied voice tells me to turn left, turn right, go straight, but then I suddenly start thinking, How the hell did I end up here? I purposefully ignore the fact that the GPS will probably tell me to take a few more careful turns and I’ll end up where I’m supposed to be. In my limited experience with an actual GPS device, I find myself taking the extra step of doubting the instructions she provides. Second, it seems that the voice is always female. It dictates every turn, stop, and change in direction. First of all, a GPS device in a car tells the driver where to go it doesn’t suggest. This is why the idea of a global positioning system (GPS) shakes all men to the core. Lick a finger, stick it in the air to determine the direction of the wind, and we’re off. ![]() I’m not sure why, but men, in general, think they can get themselves from Point A to Point B by divine intervention. Chief among them, and the cause of much of my current angst, is asking for directions. However, some gender stereotypes are undeniably true, and regarding these, we men can be painted with the broadest of brushes. But to paint us all with a broad brush is selling our gender short. Insinuations that we have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool, consider our, ahem, needs before those of certain other individuals, and believe half the weekends of the year are our own personal opportunity to sit like a couch potato in front of the TV (for the sake of football, of course) are unfair to say the least. There are certain stereotypes men are branded with that are probably a bit unfair. And as clearly as the slightly alarming reflection stares back at me, I realize I’ve become the physical poster child of stereotypes I’ve spent a lifetime trying to avoid. Caught by a strange mix of depression and acceptance, I reflect on how and why this happened. By accident, I see my newly round image in the mirror. I used to play full football games with greater ease and stamina, and I’m already dreading the trek down the 12 stairs to the kitchen, though my stomach is protesting with every second of delay. Even though I live through this each day, I’m still caught off guard by being out of breath. I sit on the corner of the bed, ready for the forced exhale as I try to tie my shoes. I realize that I need new pants the elastic on the waist of my current pair is stretched to its maximum. ![]() The next steps of my routine fall quickly into place: the staggered walk to the bathroom, followed by brushing my teeth just outside the view of the mirror, and then a shower, a shave, and the lengthy process of getting dressed. These days it takes a strategic combination of momentum and gravity to move from the bed to a standing position. My stomach growls loudly, matching the volume of the now-echoing snores that filled the house moments before, and I know it’s time to start the day. I wonder how long she lasted through the tumult before retreating to quieter recesses of the house. Lately, it seems to be the snoring that always wakes me up.Īlmost out of habit, I glance over my shoulder to my wife’s side of the bed, unsurprised to see it empty. ![]() Gaining and Losing 75 lbs on Purpose DREW MANNING
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