Tom welcomes back longtime YOB blogger, podcaster, and resident "sexpert" Matt for a deep dive into death, grief, and how these difficult seasons either shape us or harden us. They also give some love to fellow YOB brother Dean, the bizarre adult playground-museum that is Meow Wolf, and Tom's (almost 40-year-old) virginity.
How does our sexuality impact the way we give and receive love from others, particularly other men? Why do quality time and physical touch rank high in our community? And where is the line between expressing the love we need and manipulating others with our love language of choice? Join Tom, Ryan, and Aaron as we examine the five languages like never before through the lens of our sexuality: acts of service, gifts, words of affirmation, quality time, and physical touch.
I actually find myself decreasingly needing — or even desiring — touch with other men. It's not completely gone, mind you. But the need/desire is considerably less. This is a fairly new development. I'm still unpacking the reasons, but I have some theories based on how my male friendships have transpired the last decade — many of them imploding.
I'm feeling an ache from an empty space in my life. The ache seems to be crying out for something I haven't felt much desire in — well, forever? I'm feeling a longing for affectionate, brotherly touch from another guy: a hug, an arm around the shoulder, a tight embrace, an encouraging pat on the back, a caring hand on my neck. And I have no idea why.
The morning after, I processed this dream over and over. This "dad of my dreams" was unlike my dad of reality. He was affectionate and involved. He helped me — didn't just tell me to fix whatever was wrong. And he stayed with me.
I wasn't sure what to say. I couldn't get a feel for how my friend felt. Was he upset, angry, weirded out, touched, happy, confused? Henry gave no clue to his thoughts. Only one emotion registered in my own gut: fear. Months prior . . . The first few weeks after Henry left our church were actually harder than I expected. Entering the office each day, I caught myself instinctually looking at his desk to say hello. I found myself wanting to turn around to chat with him about the latest blog I'd just read. I began to feel an ache around the time each day when we used to go away from our desks to read the Bible together and check in with each other. I wanted to fill Henry's absence -- but my options were nonexistent. For one, I was now the only guy in my office suite....
After the funeral, I felt almost paralyzed. I just couldn't force myself to lead at the house. James needed me to lead and be a help to him, so he confronted me on being too passive. I admitted he was right, but I felt unable to get beyond my emotions and lead others. Things degenerated until James and I barely talked.
My second greatest "love language" is quality time. I communicate and receive love simply by being physically present with someone. We can be silent for hours -- but if we are "intentionally" together, then I perceive it as a sign of care and love. I wasn't here for him; I was here for me.