Crikey — where have all the good men gone?
We don’t live in a world where fundamentally good men are celebrated anymore.
Integrity’s a liability. It’s a race to see who can walk back their own values the fastest. Men who’ve messed up cling to self-importance instead of redemption — refusing to set an example in accountability.
We don’t create space where positive masculinity has room to show up. The locker room won, and manhood did the razzle dazzle — landed soft — and left the door wide open for a more aggressive form of masculinity to creep back in.
The ones who step in when someone’s being outmatched. The ones who don’t care about attention, who don’t ask questions before protecting someone who needs it.
The problem is, that’s no longer enough. Those same men who’ve always worked in quiet support? They might not be able to stay quiet anymore.
Some might have to stand up.
If you stand for no one, you stand for nothing
Most beliefs today come from one of two places: faith or fear. That’s why I try not to judge people too fast. Whatever someone believes is probably tied to something they’re afraid of, or something that helps cancel that fear out.
That stuff is delicate.
That doesn’t mean every belief deserves applause, but it does mean we shouldn’t rush to shred people apart because they hold an idea sacred.
Positive masculinity now means supporting others even if it’s not your jam.
It’s the conservative man in Iowa who’s deeply uncomfortable with the trans issue. The whole thing makes him uneasy. It contradicts what he believes. But he was raised with one thing that still matters: If someone’s outnumbered a thousand to one, you stand next to them.
You walk up to David and plant your sword by his side.
Because whatever power is trying to silence? That’s exactly where everyone should be paying attention.
And life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness does not stop at our personal comfort level.
’90s kids had it different
We grew up with the blueprint. It was subtle. Quiet. Embedded in the people we were drawn to.
A Jungian take on the Four Horsemen:
Steve Irwin — The Protector
Wild-hearted and unbreakably kind. He faced crocodiles without fear, but cried when an animal was hurt. His masculinity was never about domination — it was reverence for life. He didn’t tame nature; he honored it. Strength wasn’t aggressive — it was protective. Every creature deserved respect, from the smallest bug to the largest mammal.
LeVar Burton — The Guide
He never dumbed it down. He invited children to imagine, to question, to read. With a voice that felt like safety and a presence that made you feel seen, he modeled masculinity as intellectual courage. He didn’t just teach kids to read — he showed Black kids they belonged in every room. He didn’t need to be loud — just curious enough to turn the page.
Fred Rogers — The Saint
Soft as clouds, sharp as steel. Mr. Rogers didn’t raise his voice — he raised the standard. He calmed fears and named big emotions. In a world full of shouting, he whispered truth — and kids listened. His masculinity wasn’t loud. It was deliberate, sacred, and revolutionary. He showed us that we can be soft, quiet and still stand on business.
Bill Nye — The Fool-King
He made science weird. He made it fun. He danced in lab coats and asked important questions. He wasn’t trying to be cool — and that made him unshakably cool. His masculinity was permission: to be smart, to be silly, to not posture. He taught boys that curiosity wasn’t weakness — it was power.
These guys didn’t pretend. They weren’t putting on a show.
It was just who they were.
When Mister Rogers shared a foot bath with a Black postman on national television during the Civil Rights era — it was overt — surgical rebellion. He didn’t say racism was dumb.
He showed kids it was irrelevant.
Ask any good person — that’s how a real man shows up.
Why Is being soft masculine?
Being soft isn’t masculine.
But the ability to be soft when it matters — that is.
Fragile masculinity shouts.
Positive masculinity pauses.
We don’t notice the lessons ‘til the teacher’s gone
My dad died on my 23rd birthday.
For a while after, I went from appreciation to condemnation. I blamed him for not making me tougher. I saw softness as a tactical error. I thought winning — even if it costs you yourself — was still winning.
But then I remembered Cub Scouts.
He was my troop leader. We made pinewood derby cars and he always gave extra attention to the kid with developmental issues.
I didn’t get it back then.
The kid made me uncomfortable and all I saw was diverted attention.
But now I see it: he was showing me that if you’ve got strength, you use it to support others.
The warrior’s dilemma is nothing new
In the Gita, Arjuna breaks down on the battlefield. He’s supposed to fight — but the people in front of him are his teachers, his cousins, his kin. He’s paralyzed by moral conflict. So Krishna speaks. Not to harden him, but to remind him what dharma really means.
Dharma isn’t about pride, aggression, or dominance. It’s about standing in your role — protecting what’s right, even when it hurts. Even when it’s messy. Even when your voice shakes and your central nervous system rebels.
The sacred text centers around an elite warrior who doesn’t want to fight and God says:
“You have the right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions.”
That’s the kind of masculinity we’re missing: the kind that shows up scared — and still stands tall.
The positive masculinity blueprint still works
Men haven’t lost quiet authority. They’ve just forgotten that it requires action.
The Four Horsemen gave us a framework.
A reminder that strength isn’t about volume. That protection can be quiet. That leadership isn’t self-importance—it’s presence.
The world isn’t prioritizing good men. It’s warning us: good men will be overrun by those who seek power. That’s not just a red flag — it’s a call to action.
It’s the lighthouse.
We just need to look up.