Insecurity is a thief. It steals opportunities, gorging itself on fear of failure. It almost stopped me from experiencing some of the most foundational and fun weekends of my life. This is the story of how I found out that “you’re not manly enough” was a lie… and how correctly defining masculinity allowed my life to take off like a rocket.
MAN CAMP is coming. It’s an off-the-grid weekend of primitive camping, earth-shaking worship, kick-you-in-the-chest teaching, and lots of laughter that happens every October in southwest Ohio. It’s a staple of my fall calendar, something that has affected me so profoundly, it’s almost hard to articulate.
But the night before attending my first MAN CAMP, I almost bailed. I started to question if I was actually MAN CAMP material. Rather than risk finding out the answer was “no,” I’d decided to stay home.
Weeks before, the idea of MAN CAMP sounded like exactly what I needed. I was a young dad with three kids under two years old. Working a demanding job and trying to be present for my growing family, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something for myself. So I put my name on the dotted line for MAN CAMP for no other reason than to give myself something to look forward to alongside other dudes. Nothing to worry about, right?
As the weeks passed, and MAN CAMP loomed nearer, my dread only grew. You see, I’m not what you’d call a stereotypical man. I don’t care very much about sports. I think most beers taste like piss. I’m not very handy, don’t hunt, and don’t own any guns. I weigh about 150 pounds sopping wet, and even if I could remember my max bench-press, I probably wouldn’t tell you because your middle-school daughter likely out-lifts me. The other day, I cut my finger trying to slice open an English muffin.
Let’s just say, I’m not winning any masculinity awards. And while staring at a pile of makeshift camping gear, I had an existential crisis: maybe I wasn’t manly enough for MAN CAMP? Was there room for a guy that was more Downton Abbey than Die Hard?
That night, I came face-to-face with more insecurity than I was even aware I carried around. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t manly enough, strong enough, or resourceful enough. The guys I knew going to camp weren’t going to have trouble setting up a tent, starting a fire, or sleeping under the stars; I wasn’t so sure about myself. They had name-brand gear that still smelled like smoke from their last outing; I’d hit the clearance section of Walmart the day before. These guys could shoot the breeze with anyone for hours; when I get nervous, I start to stutter.
Then I started to cook up excuses to stay behind—especially ones that made me look like the hero. What was I doing going camping when my wife had three littles at home to take care of? Surely she’d need me to stay. (She assured me she did not). There was an important family event happening that weekend, I probably needed to change plans to attend. (I did not.) The weather forecast looked like rain, I’d better stay home and make sure the crawl space didn’t flood. (Our crawl space had never flooded.)
With plenty of reassurance from my wife (“Caleb, I feel like you’re making excuses. I want you to go to camp.”), I reluctantly loaded up the car and made the long trek to Neville, Ohio, actively plotting how I could get a flat tire—or maybe come down with polio—en route.
Cursing my good tires and the effectiveness of childhood vaccinations, I pulled into camp, less confident than ever. What I experienced blew me out of the water—and silenced every single one of my fears.
The men in my unit helped me set up my tent without one snide comment or side-eye glance. They included me in conversations. They shared their food. They poured bourbon in my cup. They accepted me—hook, line, and sinker—even though I’d never met the majority of them before.
And that was just the beginning. In the main tent, I heard teaching that touched on exactly where I was in life. The worship ushered me into the presence of God as thousands of men sang out together at the top of their lungs. In the prayer tent, I received blessings that felt personal and profound. Around the campfire, I felt the freedom to be me, because everyone else was just being themselves, too. There was no manly facade. No tough-guy mask to wear. No agenda to fall behind. It was just me, a handful of other guys, and the God who knew us all better than we knew ourselves.
At that first MAN CAMP, I learned an important lesson: manhood isn’t a set of stereotypes, it’s a way of life. One that chases visions and takes minority positions; one that works hard and protects others; one that chooses to belong to a team.
It was exactly that team aspect that changed camp for me. Instead of silently obsessing over my insecurities, my unit at MAN CAMP gave me the opportunity to focus on something larger than myself. We worked together to get the fire going. We worshipped together under the tent. We laughed together around the campfire, and we encouraged each other to keep taking ground in our lives back home.
Most shocking of all, I learned that these men had their own insecurities as well. Turns out we’re all a little less secure than we like to admit.
There are few places in our society where men belong. Social clubs are mostly dead. Softball and bowling leagues are collapsing. Even church has historically been a women’s club (though there’s some indication that those numbers are changing). But the third weekend of October, there are 700 acres in rural Ohio literally set aside for men.
If you’re looking for breakthrough in your life, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you can’t remember the last time you laughed with a group of guys, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you’re looking to encounter God, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you need a break from a life that’s grinding you down, MAN CAMP is for you.
If all the pieces of your life are falling into place, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you need inspiration to make changes in your life, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you’re just barely holding it together, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you’ve never been, or if you’ve been to all 15 previous iterations, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you’re lonely, MAN CAMP is for you.
If you doubt you’re everything a man is supposed to be, MAN CAMP is for you.
Something profound happens on that land when men from all over the nation arrive. The petty things that we let define our lives—bank account numbers, earnings reports, political affiliations—they fall away as we push together for something greater: an encounter with the living God.
I used to think I wasn’t very manly, but MAN CAMP has redefined that word for me. Manliness isn’t about the size of your bicep, the funds in your savings account, or the Instagrammable vacations you take your family on. Instead, it’s about willingly choosing to step into risk—like putting your name on the line for a weekend of camping; like following through on your commitments; like learning to stop comparing your “manliness” to someone else’s.
If you’ve heard about MAN CAMP and wondered if it was really for you, take it from the least manly guy to ever step foot on that land—the answer is a resounding yes.
MAN CAMP was built for you, by guys who’ve felt the same things you do. No minimum manliness quotient required.
Whether your brand of manliness is steak or showtunes, there is a place at MAN CAMP for you. So opt in. Take the risk. Push through the discomfort and find yourself more capable and confident on the other side.
Do that, and like me, I believe you just might find yourself defying gravity. (To my I’ll-never-watch-a-musical brother, that’s a Wicked reference. I know you won’t get it. It’s for me.)
Learn more about MAN CAMP, and get your tickets, at mancamp.us. And just for readers of this article, use the discount code MANLY to get 15% off your ticket price. See you there.
