Campfire Conversations

Jeremy Litchfield

Before microphones and media, we gathered around fire to share real stories. Campfire Conversations returns to that spirit. These aren't interviews. They're heart-centered conversations about love and fear, and how those forces shape the men around us and the world we're building. adventure.heart-strong.org

Episodes

  1. 3H AGO

    When Love Becomes Resistance: A Campfire Conversation with Kharma Amos

    Kharma Amos came out as a lesbian in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1990. She was 18 years old. It wasn’t the most accepting place or time. Her entry into adulthood shaped everything that followed. As she told me around the fire: “My entry into adulthood was one of resistance to hate. Of me and people like me being discriminated against in various ways at that particular time in history. And so, when I first felt a vocational call to ministry, it was in a context of wanting to show up with love in the world as a resistance to that which takes life away or others people who are marginalized.” That call led to a decade serving as a local church pastor in a queer context, years of denominational work, and eventually to the Unitarian Universalist Church in Brunswick, Maine, where she now leads with a theology rooted in one foundation: “Universalism, the history of Universalism is about love. About if there’s anything sacred, it’s about love. And there are none of us outside the grasp of that.” This past fall, I sat with Kharma around a fire in my backyard. We talked about love and fear, queering norms, perfectionism and mistakes, and what it actually means to center love in a world designed around fear. What emerged was a conversation about the radical work of choosing love over fear, not as sentiment but as practice. Queering Everything One of the more powerful parts of our conversation was when Kharma talked about queering as a verb. “The word has evolved and means different things in different contexts, but my verb is my favorite way. And it really is about deconstructing normative framework.” Then she gave me an example that reframed how I think about the word. She told me about her mom, who is probably mostly straight, “but she’s queerer than some white gay men who are rich and married and live in a nice house on the corner. She, because she deconstructs normative frameworks.” This stuck with me. What Kharma is describing isn’t about sexual orientation or gender identity. It’s about the willingness to question systems that aren’t serving people. It’s about asking whether the way things have always been done actually needs to be that way. Kharma talked about how queerness had been powerful in her life “to be able to deconstruct all the inheritance, hang onto what’s good and maybe question the stuff and leave it behind if it’s no longer serving.” Then she pushed the question further. If queering is about deconstructing normative frameworks, what does that mean for how we run organizations? How we make decisions? “What does that mean about how we run a board meeting? Does that mean we don’t, we throw Robert’s rules out the window and think about more liberative models of how we are in relationship, or how we make decisions, or how we discern how we show up for each other.” For men, this kind of queering is radical work. Because masculine norms are some of the most rigid and policed we have. Don’t cry. Don’t be soft. Don’t need help. Be the provider. Be the protector. Never show weakness. What if we queered those norms? What if we asked: are these rules about what makes a man actually serving us? Or are they causing isolation, disconnection, and harm? The Fear of Freedom When I asked Kharma why people are so afraid to expand their definition of love, she said something that caught me off guard. “Freedom is hard. I observe people, like there’s a fear of freedom for some folks... Freedom is sometimes harder when you can do whatever you want. Then you have to exercise discernment and make choices that you’re then responsible for.” She compared it to the fear of expanding the definition of God. When you start questioning one thing you were taught, it threatens everything else. “It’s like, I think I’ll use the metaphor of a Jenga. You stop, you question this thing and say, oh, I actually don’t actually believe that God sends people to hell. That’s a Jenga peg that comes out. Sometimes people are afraid with faith, if I start to question, it will all come crumbling down. And then what will I rely on?” This is fear in action. When you’ve built your whole life on rigid beliefs, pulling out one piece threatens the whole tower. “If that, then I’m actually responsible for making good choices on my own and not just doing what someone told me. I have to be more intentional. I have to think about it. That’s frightening.” But here’s what Kharma showed me: love doesn’t require us to have all the answers. Love creates space to question, to try different ways, to learn from what doesn’t work. When Being Right Matters More Than People Kharma spoke about something that breaks her heart. Trans kids opting out of sports just to avoid the rhetoric and judgment. “When being right about something becomes more important than the people who are harmed by the rhetoric, it feels like we’ve gone off the guardrails. We are not centering love if we are heartless about the impact of that on actual people’s lives, where it’s not a theoretical argument for young trans kids in Brunswick who just wanna, who self-opt out of sports to avoid that, even though it’s their favorite thing to do. Like that breaks my heart.” This is where fear and love diverge. Fear turns complex human lives into abstract arguments we need to win. Love keeps us connected to the actual people affected by our choices. For men especially, who are often conditioned to prioritize being right over being connected, this matters. Because winning the argument while losing the relationship is a fear-based victory that leaves everyone impoverished. Kharma offered a critical question for discerning love from fear: “For whom is this loving?” If we’re only considering what feels loving to the people we already care about, while ignoring who’s being left out or harmed, we’re being self-serving in our pursuit of love. And love, she reminded me, requires presence. “Love is what turns us towards connection... There’s a tenacity of presence that’s required if I really mean what I say about love and connection.” The Fear of Not Being Loved Enough Midway through our conversation, we talked about perfectionism. Kharma mentioned working with progressive, well-intentioned people around trans inclusion and pronouns. Many of them are afraid they’re going to mess up. “It’s white supremacy culture of perfectionism,” she said. Then she said something that gets at a root fear underneath so much of our striving: “Love is like, if you know that you are loved as a human who inevitably makes mistakes, then you don’t have that kind of wrack anxiety about it. So, there’s massive fear of not being loved enough. I think that’s opportunity too.” This fear, the terror of not being loved if we’re imperfect, drives so much of how men perform masculinity. When we believe we must be perfect to be worthy of love, we get trapped in fear-based performance. We can’t rest. We can’t be vulnerable. We can’t make mistakes. Understanding that we’re already loved as mistake-making humans creates freedom to be authentic. To try. To fail. To learn. To be human. Naming Fear Takes Away Its Control When people express slippery slope fears about change, Kharma’s approach is to listen and ask questions. “When I talk to people and they do, and they have that slippery slope, if well, if we do this, then this will happen and this will happen, and then we’ll lose everything and we won’t be safe. And like it’s a spiral of fear that happens.” Her strategy? “Try and listen and ask more questions about where the fear is coming from. And in that conversation, that’s it. If you can name the fear that’s half the battle, if we wanna use battle language. I don’t think humans in general are great at being able to name the source of fear. And to be able to name it is the first thing in getting it, like, taking its control away.” This offers practical wisdom for working with fear. Instead of trying to eliminate it or shame it, we can learn to name it and understand where it’s coming from. This is exactly the kind of practice that helps men move from being controlled by unacknowledged fear to being able to work with it consciously. From Individualism to Interdependence Near the end of our conversation, I asked Kharma what we need to queer in ourselves and our communities to create a world where more of us are leading with love. She talked about deconstructing individualism and moving toward interdependence. About recognizing how much of our lives are transactional, and how that doesn’t really serve us as people. “Sinking into relationships, sitting around the fire and allowing space to breathe and cogitate and listen and take to heart and know that you, there’s gonna be another fire the next day. Like there’s a pace to this that feels more humane than our capitalist way of working right now.” She talked about the importance of having conversations that “make the drop from head to heart.” And about not leaving the circle when we disagree. “The avoidance of conflict is another characteristic of white supremacy culture and love tells us to turn toward one another even when it’s hard and not reject one another.” Then she said something that captures the scale of what we’re talking about: “It’s really important work that starts really low and close. It’s close work. We have to be proximate.” The work of choosing love over fear isn’t abstract. It’s about being proximate to other humans. It’s about bearing witness to lived experiences that are different from our own. It’s about recognizing that the systems harming others harm all of us. Why This Matters This conversation is part of my Heart-Strong Adventure, a year-long exploration of where love and fear show up in our world, especially in the lives of men. Kharma’s journey, from resisting hate in Tulsa to l

    1h 4m
  2. FEB 11

    What Does Right Relationship with Money Look Like? A Campfire Conversation with Tom Haslett

    Tom Haslett spent years in the investment management industry, climbing the ladder, doing everything right. Then one day he looked around at the people in positions above him and realized something uncomfortable. There was nobody there he actually wanted to become. That realization changed a lot. Today, Tom spends his time thinking about questions most people avoid. What is money actually for? How did accumulation become the same as worth? What would it mean to be in right relationship with money instead of trying to be right about it? This fall, I sat with Tom in his backyard in Massachusetts. We built a fire, talked about money, fear, love, and what it means to separate your worth from your bank account. What came out was an honest conversation about wealth and disconnection. An Uncomfortable Thing I Need to Name Before we go further, I need to acknowledge something that’s sitting with me. Two extremely privileged white men, born in the US, who have significant means and by most standards would be considered financially wealthy. Sitting around a fire talking about how people need to change their relationship with money. There’s real irony here. Neither of us is worrying about meeting our survival requirements. We’re not worried about a roof over our heads, food, heat, or water. We have our core survival needs met and we’re trying to thrive. So, is this just privileged navel-gazing? Two guys who have financial success saying, actually, it’s not what you want? I’m holding that tension. Because there’s another side to this. We are in positions of privilege and power. And we’re doing the actual work of examining our relationship with money, not taking it for granted, thinking about how to use what we’ve accumulated in ways that create equity and returns that aren’t just for our financial benefit but for community benefit. We’re working to disassociate our worth from the numbers in our bank accounts. Some people might look at this conversation and say, yeah, it’s easy for you to talk about changing your relationship with money when you’re not living paycheck to paycheck. They’re right. And I think that’s part of why these conversations matter. If people with resources don’t examine how money shapes us, how it disconnects us, how it controls us. If we don’t do that work and then share what we learn. The system that creates those conditions doesn’t change. Because fundamentally, we control and perpetuate those systems. So yes, this is uncomfortable. And yes, I’m naming it. Because pretending the tension doesn’t exist feels worse than having the conversation at all. I Don’t Want to Die Alone and Cold About 24 minutes into our conversation, Tom named something that I think drives a lot of our relationship with money. “What I’m hearing loud and clear is fear. And the culture of fear that is part of, particularly here in the United States, our shared condition. And I’ll invoke Jay, who I think said it for the first time: I don’t wanna die alone and cold. So, what are you gonna do about that? And in an American context, there is a somewhat ridiculous tradition of self-reliance, which manifests itself to be, don’t count on anybody or anything to be there for you.” The fear that if we don’t hoard enough money, accumulate enough wealth, protect ourselves with enough financial armor, we’ll end up alone and suffering. And what makes it complicated is this. The very things we do to protect ourselves from that fate, the accumulation, the disconnection, the prioritizing of money over relationship, those things actually push us toward exactly what we feared. We isolate ourselves trying to avoid isolation. Money is Boring. Relationship is Wealth. One of my favorite moments was when Tom just said it plainly. “I think it’s really simple, really basic, and at the heart of it, kind of boring—money. As a thing. And it distracts me and a lot of other people from that which is bigger, more complicated, more interesting. More wealth creating. Which is relationship.” Money is boring. This from a guy who spent his career in investment management. Who understands markets and portfolios and all the complexity we build around wealth. And his conclusion after all that? Money is boring. Relationship is wealth. But we’ve built an entire society around the boring thing while starving the wealth-creating thing. Counting My Wealth on a Vipassana Retreat Tom shared a story from 25 years ago. He was on a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat, surrounded by silence and contemplative practice. And where did his mind go for comfort? “The voice, the quality that brought me the greatest solace was counting my wealth. Surrounded by the purity of a Vipassana retreat, the place where I spent the first three or four days was just thinking about what was in the savings account, what was in the investment portfolio. And it fascinated me that in this moment of clinging to anything that would offer me stability, I went to money.” I appreciate Tom’s willingness to share this. It shows how deep money’s pull goes, even in spaces designed to help us let go of everything. The Faustian Bargain of Investing Tom’s years in finance gave him a clear view of something most people don’t see. Conventional investing is built on disconnection. “By investing, I am explicitly aligning myself to a system of extraction which is completely devoid of relationship. Every part of the capital market is an abstraction, and it is a dislocation of relationship. So that’s the Faustian bargain of meeting my self-interest, assigning for myself a dependency on a market system, a capital market system, not the eggs and bread system. That is inherently inhuman because it divorces us from each other.” This landed for me. Because I’ve done the “smart” thing. I’ve invested in index funds. I’ve followed conventional wisdom. And Tom is naming the cost. By doing the rational thing with my money, I’m participating in a system that divorces me from people and place. The system we’re told will keep us safe is also the thing keeping us isolated. Risk is Fear. Return is Love. But the conversation turned here. Tom didn’t just critique the current system. He offered a different lens. “Wall Street has played the fear card brilliantly. All of the fixation and focus is on risk. And very little of the focus and fixation is on return. And I think it’s in return that we find love. So, if money is energy and I can flow money to things that I love to make those things that I love better, have more energy, places, environments, biodiversity, solving for diseases...” Risk is fear. Return is love. This reframe connects directly to what the Heart-Strong framework is exploring. What if we stopped organizing our financial lives around protecting against risk, which is fear? What if we started organizing them around return in the fullest sense? Including emotional return, community return, environmental return? What if we measured wealth by what we’re tending instead of what we’re hoarding? What is Enough? Tom brought up a question I keep thinking about. What is enough? “I think what is enough is a foundational question for every person who has degrees of fear around this subject of who will be there to care for me. And if you can succeed in answering that and following the thread of relationship, what is enough for my community, that circle of people who for whatever reasons I include with me, what is enough for them creates a beautiful lens.” The question expands. It’s not just what is enough for me? It’s what is enough for my community? Because if I’m asking what’s enough just for me, I’m still trapped in the isolation. But if I’m asking what’s enough for the people I’m in relationship with, suddenly money becomes a tool for connection instead of a wall against it. Tom shared three questions from Sherry Mitchell and Mia Birdsong. * What is enough? * What is enough for my community? * Who in your community knows and loves you, and who do you know and love in your community? That third question feels like the real wealth assessment. Because if the answer is not many, then you’re not wealthy. No matter what your bank account says. Being Right vs. Being in Right Relationship Tom offered a framework that I keep coming back to. “I was raised, I was educated, I was trained and conditioned to be right. And what I’m learning at this point in my life is to forfeit some of that rightness to be in right relationship with the understanding that I will be a wealthier person if I am able to lift up right relationship versus right. Money is in the right space as opposed to the relationship space in my construction.” From being right to being in right relationship. Our entire financial system is built on being right. Right investments, right strategies, right risk avoidance. But none of that tells you if you’re in right relationship with money, with community, with the earth, with yourself. Tom is choosing the harder path. Letting go of being right to be in relationship. And he’s honest that it’s ongoing work, not a destination. Why This Matters This conversation is part of my Heart-Strong Adventure, a year-long exploration of where love and fear show up in our world, especially in the lives of men. Tom’s journey isn’t finished. He’s wrestling with these questions in real time. He tried to build a different model of investing and admits he “failed” in market terms. But the questions remain. The work remains. I think that’s part of why this conversation matters. We need more people willing to examine how money controls us, disconnects us, and shapes our fears. Even when we don’t have easy answers. We need people in positions of privilege asking what that privilege is for. What does it mean to be in right relationship with wealth? How do we tend each other’s fires instead of ho

    1h 10m
  3. JAN 14

    Horses Teach You to Lead with Love: A Campfire Conversation with Chris Lombard

    Twenty-five years ago, Chris Lombard had never been around horses. He was going through a breakup, standing in a barn, when he looked into a horse’s eyes and saw something that changed everything. Not excitement. Not fear. Just contentment. A state of being fully present, fully at peace with life as it was. That moment set Chris on a path he never could have planned. Today, he’s known across the US as someone who helps people and horses find connection. But the real story isn’t about mastering horses. It’s about following your heart with a period after that sentence. No attachment to outcomes. No thought of where it would lead. Just trust. This fall, I sat with Chris in his backyard in Maine. We built a fire, talked about horses, masculinity, vulnerability, and the dance between love and fear. What emerged was one of the most grounded conversations about what it means to be human I’ve ever had. Life Doesn’t Know It’s Big About halfway through our conversation, Chris said something that really resonated: “You could take out the word horse and put in the word life. Life. We think that it’s big. Life doesn’t know it’s big. We think it’s a big deal. We think, oh boy, we want to get this right. And we don’t want to have anything go wrong. Life doesn’t know it’s big though. Life is going to be whatever we make of it.” This is what Chris has learned from horses. That our fear of life being too big is what makes it overwhelming. That trying to control life, to dominate it into a shape that feels safe, is exactly what creates suffering. Horses don’t let you get away with that. If you approach them with force, with that need to control, they flee. They fight. They mirror back exactly what you’re bringing. But if you approach with presence, with softness, with genuine connection, they open right up. They seek you. They offer everything. It’s a perfect metaphor for how so many men approach life itself. The Masculine Trap Chris spoke honestly about the trap so many men fall into. The belief that we always have to be doing. Providing. Protecting. Building. Acquiring. “The busyness that you feel like you have to be in. We feel like we always got to be doing. Because that’s how we can best serve, is in that way of kind of providing.” This is fear-based masculinity in action. The belief that our worth comes from productivity, from never stopping, from holding up that boulder of expectation no matter how heavy it gets. Chris knows this intimately because he lived it. He talked about how he used to hold up this identity of being “the guy who’s good with horses.” How he needed that recognition to feel loved and worthy. How that attachment to being seen a certain way got in the way of actually connecting. The real work, he discovered, was getting himself out of the way. Becoming what he calls a “hollow bone.” Letting love flow through without trying to control where it goes or what it achieves. Embracing the Feminine One of the most powerful parts of our conversation was when Chris talked about feminine energy. “Young Chris in the 80s, if you’d asked him if he had a lot of feminine energy, that would be nothing I would have said back then. My friends would have been pretty intimidated by that and scared by what that would mean. Now, I feel very proud to say that.” This isn’t about being less masculine. It’s about recognizing that the creative, intuitive, connective, compassionate side of ourselves is just as essential as the grounded, steady, protective side. Chris learned this from horses. Because horses, for all their strength and power, only open up when you approach from that softer, more present place. The masculine side alone isn’t enough. You need both energies working together. For men who’ve been conditioned to reject anything that feels “soft” or “emotional,” this is profound work. And it’s exactly the kind of expansion that can move us from fear to love. The Boulder of Vulnerability Near the end of our conversation, Chris shared an image that perfectly captures the transformation he’s describing: “What happens is all of a sudden that big boulder, it gets smaller and you’re not making it smaller with your strength. You’re making it smaller with your vulnerability. And that your vulnerability, that boulder shifts to something you stand on. When it shifts to vulnerability, you’re now standing on that boulder and it lifts you up higher.” This is one of the core truths I keep encountering in these conversations. That vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s the strongest thing we can do. Because when we stop trying to hold up that boulder of who we think we need to be, when we let ourselves be seen in our uncertainty and our not-knowing, something shifts. We stop being crushed by expectations. We start standing on them. And when others see us doing this, it gives them permission to do the same. Why This Matters This conversation is part of my Heart-Strong Adventure, a year-long exploration of where love and fear show up in our world, especially in the lives of men. Chris’s journey with horses is really a journey of unlearning fear-based ways of being and learning to lead with love instead. It’s about presence over productivity. Connection over control. Vulnerability as the path to real strength. These aren’t just nice ideas. They’re the actual work of healing. And for men, who are so often conditioned to reject these ways of being, this work is revolutionary. If Chris’s story sparked something in you, I’d love to hear about it. And if someone comes to mind who might need to hear this, please share it with them. Because the stories we tell each other around the fire have always been how we change. Learn more about the Heart-Strong Adventure: heart-strong.org For more about Chris and his work: chrislombard.com This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit adventure.heart-strong.org

    1h 9m
  4. 12/02/2025

    Decency as a Radical Choice: A Campfire Conversation with Kerem Durdag

    Kerem Durdag came to the United States at eighteen with two hundred dollars in his pocket and a dream that felt impossible. Turkish/Pakistani and raised under dictatorship, he arrived at a Catholic Benedictine university in Minnesota as a Muslim immigrant who had never heard of the state before landing there. What happened next helped to shape the trajectory of Kerem’s path. Monks saw something in him. They offered grace when the institution offered xenophobia. They gave him an open tab for books and supplies with a single condition: pay it back when you can. No contracts. Just trust. Decades later, after being spit on, called a towel head, told to go back home, Kerem has built a life rooted not in resentment but in decency. And around a fire in Maine, he shared what that journey taught him about love, fear, and what it takes to stay human. Fear Simplifies. Love Seeks. One of the most striking things Kerem said was this: “Fear is reductive. It’s a cudgel, a hammer, a laser beam that can reduce you to nothing. Whereas love, you have to seek it. You have to find the scale of it.” I’ve been thinking about this a lot since our conversation. Fear gives us easy answers. Simple explanations. It tells struggling men that immigrants took their jobs, that vulnerability is weakness, that control equals safety. Fear loves instant gratification and certainty. Love asks for more. It wants us to seek, to put in effort, to expand. It invites us to sit with complexity and discomfort. To trust that connection matters more than control. To choose decency even when the world hasn’t been decent to you. Kerem lives this tension every day. He knows what fear can do because he’s lived under it in a dictatorship. And he knows what love requires because he keeps choosing it. The Etchings on His Ribs Near the end of our conversation, I asked Kerem what fires we need to tend in ourselves and in society. His answer came immediately and personally. “You’re talking to somebody that was spit at for being a Muslim. You’re talking to somebody that was slapped around and told to go back home. The etchings that are on my ribs, bone marrow. The only way I can say I’m going to be okay, sustain myself, nourish myself, and be a participant in giving back is by being decent.” Decency. Not as weakness. Not as naivety. But as the only response that keeps us intact. He could have chosen bitterness. He could have armored up. He could have let fear reduce him to nothing. Instead, he chose to tend the fire of decency, empathy, gratitude, and grace. For me, this is on expression of love-based masculinity. Not soft. Not passive. But strong enough to stay open even after the world has tried to close you down. Why Physical Proximity Matters Kerem also talked about something we’re losing: physical proximity. The actual presence of bodies in space, around tables and fires, in communities that know your face. “Physical proximity is our essential oxygen,” he said. “From those physical communities comes public benefit and public good. From those physical communities comes the belief that your vote matters and your voice matters.” For me, this is one of the reasons why Campfire Conversations exists. Why I keep coming back to the fire. Some things can only happen face to face, voice to voice, human to human. Connection Is What We’re Fighting For This conversation is part of my Heart-Strong Adventure, an exploration of where love and fear show up in our world, especially in the lives of men. Kerem’s story reminds me that healing isn’t just personal. It’s political. It’s cultural. It’s choosing decency when fear would be easier. If Kerem’s story sparks something for you, I’d love to hear about it. And if someone comes to mind who might need to hear this, please share it with them. The stories we tell each other around the fire have always been how we change. Learn more about the Heart-Strong Adventure: adventure.heart-strong.org This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit adventure.heart-strong.org

    1h 25m
  5. 11/11/2025

    Connection Is the Most Powerful Currency: A Campfire Conversation with Elmer Moore

    For nearly two years, I’ve been sitting with an idea. It started as a feeling more than a plan. A sense that some of the most meaningful conversations happen not in studios or conference rooms, but around fire. Where the crackle of wood and the flicker of light soften our defenses. Where we stop performing and start being present. This summer, that idea became real. I sat down with Elmer Moore, a leader, father, and friend, for the first Campfire Conversation. We gathered at the ocean’s edge in Maine, built a fire together, and talked about purpose, vulnerability, and what it means to show up as a man in a world that often makes connection feel risky. What emerged was far more than I expected. Fire as Teacher We started by talking about fire itself. How it demands attention. How it humbles you when you get overconfident. How it creates a kind of intimacy that’s hard to find anywhere else. Elmer shared how fire allows him to slow down and be present in ways nothing else does. That humility and presence set the tone for everything that followed. The Golden Words About two hours into our conversation, Elmer said something that really resonated. We’d been talking about the journey of personal growth, about how hard it is to look honestly at ourselves, to admit what we don’t know, to keep learning even when it’s uncomfortable. And then he said this: “You are years into a journey and a practice ahead of many, many, many people who haven’t committed themselves to thinking through this and loving their way through this painful experience of learning what you are not. Learning how far there is to go.” I had to stop him. “Loving yourself through the experience of learning what you are not. Elmer Moore, folks, golden words right there. That’s what it is. Loving yourself through the experience of life.” Because that’s it. That’s the whole thing. Not figuring it all out. Not performing growth. Not pretending we’ve arrived. Just loving ourselves through the messy, humbling, beautiful process of discovering what we’re not. So, we can eventually find what we are. Why Men Need This Throughout our conversation, we kept circling back to how men struggle with this kind of work. Elmer spoke honestly about vulnerability, describing it not as weakness but as something that requires real strength. “I am strong enough to open myself up, knowing that if things go wrong, I can recover.” He talked about how men are conditioned to avoid exactly this kind of emotional honesty. How we’re taught to suppress, to armor up, to never admit uncertainty or fear. And yet, as we discussed, the refusal to be vulnerable is itself a form of weakness. Because true strength means being able to risk emotional exposure and trust you’ll make it through. Connection as Currency Near the end of our conversation, I asked Elmer what fire needs tending in society today. His answer was immediate: connection. He described the fundamental divide in our political and cultural moment. One side believes we’re interconnected and responsible for one another. The other has decided their responsibility is only to themselves. And that disconnection, that fracturing of our sense of shared humanity, is at the root of so many of our crises. As he put it: “Connection is the most powerful currency.” That line stayed with me long after the fire burned down. Because it’s true. And because it’s exactly what we’ve lost. Why This Matters This conversation is part of my Heart-Strong Adventure, a year-long exploration of where love and fear show up in our world, especially in the lives of men. The thesis is simple but radical: if we want to heal the world, we need to heal men. Not because men’s pain matters more than anyone else’s. But because unhealed men, operating from fear, cause profound harm. And healed men, operating from love, can become powerful partners in creating a more just, connected, and sustainable world. Campfire Conversations is one way I’m exploring this. By sitting with people like Elmer, around real or symbolic fires, and listening to how love and fear have shaped their lives. If Elmer’s story sparked something in you, I’d love to hear about it. And if someone comes to mind who might need to hear this, please share it with them. Because the stories we tell each other around the fire have always been how we change.Learn more about the Heart-Strong Adventure: heart-strong.org This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit adventure.heart-strong.org

    2h 6m

Ratings & Reviews

5
out of 5
3 Ratings

About

Before microphones and media, we gathered around fire to share real stories. Campfire Conversations returns to that spirit. These aren't interviews. They're heart-centered conversations about love and fear, and how those forces shape the men around us and the world we're building. adventure.heart-strong.org