In the movie Gran Turino, the gruff Korean War veteran played by Clint Eastwood is teaching a teenage boy he has befriended how to “talk like a man.” His friend the barber gives the boy an example, “Just got my brakes fixed and the guys really screwed me.” This sounds like he’s teaching the boy to complain, but actually this is an example of “status talk.” By complaining about the mechanic, a man signifies that he is above the mechanic, he’s angry at the mechanic—in other words, he elevates his status.
One of my good friends, a professional actor, believes that much of what people talk about—particularly men—is like this story, a disguised effort of one-upsmanship. Status is actually quite important in human relations, although much of the jockeying and expression of status can be unconscious. Clothes signify status; so does a gold watch, a certain hairstyle, posture, muscle tone, the right kind of running shoe—even physical height. I once read about a study that showed that CEOs, on average, stood 3 or 4 inches in height above the average. Perhaps from an evolutionary perspective this stems from our genetic heritage as primates, who live in social groups with a strict status hierarchy.
For men especially, their occupation or career is a major status indicator. I remember when I was the founder and president of a small software company—at peak we had six employees. My business card said my company name, followed by my name, and under that, “Founder and President.” When I would go to trade shows I had a booth along with software giants with hundreds of employees, and I felt small and intimidated. However, as soon as I handed my business card to someone, I could see from their expression that my status rose markedly in their eyes. I certainly wasn’t Bill Gates, but I was an owner and founder of my own company—in the software world, that was high status.
These experiences could have puffed me up, and maybe they did just a little. But I was also, at the same time, a Buddhist meditation teacher, and my Buddhist training and viewpoint allowed me to see this status issue as a mostly empty charade. My business card didn’t tell people anything about the kind of person I was, what kind of character I had, whether I was honest and trustworthy, or even whether my software product was any good. It was just a status marker.
Status is real and important, and it makes a difference in life, but status refers to your role, not your identity. For men especially, who tend to identify with their job or career as the most important marker of identity, this distinction can be hard to see. In my latest book on aging—Every Breath, New Chances: How to Age with Honor and Dignity—I point out that retirement is especially hard for men because of this close identification with career. As one of the women I interviewed for the book said, “When men retire, they tend to shuffle around the house in their slippers, not sure what to do with themselves.” That may be a bit harsh, but it does indicate that women often carry several identities—career, wife, mother, good friend, volunteer—that give them more resiliency as they age.
When a man loses his job, he can, if he is not careful, also feel that he has lost his entire identity, and that can be dangerous. Loss of identity can lead to substance abuse, violent acting out, disturbed thought patterns, even suicide. In the current state of our society, with the additional major disruptions to work life and personal life due to Covid, we may be experiencing an epidemic of identity loss. This is not good; there is the potential, if this isn’t addressed, for the whole society to start to come apart at the seams. Identity and status—especially for men—is what tells a person who they are for themselves and others. If a man doesn’t know who he is, he can cease to act rationally and lash out in all directions.
We are social animals, at our best when we know where we stand in the group. My advice for men is: stand on your own and stand tall. You are not your career, you are not your status, you have intrinsic worth and dignity as a human being apart from all that. That may be difficult to see sometimes, but it is true. If you forget this truth, those who love and care about you can remind you. And if that isn’t enough, remember the first truth of Buddhist teaching: whatever is going on right now, however bad it seems, it won’t last. Everything changes—sometimes for the worse, but often for the better.
My grandson is 27 and was recently at an informal high School reunion where all the men, but also the women, were talking about their early success in joining a company and feeling proud they were on their way up the corporate ladder. My grandson wants to make a difference in the world, was in the Peace Corp, is a writer and is now working for an international foundation, helping refugees around the world. He and his significant other both are making a difference and are concerned about making a living. I can tell he wants to be true to his values and also feels responsible for taking care of himself and his partner. He knows his career is not who he is, but struggles with the question: is being his authentic self enough? I’m proud to be on his journey with him.