Word Gets Around
When A Mate Started Talking
I didn’t plan on telling anyone. It felt too private — not shameful, just mine. Then, one night over a beer, a mate started talking about how there'd been a time he couldn’t switch off anymore.
Said even when he sat still, his head kept running laps.
Something in me just opened. I told him about Geoffrey's Practice of Peace — not every detail, just the feeling of it.
The quiet. The honesty of being with someone who doesn’t want anything from you. I expected a raised eyebrow, maybe a joke.
Instead, he just looked at me and said, “Yeah, I know. I’ve been there too.”
For a second I didn’t believe him. But he described it exactly — the silence, the stillness, the strange relief of not performing.
Turns out, we’d both found the same space, months apart, and both kept it to ourselves.
We didn’t talk about it long — men never do — but there was this moment between us, an understanding without needing to say much. Two blokes who’d both found a bit of peace and didn’t need to compete over it.
Later, I thought about how many of us might be out there — men who’ve stopped trying to fix themselves and just started being.
Maybe that’s how real change spreads. Not with a bang, but with a quiet nod of recognition between men who’ve learned how to breathe again.
