Welcome to Man Morning, a weekly check-in for men who lead at work, at home, and in life

I used to be the "mayor" of everywhere.

Airports. Grocery store lines. School drop-off.

Everywhere I went, I'd find a way to connect with people.

Make them smile. Make them feel better. Make them feel taller.

It didn't matter if they ran a billion-dollar company or cleaned toilets for a living.

I could connect with anyone, anywhere.

People called it a gift.

I thought it was who I was.

It served me well during my 10+ year TV career in front of the camera in New York City working with NBC, PBS, and Nickelodeon.

It has continued to serve me in my work today as a speaker

Then in January 2025, we lost everything in the fire.

And something strange happened. That part of me left.

At first, I thought the fire had burned away something essential.

Had I lost my ability to connect?

Was I broken?

Here's what's interesting:

When I'm speaking to an audience or working with clients, I still connect deeply.

That part of me is still there.

The difference?

That's my work. That's what I'm paid to do. And it feels authentic because it has purpose.

What disappeared was the need to perform for strangers at the grocery store.

Then I started asking a different question:

Did the fire burn away the real me?

Or did it burn away the performance?

I'm starting to think it was the performance.

All those years of making everyone else feel better, what was that really about?

Making myself feel safe?

Drawing attention away from myself?

Creating a shield disguised as a strength?

But here’s what I’m realizing now, in my 40s with a wife, kids, and real responsibilities…

It's not my job to make other people smile.

It's not my job to manage their emotions or fix their day.

I think I learned to do this young during a childhood that involved a lot of instability.

For all the wrong reasons. To survive. To feel protected. To be needed.

But I don't need that anymore.

I see this with some of the men I coach.

Guys who are exhausted from being "on" all the time. Who think their value comes from what they do for others.

They've confused their worth with their performance.

And the fire showed me something:

I'm finally good with who I am.

Not what I do for others. Just who I am.

It takes real discipline to find the difference between who you are and who you perform to be.

The kind that helps you separate your authentic self from the roles you think you need to play.

Maybe my strength was actually my burden in disguise.

Maybe losing everything didn't take something away.

Maybe it actually freed me from something I never needed to carry.

Your Move

What part of you feels real but is actually just a habit?

– Antonio

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