Luminiviria

It’s been a while since my last post. A lot has happened. Greg moved in, and while I should’ve predicted how that would go, I somehow didn’t prepare myself for the full experience.

Here’s an example. Greg decided, completely out of nowhere, that his room needed to be a different color. No planning, no supplies checklist—just raw, unfiltered confidence. He started painting one afternoon, got about halfway through, then realized he didn’t have enough painter’s tape. That was two weeks ago.

His room is still half-painted. His stuff is still packed up. And Greg? Greg is unbothered.

Me? I’ve been trying very hard not to care. I tell myself it’s his room, his business. But every time I pass by that half-painted wall, my eye twitches. Every time I see his still-packed boxes, my hands itch to start unpacking them just to make the chaos stop. And every time Greg assures me he’ll “get to it soon,” I smile and say, “Oh, no rush,” while silently grinding my teeth into dust.

I even tried subtle encouragement. Things like, “Interesting aesthetic choice—very avant-garde to leave a wall and a half unfinished.” Or, “Wow, I didn’t realize you were going for a live-in storage unit vibe.”

Greg, in his infinite optimism, just grinned and said, “Thanks, man!”

This went on for days. Then, finally, I cracked and vented to Jeff about it.

I expected Jeff to laugh or, at the very least, agree that Greg’s unfinished room was an affront to all things orderly. Instead, Jeff—who has recently leaned into this whole knowing things energy—tilted his head in that irritatingly calm way of his and said, “Have you considered that Greg’s half-painted wall is actually an unspoken metaphor for the unfinished chapters of your own soul? Like, what walls in your mind remain half-painted, Matthew?”

I stared at him. “What.”

He shrugged. “I mean, why does this bother you? What’s really happening here?”

What’s really happening? What’s really happening is that Greg has turned a perfectly functional living space into an art project he lost interest in, and I am being forced to witness it. That’s what’s happening. But Jeff just nodded like he expected that answer and then said, “And how does that reflect something within yourself?”

I almost left the house. Through the window. Just to make a statement.

But, damn it, the question stuck with me. Because if I was being honest (which I try to avoid where Jeff is concerned, because it only encourages him), I knew Greg’s room wasn’t really my problem. The problem was me pacing outside his door, getting irrationally angry about something that, in the grand scheme of things, did not matter. The problem was knowing that if I were in Greg’s position, I’d be spiraling over the unfinished project, feeling like a failure for not finishing it in one perfect, uninterrupted go.

And the bigger problem? I knew Greg wasn’t avoiding finishing his room because he didn’t care. He was avoiding it because he did—because he’d started something and then hit a wall (metaphorically, not just literally). And I had been so busy being annoyed that I hadn’t done the thing that actually makes sense to do when someone is struggling: help.

So, after two weeks of passive-aggressive sighing, I finally just asked.

“Hey, want a ride to the home improvement store?”

Greg blinked at me, like I had just handed him the keys to the universe. ‘Oh, yeah, that’d be awesome! Thanks, man. Wait, should I get one of those little edge brushes too? Or, like, a whole new roller? Actually, do you think we should just repaint the whole room?’

That was it. No resistance, no excuses. He grabbed his keys, and we left.

The trip was surprisingly fun. We got the supplies he needed—and about five things he absolutely did not need, including a laser-guided paint edger (‘For precision,’ Greg insisted) and a shade of green he had no intention of using but wanted ‘just in case.’ Afterward, we stopped for lunch at a place that serves these incredible grilled seitan and cashew cheese sandwiches with roasted herb fries. Greg made a joke about how the Brotherhood should have a house menu—’We could do Seitan Saturdays!’—and I pretended I wasn’t already mentally drafting one.

By the time we got home, I realized something: I could’ve saved myself two weeks of frustration if I had just helped Greg instead of standing around being mad that he wasn’t doing it my way.

I’d love to say I learned my lesson, but let’s be honest—this will probably happen again.

Still, at least Greg’s room is painted now. Small victories.

~ Matthew 🌳

Happy New Year, everyone. It’s been a couple of weeks since my last post, and if I’m honest, life has been a whirlwind lately. The holidays, workouts, and, well, something big happening tomorrow have kept me pretty occupied. Let me catch you up.

If you’ve been following along, you know about Greg. We first met when I stopped to help him change a flat tire, and not long after, we bumped into each other at the coffee shop. That’s when I invited him to come work out in the basement gym with me and Jeff. It felt like a small gesture at the time—just offering a space to sweat and talk—but it’s turned into something much bigger than I expected.

Tomorrow, Greg is moving into the house.

When Greg first brought up the idea of moving in, I suggested he take some time to think it over. Big decisions like this can feel exhilarating in the moment, but they come with weight, and I wanted him to have the space to consider all of that. We left it at that.

A few days later, Greg came back with his decision. He’d already spoken to his landlord about breaking his lease and was set on moving in by January 1st. One minute we were talking about taking time to reflect, and the next he’d practically hit fast-forward. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t show up in a U-Haul. He looked at me with this mix of determination and hope, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile at how boldly he’d made up his mind.

Jeff and I talked about it afterward. Jeff, in his calm and intuitive way, said something like, “It feels right. Sometimes you just know.” I’ve always admired Jeff’s ability to trust his gut in moments like this. I, on the other hand, tend to overthink—question whether I’m ready, whether the timing’s right, whether we’re even equipped to do this. But seeing Greg’s conviction made me pause. Maybe Jeff was right. Maybe Greg saw something in this house, in the Brotherhood, that even I’m still figuring out.

That said, the last couple of weeks have been… busy. Getting the house ready, clearing space for Greg, figuring out how three grown men are going to share one kitchen—it’s been a lot. I’ll admit, I’ve leaned into my usual habits of order and structure a little too hard. Jeff’s called me out more than once for being, in his words, “Taskmaster Matt.” As if everyone doesn’t color-code chore charts and time furniture placement like it’s a military operation! I guess the nickname is his way of keeping me from taking myself too seriously. I have to admit that it worked.

Greg brings this energy that’s hard to describe. It’s equal parts “oops I pushed all the buttons. . . let’s see what happens” and “can you show me how this works?” There’s a puppy-dog eagerness to him that’s both endearing and, frankly, a little overwhelming at times. But underneath that, I see someone who’s searching for guidance, for belonging, for something steady to hold onto. I see myself, in a way—a version of me I thought I’d left behind but realize is still there in smaller ways.

Tomorrow marks a new chapter for the Brotherhood. Greg’s decision to move in feels like the kind of leap you don’t take unless you really believe in something. It’s humbling, honestly. Inspiring, too. A small part of me feels validated—like maybe we’re onto something here—but you won’t catch me wagging my own tail about it. And while we still don’t have all the answers about what this community is going to look like, I’m starting to think that’s okay.

For now, we’re taking it one step at a time. Starting the year together feels like the perfect place to begin.

~ Matthew 🌳

You might remember a couple of weeks ago, I wrote about stopping to help a guy with a flat tire. I didn’t know his name then, but I do now. Greg.

We ran into each other again at a coffee shop last week. It wasn’t planned. He was sitting at a table, scribbling something in a notebook, and I was grabbing coffee to go. I could’ve just said a polite hello and left it at that. But I didn’t. I ended up inviting him to come work out in the basement gym with me and Jeff.

Yesterday, he showed up.

I don’t know what I expected—maybe someone I’d have to talk into it, who’d need coaxing just to pick up a dumbbell. But Greg walked in with his chest out, bouncing on his toes like he was about to win gold at the Olympics. I should’ve been glad. I wasn’t.

Something about it annoyed me—how eager he was, how much he seemed like he had something to prove. I kept my thoughts to myself and threw myself into the role of “coach,” barking out sets and reps, making sure he knew how serious I was about discipline.

By the time Jeff stepped in to balance me out, I could already tell I was overdoing it. Jeff’s approach was the opposite—encouragement, compliments, too much easygoing praise. And as much as I wanted to point that out, I couldn’t, because he was right too. Greg didn’t need a drill sergeant or a cheerleader. He just needed someone to guide him without pushing him too far in either direction.

I’ve been thinking about that since. About how quick I was to go too hard, too fast, as if I needed to remind everyone—including myself—that I know what I’m doing. It’s a funny thing: the harder I tried to be the strong, capable leader I keep telling myself I am, the more it felt like I was playing a part. Like I was performing for an audience that wasn’t even there.

And maybe that’s why Greg’s eagerness got under my skin. He wasn’t trying to hide anything. He showed up as he was—exuberant, nervous, ready to give it everything he had. I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore, but watching him made me wonder if I should try.

At the end of the workout, Greg asked about the gym—about the community Jeff and I keep talking about. He asked what the next step is, and Jeff and I stumbled through the answer. We don’t know yet. Not really. But Greg said he’d come back anyway.

Maybe that’s the next step. Just showing up.

~ Matthew 🌳

The other day, I stopped to help a young man on the side of the road. His car was pulled over, hazard lights flashing, and I could see him wrestling with the jack and a tire that clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

It’s a scene I’ve been in myself more times than I’d like to admit. A flat tire. No one around. That sinking feeling of realizing you’re not as prepared as you thought you were.

When I pulled over, he looked up at me, startled. I could see a mix of relief and embarrassment on his face. He was a solid-looking guy, muscular and athletic—like he probably spent a good amount of time in the gym. There was something familiar about him, though. Not in a way that said I’d met him before, but in the way he carried himself—like he was trying to look bigger than he felt.

I introduced myself, crouched down next to him, and asked if he needed help. He nodded, hesitant, and I could see his scraped-up hands from wrestling with the jack. He was quiet as I talked him through it, showing him how to steady the jack and loosen the lug nuts. I let him do most of the work, figuring he’d remember it better that way.

By the time the spare was on, his shoulders had loosened a bit. I handed him a couple of bandages from my first aid kit and told him he did a good job. He muttered a thanks, almost under his breath, and something about being bad at this kind of stuff.

I didn’t know what to say at first. I saw something in him I recognized—this quiet frustration, this shame that comes from feeling like you should already know how to handle something. Like you’ve failed just by needing help.

And I couldn’t help but wonder about him. He had the kind of build that spoke of hours in the gym, of someone who cared about being strong, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe that strength was about more than just lifting weights. Maybe it was his way of masking something deeper, something he didn’t want anyone to see.

Driving away, I kept thinking about that moment. I felt fulfilled, sure. It’s good to feel like you’ve helped someone. But I also felt… regret. I should have offered him my contact information, told him to reach out if he ever needed anything else.

Truth is, I think I was a little insecure myself. Maybe I was afraid of how that offer would come across—too forward, too much. Maybe I was worried he’d think I was trying to overstep. So I didn’t say anything.

And now, I wish I had.

Moments like that remind me that strength isn’t just about pushing forward, about what you can do for yourself. It’s about making space for someone else to grow, to feel capable. But it’s also about allowing yourself to show up fully, even if it feels vulnerable.

I hope he remembers how to change a tire. And I hope he remembers that it’s okay to ask for help.

And me? I hope I remember to take my own advice next time.

~ Matthew 🌳

I’ve been thinking a lot about Jeff lately—about the kind of man he is and what he means to me. Earlier this week, he came out publicly on Instagram, and it feels like one of those moments that deserves more than just a passing acknowledgment.

I’ll be honest: when Jeff first told me he was gay, I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but I was a lot more homophobic back then than I’d ever like to admit. I’d grown up with this idea of what it meant to be a man, and being gay didn’t fit into that picture in any way I could understand.

Jeff being gay wasn’t a problem for him—it was a problem for me.

The thing about Jeff, though, is that he has this way of quietly holding up a mirror to the people around him. He doesn’t push, doesn’t lecture. He just… is. And in being himself so fully and unapologetically, he’s taught me more about strength, vulnerability, and love than I ever thought possible.

It feels strange, in a way, to talk about him “coming out.” To me, it’s not news. It’s just another magnificent part of who he is—the man I love like a brother. But I also know how powerful it is for him to own his story, to share this part of himself with the world in his own time and on his own terms.

I’ve learned so much from Jeff—not just about being less of an idiot when it comes to my own prejudices, but about what it means to be truly open to the people in your life. He’s shown me that strength isn’t about conforming to some narrow idea of what a man should be. It’s about being yourself, even when it feels like the hardest thing in the world.

I’m proud of him. Not just for coming out, but for being exactly who he is.

~ Matthew 🌳

Jeff said something to me yesterday that I haven’t been able to shake. He’s been running the Instagram for The Brotherhood, and he told me he’s started to notice something different when he looks at the posts. “It’s like there’s more going on here than just us,” he said.

At first, I brushed it off. I told him it’s just pictures, captions, and hashtags—it’s not that deep. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he’s right. There is something else.

I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but I’ve been feeling it too. It’s subtle, like a hum in the background that’s been growing louder. It’s this sense that what we’re doing here—this thing we’re trying to build—isn’t just about the two of us anymore.

When I started writing this blog, it was mostly for me. I needed a place to put my thoughts, to try and figure out what I’m doing, where I’m going, and how to get there. But now, I’m starting to feel like these words aren’t just mine. They belong to anyone who reads them, anyone who finds a piece of themselves in them.

And maybe that’s what Jeff was getting at. This isn’t just about us lifting weights or posting pictures or writing blog entries. It’s about the connections we’re starting to make—the ones we didn’t even realize we were making.

I’ll be honest: that idea scares me a little. I’m not sure I’m ready for this to be bigger than me, or bigger than us. But at the same time, it feels… right. Like maybe this was never supposed to stay small. Maybe we’re tapping into something bigger than ourselves—something we don’t fully understand yet.

For now, all I can do is pay attention. To the things Jeff says, to the way I feel when I write these posts, to the quiet moments when it feels like something is shifting, even if I can’t put my finger on it.

Maybe strength isn’t just about being strong for yourself. Maybe it’s about being part of something that makes everyone stronger.

I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out. But I think Jeff’s onto something.

~ Matthew 🌳

This morning’s workout was brutal. The kind of brutal I crave. My alarm went off before the sun came up, and by the time I hit the gym, it was just me and the sound of weights clanging against the racks. There’s nothing like that first heavy pull of a deadlift—feeling every muscle in your body lock in, every tendon screaming for you to stop, and then pushing through anyway.

By the end of the session, I was drenched, shaking, and grinning like an idiot. There’s something primal about it, about knowing you’ve left everything on the floor. My legs felt like jelly, my arms like steel. And looking in the mirror afterward? I’ll admit it—I loved what I saw. The power. The size. That split second where you can see the pump in every line of muscle, like proof of the work you’ve just done.

I live for that.

And yet, I keep finding myself coming back to what I’ve been writing about these past few weeks. This idea that strength isn’t just about pushing through pain, about looking like the strongest guy in the room.

This morning, as I was walking home, sweat freezing to my skin, I started to wonder: where does this fit with what I’m trying to figure out about myself? How can I love this so much—love the way I look, the way I feel—and still want to move beyond it?

I think about the picture Jeff posted last week. That goofy “hulk smash” pose. I hated it at first because I felt like it didn’t show all of me. But maybe it showed too much. Maybe it showed exactly what I’m afraid of being—a guy who’s only muscle, who’s all surface and nothing underneath.

And that’s where it gets messy, because I don’t want to let this go. This thing I’ve built—this body, this strength—means something to me. It’s not just about how I look. It’s about the work, the discipline, the sense of control I feel when the rest of my life feels like chaos.

But then I hear this other voice in my head, asking: is that enough? Or am I holding onto this image because I’m scared to figure out who I am without it?

I don’t know.

For now, all I can do is keep showing up—at the gym, at this blog, at this work I’m trying to do on myself. I don’t have the answers yet. I’m not even sure I’m asking the right questions.

But maybe that’s okay.

~ Matthew 🌳

I had a conversation with Jeff yesterday that’s been sitting with me. It started because of this picture he posted on Instagram. It’s me in the gym, mid-workout, doing this goofy “hulk smash” pose with a ferocious roar on my face. It’s the kind of thing I’d normally laugh about, but seeing it publicly posted, I felt… off.

Jeff, being Jeff, asked me what was bothering me about it. And I didn’t have an answer. I just knew it didn’t sit right with me.

The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think it’s not about the picture itself. It’s about what it shows—or maybe what it doesn’t show. When people see me, I think the first thing they notice is my size, my strength, this hypermasculine image I project. And I know that image says something about me before I even open my mouth. It says I’m a certain kind of man—the kind of man I know I still carry in some ways, but also the kind of man I know it’s time to let go of.

Here’s where it gets messy: I think I lean into that image—this idea of being super strong, of being someone who’s unshakable—because it feels safe. It feels like something I can control. If I look strong, people won’t question whether I am strong. And if they don’t question it, maybe I won’t have to either.

But there’s more to strength than just muscle, isn’t there? I wrote about that last time—how strength isn’t just about pushing through pain, but about sitting with it, learning from it. That’s the kind of strength I want to have. The kind I want to pass on to others.

And yet, I can’t help but wonder if this image I project is getting in the way of that. If I’m so focused on looking strong, am I leaving room to actually be strong? Am I leaving room to be wrong, to learn, to grow?

I don’t have answers to these questions yet. What I do know is that Jeff was right to ask me why I felt uncomfortable about that picture. Because the truth is, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because when I look at that image, I see myself exactly the way the world sees me—big, strong, in control. And maybe I’m starting to realize that’s only part of the story.

For now, all I can do is keep asking questions. About myself, about what strength really means, about the kind of person I want to be. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe strength starts with being willing to look at yourself and admit you don’t have it all figured out.

~ Matthew 🌳

I’ve been sitting with something lately, trying to work out why I keep feeling like I’m falling short. This whole Brotherhood thing—it’s supposed to be about building something good, something real. But sometimes I catch myself wondering if I’m really helping or if I’m just making things harder for the people I care about.

Take Jeff, for example. This was well before any idea of The Brotherhood. Back then, it was just two guys at the gym. He’d asked me to help him out—to show him the ropes, push him a little, maybe help him get stronger. And that’s what I tried to do. But one day, I took it too far.

He was struggling with a set, and I kept pushing him. “One more,” I said. Then, “No, not yet—keep going.” I was locked into this mindset that strength was all about grinding through pain, about pushing past every wall, no matter the cost. And when he hesitated—just for a moment—I snapped.

I said something I shouldn’t have. Words I regret more than I can say.

I can still see the look in his eyes when I said it. It wasn’t just exhaustion or frustration—it was hurt, plain and deep. And I saw it. I knew I’d crossed a line. But instead of apologizing, I froze. I walled myself off. It was like some part of me was too afraid to face what I’d done, too wrapped up in my own shame to acknowledge his pain.

It took me a while to even process what had happened. I went home that night and told myself I’d been trying to help him, that it wasn’t a big deal, that he’d shake it off. But I knew better. Deep down, I knew I’d messed up. And the longer I stayed silent, the more that moment started to eat at me.

I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to just admit when I’ve hurt someone. Maybe it’s because doing that means confronting parts of myself I’d rather not see. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my whole life believing that strength means never faltering, never showing weakness—even when I’m the one who’s in the wrong.

When I finally did apologize to Jeff, I could tell he’d been waiting for it. He forgave me, like he always does. But even now, that moment still sits with me. Not because he hasn’t let it go, but because I haven’t.

I’m starting to realize that strength isn’t just about pushing through pain. Sometimes it’s about sitting with it, about facing the things you’ve done wrong and letting yourself learn from them. I don’t want to be the kind of person who forces my idea of strength onto someone else. I want to be strong enough to let people figure out what strength means for them.

And maybe the hardest part of that is learning to embrace not knowing. To sit with the discomfort of realizing you don’t have all the answers, and that’s okay.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get it completely right. But I want to try.

~ Matthew 🌳

Alright, so it’s come to my attention (thanks to Jeff) that I may have jumped into this blog without even telling you what The Brotherhood actually is. I realize that might be kind of important. Here’s the honest answer: I’m not entirely sure yet.

Jeff and I were talking about what we’re building here, and he’s been poking at me to put it into words. But to be straight with you, The Brotherhood started off as just two guys lifting weights and trying to live by values we don’t always see in the world around us. It’s not just about muscle, though there’s plenty of that happening. It’s about something bigger, something I haven’t quite pieced together yet.

Maybe that’s why defining it is a struggle. It’s like trying to explain a work in progress while you’re still covered in sawdust. You can see the outline, but there’s still a lot of sanding and shaping to do before it’s anything close to finished. In other words, the Brotherhood is still a bit of an experiment.

If I’m being honest (and I’m trying), part of the reason for all this isn’t just about the vision of some ideal community. I’ve always pushed myself to be strong, to be the one who never backs down, and I think, in some ways, The Brotherhood is my attempt to pass that strength along. Not exactly in a gentle, guru kind of way, either. More like the way I was taught to be strong: by toughening up, taking the hits, and learning to deal with them.

And maybe that’s why I need Jeff’s input on this—he’s got this ability to remind me that it’s okay to… I don’t know, nothammer everyone into shape like they’re iron in the forge. Sometimes, I have this tendency to lean a little too hard into “tough love,” and while that may be fine for me, Jeff’s been gently suggesting that it might not be what everyone needs all the time.

So, here’s what I know about The Brotherhood so far: it’s a place for us to become something stronger than what we could be alone. It’s an idea that we can become our best selves—individually and together—by facing our weaknesses head-on. And it’s a space where we try to be better, even if we’re still figuring out exactly what that looks like.

If you’re here reading, you’re welcome to join us as we work out the kinks, even if they’re mostly my kinks, in this whole “being strong without crushing people in the process” idea.

~ Matthew 🌳