Something happened in one of our groups recently that’s been sitting with me. A man raised his hand and asked if we could spend the evening talking about elderhood. Not because he was old, he wasn’t, because he felt the absence of it. Not just in his life, but everywhere.

As we went around the circle, a pattern emerged. Most of these men had never had a real elder. Someone who carried wisdom without wearing it like armor. Someone who could see what they couldn’t see yet. Someone who had walked the path and could offer more than advice, presence.

The absence was palpable.

At 72, I get called an elder by default now. And through two decades of holding space for men, over 500 of them in the Sandpoint Men’s Group, I suppose I’ve grown into something resembling one. But here’s what struck me: I had to figure it out myself. I never had the thing I was being asked to become. That’s the bind so many of us are in. We’re being called to become something we never saw modeled.

What We Lost When Elders Disappeared

Elderhood used to mean something. It wasn’t just about surviving long enough to get a senior discount. In most cultures, elders earned their place through presence, care, and deep contribution. They weren’t sidelined, they were central. They held the stories, the wisdom, the long view.

Today? We’ve traded that for youth obsession and efficiency metrics. Older men get pushed to the margins, treated as problems to manage rather than resources to treasure. The message is clear: your peak value was decades ago. Time to step aside.

But here’s what we’re discovering in our work: that absence creates a specific kind of ache in men. It shows up as restlessness, isolation, a sense that something essential is missing, not just for older men, but for younger ones too.

Where are the elders? And who am I without one?

Why Men Struggle to Become What They Never Saw

Most men were taught to perform, to achieve, to win. Nobody taught us how to age with meaning. How to shift from doing to being without losing our sense of worth. How to let go of status without letting go of dignity.

So when bodies slow down and roles change, many men feel lost. Some double down, trying to stay forever young. Others quietly disappear, convinced their time has passed.

The deeper truth? It’s hard to become what you’ve never seen.

What Our Bodies Already Know

But here’s what we witness in MELD groups, again and again. When you create space for men to drop their guard—not perform, just show up—something ancient surfaces. They start offering what an elder would: presence, honesty, challenge when it’s needed, encouragement when it matters.

Not because they’re trying to be elders. Because it’s already in them.

Your nervous system carries blueprints for connection and contribution. Your body knows how to regulate others through your own regulation. 80% of the information in your system flows upward from your body to your brain, which means your instincts for guidance and support are deeper than your thoughts about them.

In a circle of honest men, regardless of age, you see it happen. Men start guiding and sponsoring each other. The longing to contribute surfaces. Something primal awakens.

Elderhood isn’t something you invent—it’s something you remember.

Beyond Mentorship: What’s Really Needed

Scott Galloway is calling for older men to mentor younger ones. He is right. We need that. But he’s missing a key piece: without having received mentorship, many men don’t know how to offer it.

This is why somatic work matters. This is why men’s groups matter. Not as therapy sessions, but as the reformation of something tribal, necessary, and time-tested. When men learn to track what’s happening in their bodies, when they practice presence instead of performance, elderhood becomes less about hierarchy and more about relational leadership.

Every man gives. Every man receives. Every man is shaped.

Elderhood as Reintegration, Not Retirement

Look at Nelson Mandela. After 27 years in prison, he emerged not bitter, but deeply grounded. His presence carried moral authority that the world recognized. He was an elder because he earned it through suffering and integration, not just survival.

That’s what we’re missing. The understanding that elderhood isn’t retirement, it’s reintegration. We don’t need men to slow down. We need them to step in.

To offer clarity instead of control. Presence instead of performance. To give what they never got, so the lineage isn’t lost.

The Call

If you’re reading this, you feel it too. That pull toward something deeper. That sense that there’s more to offer than what the culture recognizes.

You don’t need permission to become an elder. You need practice. You need community. You need spaces where being yourself isn’t a risk, but a gift.

That’s what a good men’s group will give you, where it’s not just groups, but training grounds for the kind of presence the world is hungry for. Places where the instinct to support, to challenge, to guide has somewhere to land.

It’s not too late to become the elder you never had. Your nervous system is already wired for it. Your body knows the way.