How Male Friendship Saves Lives

By guest contributor Jarie Bolander

At 46, I joined a club no one wants to be part of—I became a widower.

I thought my wife Jane, ten years younger, would outlive me. Leukemia had other plans.

When I stepped up to give her eulogy, I was overwhelmed by grief, sorrow, anger, and self-pity. How could I do justice to a woman who was smart, kind, and loving? She pulled me out of my own private pity party of self-doubt and rage after my divorce.

How am I going to get through this?

Overwhelming Sorrow. Tremendous Love.

April 30, 2017, her celebration of life, is etched in my memory. The Lafayette Veterans Memorial Center was filled with morning light, BBQ smells, and blooming flowers—festive yet wrong. What was missing was Jane.

The sorrow was tempered by the love and support, especially from my male friends, as I struggled to cope with the gravity of the day. Though none had lost a wife, they understood the hopelessness, anger, and “fix-it” mode that consumed me during her 15-month battle. Some had been more impactful than others.

Troy would drive to a nearby park to just sit and listen. Greg would call to talk about anything but cancer, offering a fleeting sense of normalcy. They showed me that friendship isn’t just about doing stuff—it’s about presence, bearing witness, and consistency.

Not a Great Male Friend Maker

I wasn’t great at making male friends as an adult. I had plenty growing up, but after college, I focused on work and money, thinking life could wait until I “made it.” That mindset cost me the deeper connections that make life meaningful.

After my divorce, I turned to extreme athletics and alcohol to numb the loneliness. I had acquaintances, but no one I could truly lean on or confide in.

What would eventually save me was Jane’s offhand comment on our fifth date: “You need more friends. Go find some.” She wasn’t judging—just telling the truth.

Luckily, she modeled it. Despite running her own business, she always made time for her friends. I followed her lead. Slowly, the loneliness faded, replaced by real friendships that made life’s struggles more bearable.

That revelation planted the seed for what I now believe: making and sustaining male friendships is one of the most important steps men can take to combat the epidemic of male loneliness.

The Male Friendship Decline

A 2021 survey by the American Survey Center found that the percentage of men with six or more close friends dropped from 55% in 1990 to just 27% in 2021. The rate of men with no close friends rose fivefold—from 3% to 15%.

This matters because loneliness kills. According to the CDC, men are nearly four times more likely to die by suicide than women. Loneliness is not just a feeling – it’s a public health crisis.

Why Are Men So Lonely?

Part of the reason lies in how we’re raised. From a young age, men are taught to value independence and self-reliance. Vulnerability is often discouraged. Most male friendships are based on shared activities, not shared emotions. When those activities fade—like work, sports, or clubs—the friendships often fade, too.

Add in a lack of emotional skills, fear of rejection, and outdated ideas about masculinity, and it’s no wonder men struggle to build meaningful friendships. Without deliberate effort, many of us end up isolated—even in the presence of others.

Crucible Moments and Connection

After Jane died, I knew I had to leave the house and re-engage with the world. So I leaned into what had always worked for me—physical challenge. I signed up for a relay race around Lake Tahoe with my friends to get out of the house and honor Jane.

That event became one of the most healing experiences of my life. The pain broke down walls. The shared experience built a bond. These crucible moments gave us something more than a workout: they gave us brotherhood (and sisterhood).

I also started Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu a month after Jane died. While not an immediate source of male friends, it gave me purpose and presence. When someone’s trying to choke you out, it turns out, you stop thinking about grief. Who would have known?

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The crew after our Lake Tahoe Relay Race honoring Jane.

Source: Jarie Bolander/Used with permission

How We Build Back the Brotherhood

Reversing this trend isn’t easy—but it’s possible. Here’s what’s worked for me:

• Engage in Shared Activities: Join a class, a team, or a club. Male friendship often starts shoulder-to-shoulder. Over time, it can become heart-to-heart.
• Prioritize Regular Contact: I used to struggle with this. But a simple “thinking of you” text can go a long way. Don’t wait. Reach out.
• Embrace Vulnerability: This one was hardest for me. I had to let go of control. Once I did, I found deeper connections—and unexpected healing.
• Participate in Crucible Experiences: Go do something hard with someone else. Push yourselves. Suffer a little. You’ll come out stronger—and closer.

It Starts With Effort

Here’s the hard truth: friendship takes work. It won’t magically happen. But neither will growth, or healing, or meaning. The first step is showing up.

Start small. Say yes. Send the text. Make a plan. Join the class. Go on a hike. Show up to support your friend. Let someone support you.

Male friendship won’t fix every problem, but it might save a life. I know, because it helped save mine.

Author, Jarie Bolander

Source: Jarie Bolander/Used with permission

About the Author

Jarie Bolander is the author of seven books on leadership, entrepreneurship, and communication, including Ride or Die: Loving Through Tragedy, A Husband’s Memoir. Ride or Die tells the story of his late wife Jane and her 15-month battle with leukemia. Written to honor her memory, the memoir offers a rare look into the male experience of grief and healing—and aims to help others feel less alone.