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There’s a particular kind of vulnerability that comes with admitting you don’t have all the answers. For most of my adult life, I’d avoided that feeling like the plague. I was the guy who’d rather struggle silently than ask for directions, who viewed collaboration as a necessary evil rather than a strength. That all changed on a random Thursday evening when my girlfriend convinced me to try an escape room Manhattan experience with a group of people I’d never met.
I’ll be honest – I thought it was going to be a gimmick. Sixty minutes to solve puzzles and “escape” a themed room? It sounded like something for birthday parties and corporate team-building exercises that everyone secretly dreads. But standing there with five strangers, staring at a wall of cryptic symbols and hidden compartments, something shifted. The clock was ticking, and my usual approach, the lone wolf, figure-it-out-myself mentality, wasn’t going to cut it.
Ego Is the Enemy of Progress
The first twenty minutes were humbling. I kept gravitating toward puzzles I thought I could solve on my own, convinced I’d be the hero who cracked the code. Meanwhile, two other people were quietly connecting clues I’d completely overlooked. When someone suggested we pool our findings, I initially resisted. Why? Pure ego. I didn’t want to admit I was stuck.
But here’s what I learned: the moment I let go of needing to be right or impressive, everything changed. We started communicating openly – calling out observations, testing theories together, celebrating small wins as a team. It wasn’t about who solved what; it was about getting out. And we did, with three minutes to spare.
That experience stayed with me long after we left. In my career, my relationships, even my friendships, I’d been operating under the assumption that asking for help was a sign of weakness. The escape room taught me the opposite: real strength is knowing when to step back and let others lead.
Listening Is a Skill We’ve Forgotten
A few months later, I found myself at an escape room Boise location during a work trip. This time, I went in with a different mindset. Instead of jumping in headfirst, I listened. I paid attention to who noticed what, who had strengths in pattern recognition versus logic puzzles versus physical challenges.
What struck me most was how much more effective we were when everyone felt heard. One guy barely spoke for the first ten minutes, then quietly mentioned a detail everyone else had missed. That single observation unlocked the entire next section of the room. If we’d been louder, more aggressive in asserting our own ideas, we would have drowned him out.
This translates directly to how we show up as men in our everyday lives. How often do we bulldoze conversations, interrupt, or dismiss perspectives because we’re too focused on being heard rather than listening? That room reminded me that collaboration isn’t about dominance – it’s about creating space for everyone’s contributions.
Redefining What It Means to Lead
The traditional model of masculinity tells us that leaders are decisive, stoic, and self-reliant. But the best leaders I encountered in those escape rooms were the ones who asked questions, admitted when they were stumped, and celebrated others’ wins without jealousy. They were facilitators, not commanders.
I’m not saying escape rooms are going to solve toxic masculinity or teach you everything you need to know about leadership. But they do put you in a situation where your old patterns either work or they don’t – and more often than not, they don’t. You’re forced to confront whether you’re actually contributing or just performing the role of “the guy who has it together.”
The Takeaway
Since those experiences, I’ve tried to bring that same energy into the rest of my life. I ask more questions. I’m quicker to say “I don’t know” and genuinely mean it as an invitation rather than a defeat. I look for ways to make space for quieter voices in meetings, in friendships, in my relationship.
We live in a culture that still rewards the loudest voice in the room, the guy who looks like he’s got it all figured out. But some of the most important growth I’ve experienced came from admitting I didn’t – and being willing to lock myself in a room with strangers until I learned how to actually work with people, not just alongside them.
Maybe that’s what being a good man in the 21st century looks like: less armor, more honesty. Less proving, more connecting. And sometimes, a willingness to get locked in a room until you figure it out.
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