I was a bad boy and a lone wolf well into my forties, and while I was never a threat to Brad Pitt in the handsome department, I always had more women than time to hang out with. In truth, he was such a screwed up guy that I admit I still don’t quite understand why my dance card was so full. Any positive character traits associated with my condition were accidental. Bad boys and lone wolves are usually the same type because they are both dysfunctional men who share similar characteristics and both enjoy their antisocial reputations. And, most importantly, men choose the lone wolf path because they have trust issues with other men. Any lone wolf who denies this is simply denying it.
I think part of my appeal to women was that it was dangerous. He had no connection to anything or anyone. I was a true free spirit. I went where I wanted to go and did what I wanted to do. I never tolerated anyone telling me what to do, and if they tried, I would attack in defiance. I was a successful entrepreneur, which meant I had money to travel and money to spend on my passion, which, unsurprisingly, was motorcycling, a traditional bad boy activity. I always had a couple of fast bikes in my garage and rode like I own the road. I viewed speeding tickets as my right of way into adulthood. I laughed at the police as they walked away and immediately rode like my hair was on fire again. I was an angry, defiant social misfit.
Outwardly he seemed happy and full of life, and in a way he was, but I always felt inferior to other men, particularly men who enjoyed friendships with other men. Women loved that I was an independent guy, especially at the beginning of our relationships, but over time, my independence hurt them. He was inconsiderate, selfish, and needed women, but not in a way that necessarily worked for them as well. He was totally immersed in being cold and distant. I modeled my cool behavior on Hollywood’s bad boy, the lone wolves. When I stopped to think about the women who liked me, I couldn’t help but notice that many of them were loners too.
Our social life relationship was predictable, particularly considering that we were outcasts who avoided social norms. That meant we spent too much time together and rarely with other couples. We always quickly realized that while the sex and some of the time we spent together was fantastic, we were a dysfunctional couple by anyone’s definition. I was distancing myself from women who had a lot of friends, but in hindsight, I think that was mainly because I was not comfortable with people who seemed socially normal.
Since becoming a lone wolf has a lot to do with a lack of trust in other men, it was not difficult for me to trace the roots of my behavior. My childhood with my father had been terrible. He was a violent and angry guy who seemed to always be fighting someone from the community. He had not been able to support his family and I think it was our constant lack of money that brought him to the brink of anger and violence. It was just a convenient target. I never trusted him, and he never stopped giving me reasons why I shouldn’t. I avoided him and although I tried not to give him opportunities to betray me, he was older and smarter, and he often succeeded despite my best efforts.
I became a man who did not trust other men, so becoming a lone wolf was just a natural progression. I had been a juvenile delinquent as a result of my turbulent home life, so carrying that bad boy attitude into adulthood was easy. At twenty-five, I was already the quintessential bad boy, the lone wolf, and since I had more dates than I could handle, I thought everything was working out really well for me. Part of my self-confidence was because I never spoke to other men and therefore never received any comments about my behavior.
At forty, it no longer worked. I felt empty inside and my isolation had become suffocating. Lone wolves live in an emotional vacuum, and my bubble had enough oxygen to allow me to survive, but not enough to flourish. I had let my lack of confidence and fear of men dictate the quality of my life for far too long. While I didn’t trust men enough to venture into the friendship field, I doubted other men would view me as particularly good friendship material. I was desperate to join the pack, and I was tired of constantly polishing my bad boy credentials, which at forty I felt compelled as I was a legally earning businessman.
I desperately wanted to find a woman who was not interested in me for the wrong reasons, but that proved much more difficult to achieve than I imagined. First he was going to have to change. I will explain that metamorphosis in my next article.
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