The Magic of Fifteen Men and a Couple of Costco Coolers
Today we head home.
By the time you read this, suitcases will be open on beds, laundry will begin to pile up, and somebody will already be missing the weather, the pool, the conversations, or maybe just the luxury of not having to decide what’s for dinner.
This week reminded me of something I keep learning over and over again: there is a strange kind of magic that happens when men decide to show up for each other.
Some of the guys on this trip were friends who first met last year and got to see each other again for the first time in fifteen months. There’s something unexpectedly moving about watching grown men light up when familiar faces walk through the door. Big hugs. Inside jokes that somehow picked up exactly where they left off. Stories continuing mid-sentence as though no time had passed.
And then there are the new men.
The ones who arrived a little quieter.
The ones who spent the first day figuring out where they fit.
And somehow, by day two or three, everyone had melted together into one strange little temporary family.
That part never gets old.
There’s magic in the logistics, too — and I know that sounds ridiculous.
There’s magic in ordering enough food to feed fifteen men and realizing halfway through unloading groceries that there is absolutely no universe in which it all fits into the refrigerator.
There’s magic in emergency Costco cooler runs and playing refrigerator Tetris.
There’s magic in somehow loading fifteen gay men into a van and navigating Las Vegas traffic — especially when, back home, I occasionally treat my poor Kia Soul like I’m competing in demolition derby qualifiers.
There’s magic in making plans.
But maybe even more than that, there’s magic in abandoning them.
Learning to pivot.
Adjusting because people are tired.
Changing dinner.
Moving times.
Realizing that perfection was never actually the goal.
The goal was always the experience.
And speaking of experiences…
I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time in my adult life this week.
I’ve seen the photos. I’ve seen documentaries. Everybody tells you it’s impressive.
Nobody tells you what happens when you stand there and your brain can’t quite process the scale of it.
You just stare.
You get quiet.
You remember how small you are and somehow also how lucky.
But I think my favorite magic this week wasn’t in the canyon or the shows or the restaurants.
It was in the ordinary moments.
Adult men sitting near each other without needing to perform.
Somebody reading.
Somebody scrolling.
Someone half asleep in a lounge chair.
Quiet conversations.
Comfortable silence.
Being together without needing to constantly entertain each other.
That kind of peace is rarer than people realize.
And maybe that’s why this week felt so easy.
Fifteen personalities.
Different backgrounds.
Different habits.
Different lives.
And somehow… no drama.
If there were differences, they stayed buried under kindness, patience, and enough mutual respect to make this whole thing feel remarkably civilized.
That’s not luck.
That’s the kind of men who come on these trips.
So tomorrow we leave.
And leaving has its own kind of magic.
Because leaving doesn’t feel final anymore.
We know what happens next.
Photos get shared.
Messages get sent.
People stay in touch.
Somebody starts planning the next thing.
And somewhere down the road — a few months, maybe a year — we’ll do this again.
Different city.
Same familiar faces.
A few new ones.
And once again, we’ll gather together and make something temporary that somehow feels like home.
That’s the real magic.
