The Listening Room HQ

"It pays my way and it corrodes my soul." — The Smiths, Frankly, Mr. Shankly A few days ago, someone posted a photograph from Corgo with the caption: "Vim só de visita ao Corgo porque o tempo cronológico não dá para mais." I just came by Corgo, because chronological time allows for no more. On the surface, there is nothing unusual about such a sentence. It is the kind of thing many of us say: life is busy, there are obligations, conferences, projects, juries, cultural events, meetings. The calendar fills itself. The days disappear. And yet, reading those words, I found myself thinking of Seneca. The person who wrote them does not need to keep running. She and her husband are retired. They own a beautiful cultural and artistic retreat by the Atlantic, north of Porto, in what was once a quiet fishing village. They have, by all appearances, arrived at the stage of life toward which so many people spend decades working. And still, there is no time...

One year ago today, on 13 July 2025, The Listening Room HQ came into being. It shares its birthday with my mother. It was created not as a business plan or an exercise in branding, or as another corner of the internet competing for attention. It emerged from a much simpler conviction: that, in an increasingly noisy and fragmented world, human beings still need places in which they can be heard. And from personal experience. From seeing men splitting, becoming aggressive, violent in front of me, or towards me. Over the past twelve months, The Listening Room HQ has become many things. A place for conversations about men's lives and inner worlds. A space in which emotional literacy is treated not as weakness, but as craft. A vessel for questions about friendship, fatherhood, grief, creativity, anger, love, loneliness and the countless ways in which we attempt to navigate being human. From the beginning, this vessel refused the false choice between lived experience and knowledg...

This post is a follow up of the previous one The Difference Between Action and Contact . There is a trap that many of us fall into when life becomes overwhelming. We start moving. We make calls. We send messages. We search. We ask. We read. We go from one place to another. We spend hours trying to change a situation. From the outside, it looks productive. Inside, it often feels like we are doing everything we possibly can. Sometimes we are. But movement and progress are not the same thing. Over the last few days I was reminded of something I had quietly forgotten. Activity can soothe the feeling of helplessness. Effective action changes things. The difference matters enormously. Activity often comes from urgency. It is driven by the understandable desire to regain control when life feels uncertain. It keeps us busy. It can even feel reassuring because we are no longer standing still. Effective action asks a different question. Not: "What else can I do?...

It is not unusual for some men to always be doing something. Those things can include work, messages, calls, solving problems, planning the next steps. It often looks like competence. A busy man living his life. However, at a point, action turns into something else. Often is something else. For instance, a substitute for contact. Contact with self, contact with others, contact with what is actually happening in the body, in the moment, in life. I have been noticing this for a long time. It is present in many men I know. Some conversations with a friend of mine are a good example. He is constantly in motion. Not just physically, necessarily. Mentally and socially. Always responding. Always engaging. Always moving something forward. If there is nothing to do, he finds something. It is not unusual for him to be on two or three different calls. Do you know those Wall Street films? Or TV shows like Billions or Succession ? Not that my friend is a billionaire or a stockbroker...

News emerged today, June 4, 2026, that those close to artist Marjane Satrapi have said she died of sadness a little over a year after the death of her husband, Mattias Ripa. Whether one takes that literally, medically, poetically, or all three at once, it stopped me in my tracks. I loved both Persepolis , the graphic novel, and the animated film. Like many people, I admired her ability to tell difficult truths without losing her humanity in the process. The phrase “died of sadness” will make some people uncomfortable. We prefer cleaner explanations. We like causes we can measure, classify, and place in neat boxes. Yet human beings have always known that profound loss can change the course of a life. Not only the body. The brain too. Anyone who has lived through deep grief knows that it is not simply an emotion. Memory changes. Concentration changes. Sleep changes. Time changes. The future itself can change shape. The world may remain intact, but the map by which we nav...

The other day I had a conversation with a friend about something very simple, but also very familiar: how easy it is to get pulled into the stream of news and world events without noticing how far you’ve gone. He described waking up and checking updates first thing in the morning. Then again. And again. Until the day is shaped around it. Not because anything new is happening, but because the checking itself becomes the rhythm. He also, like many others, lives with relatives that have the TV turned on news channels almost 24/7. I recognised it immediately. Not as theory, but as a pattern. There is a particular kind of tiredness that comes from this. Not physical tiredness exactly. More like a scattered nervous system. A sense of being slightly everywhere at once, and nowhere fully. I’ve seen it in myself too, in different forms over time, not just news, but anything that pulls attention in small repeated hits. Tiny interruptions that seem harmless on their own, but accumulat...