You ever notice how men get lured into the hunt? They think they’re gonna bag a lot of deer—hell, that’s the whole damn point, right? The struggle, the build-up, the anticipation. You start to believe it’s all worth it, the effort, the planning, the endless chasing. Then you get led into some patch of land where you shoot one deer, then another, and another, and at first, it’s great, it’s exciting. But here’s the catch: once you’re on that land, once you sign the landloard’s contract, you realize that the whole damn game is rigged. Now, you’ve got this lifetime contract that’s so one-sided it’s laughable. You can’t shoot on other land, and if you get old, sick, or your money dries up, or you lose your looks, you’re out. She’ll replace you in a second. 70% of divorces are initiated by women, you know that? You walk into this, knowing damn well there’s a 47% chance it’s going to fail, and another 35% chance that you’re going to end up miserable as hell for staying. But you sign it anyway, because society told you to and that deer hunting was so fine.
Once you’re on that land, you find out the truth. The deers are restricted. There aren’t as many as you thought. It was all a damn ploy. The landlord made you believe you’d have endless deer to hunt, and that’s why you signed up. You put your name on that contract, on that deed for the joint house, because you were promised something real. And now? Now you’re combining incomes, letting her manage your money, and she’s got you by the balls.
And society? Hell, society applauds you when you sign that contract, tells you you’re stable, a man with your shit together. Corporate America loves it. They love to see you in that role—provider, protector, you even have good credit now and a Home Depot card. But no one knows the truth: when you get home, there’s no deer waiting for you. When there is one, it’s not the same hunt anymore. It’s forced. It’s transactional. You’ve got the landlord pulling the strings. You get a deer only when you’ve jumped through the right hoops. You remembered her anniversary? Here’s a deer. You bought her something nice? Here’s a deer. It’s no longer the sport. It’s a job.
The truth is, after a while, you stop caring about the hunt. You forget why you even wanted the land in the first place. All you want now is stability, security, and the cash. You’ve settled for the illusion because it’s easier than facing the truth.
Now, I’ll tell you this—once, at my lowest point, I thought I was living the dream. I was single, living in a yellow duplex, right next to my favorite place. I was on top of my game, living the high life of single-ism, with deer coming and going as they pleased. One night, I bagged nine deers in 24 hours. Nine! It was the greatest, manly triumph I could imagine. But by the time the ninth one left, I was alone. All that “success” came with the most crushing loneliness.
I’d tell other men about my “hunt,” and they’d lean in, eager for the details, the names, the stories. It sounded like a damn triumph. But let me tell you—the grass ain’t greener. It looks like a win, but it’s all empty. Those deers weren’t real trophies. They were distractions, each one leaving me emptier than the last.
Now, at 55, I look back and realize that what I really missed was the value of the hunt. Not just bagging them, but how many of them actually stuck around, how many I spent time with beyond the thrill of the shot. Hell, I’m not judging women on how many deers they’ve had, but you sure as hell judge me on mine. I used to think it was about how many I could get, but now? I’m picky, slowing down. Why? Because the deers between 45 and 50 remind me of my mom and what she looked like when I lost saw her. And no, I’m not going for anything younger. Those usually come with little baggage called kids.
Men? We validate ourselves by how many deers we bag. And women? They use deer hunting as a tool, manipulating when they need something, giving only when it suits them. If you want to be a good landlord, let him hunt freely. Let him feel like a man. But don’t play the game. Don’t use it as leverage. Let him go out there and feel like he’s worth something, even if it’s just for a 5 min rump.
Because in the end, we’re all just hunting, hoping to find something real in a world full of empty promises.
