These San Diego Groups Are Helping Men Connect

You come home from your first day of school and your parents ask, “Did you make any new friends?” Maybe trading Lunchables or sharing a pack of Oreos helped you break out of your shell to strike up a conversation. Maybe you saw your classmate wearing a Padres hat and asked if his favorite player was also Fernando Tatis Jr. Maybe you’re a natural extrovert who has no problem inviting your entire class to your birthday party.

Making friends is an entirely different beast as an adult. You’re trying to balance your health, work, finances, family, and your sanity. And on top of that, a social life? Impossible.

Being a part of a bigger community—like a rec sports league—helps, but we all need intimacy. Witnesses to the exciting, mundane, shameful parts of our lives. Turns out, men don’t have that as much as women do, and the consequences of this are dire. Roughly 1 in 6 men say they have no close friendships, according to a 2021 American Perspectives Survey. Suicide rates in men are nearly four times higher than they are in women, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. Those numbers are even higher for men above 55, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (2023).

In Carlsbad, Men’s Shed helps older men build friendships as the group contributes to construction projects across North County. “Men get lonely,” says Glenn Bernard, one of more than 20 members of Men’s Shed in Carlsbad. “This is a good way to bond, socialize, share skills, and have something to do that’s worthwhile. Purposeful.”

What started in Australia in the 1990s has grown into an international nonprofit with more than 3,000 chapters worldwide, including one that meets at Carlsbad By The Sea Retirement Community. Haley DiDonato, director of life enrichment at Carlsbad By The Sea, established California’s first and only public chapter in 2023. Members (aka Shedders) meet twice a month to discuss their projects and get to work.

They’ve built bikes for the local Boys and Girls Club, a raptor shed at the Agua Hedionda Lagoon, a small birdhouse outside Front Porch Gallery, and a gazebo at St. Michael’s by-the-Sea Episcopal Church, to name a few.

Trade experience isn’t required. David Gilson, the group’s leader, was a pharmaceutical consultant before he retired. Rich Greenamyer is a retired engineering duty officer who built ships in the Navy. When John Gardella wasn’t working sales at Dupont, he woodworked projects for his family at home.

“Men are so tied up in their work all their life,” Gilson says. “Their identity was their job. Suddenly, you retire on Friday, and on Monday they don’t remember you. Now what?”

Marital status also affects how men interact with the community around them. Some Shedders joined because their “wives encourage [them] to be in Men’s Shed, to get out of the house for a couple hours every couple of weeks,” Gardella says. For some widowers in the group—such as Gilson, whose wife passed away eight years ago—Men’s Shed provides a sense of purpose and place. The outings Gilson organizes breaks up the monotony of staying at home with his dog. A 2024 study in the National Library of Medicine says widowers feel long-term levels of loneliness (higher levels than widows), and they were less likely than widows to form new connections after loss. This group is changing that.

The appearance and function of male friendships have been spotlighted since the 300s BC, when Aristotle discussed them in Ethics. Fast forward to the 19th century, and these dynamics have transitioned from heroic friendships—ones built on loyalty and nobility—to ones that better symbolized the Romantic Age: more affectionate in written language (like writing letters to each other) and body language (like draping their arms around one another). By the end of the 1800s, 1 in 3 American men belonged to a fraternal organization.

But when World War II brought a homophobic “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” suspicion around male bonding, friendships between men became more stoic. It wasn’t common for men to talk about their feelings with each other.

In 2026, though, we’re sharing our feelings. Dads Corps, a nonprofit organization through Social Advocates for Youth San Diego, offers classes, resources, and supportive services to fathers. Twice a week for six weeks, fathers practice how to actively listen, learn how to better communicate, and gain more skills that help them in their parenting journeys.

“When dads have kids, they lose their friends because it’s all about just the baby, the mom, and the family,” says Dads Corps director Laura Soto. “When they come to our classes, they get comfortable being able to share their struggles. It does reduce the isolation and help normalize them in that struggle.”

For dads who are new to San Diego, the program helps them navigate their way around the city. For single dads, they can meet other fathers who are raising children the same age to set up playdates. Oftentimes, dads graduate from their cohort and return to volunteer and mentor new attendees.

The program is as therapeutic as it is active. Group facilitators teach dads about healthy relationship practices, answer questions about how they can be more consistent in their children’s lives. It also hosts fishing trips, barbecues, and community service events to let dads practice their learnings with each other outside a classroom.

“It’s about acknowledging that we need to be heard about the concerns that we don’t ask help for as fathers,” says Jorge Narvaez, alumni manager at Dads Corps. “We live in a society where fathers have to look through crevices—go to a bar, go to a barbershop, go to all these different places—just to have interactions with other people. It feels like we finally, as dads at this program, have a space for us to talk.”

But some men don’t want to only talk about their inner selves; they also want to talk about books. For Ronald Alsop, the New York City Gay Men’s Book Club was a place for him to meet local bibliophiles when he lived on the opposite coast. There was no equivalent in San Diego—until he started it in 2019. He created the Mission Hills-Hillcrest Gay Men’s Book Club as a way to meet other men and talk about authors like James Baldwin and Edmund White.

Whether it’s Andrew Holleran’s fictional coming of age Dancer from the Dance (the first book the club read) or George Chauncey’s non-fiction novel Gay New York, the books Alsop chooses share a common thread: Each carries some connection with gay culture.

“Traditionally, gay men were depicted in books in a tragic way,” says Alsop, who is also a freelance writer. “In more recent years, there’s been a more positive spin on it, a more wholesome outcome.”

Alsop initially promoted the group by putting flyers around the neighborhood bars and in Uptown News. He was nervous before the first meeting, afraid no one would show up. Now, there are roughly 35 people on his email blast, and the monthly meetups regularly see 12 to 15 people participate.

“The discussion’s always lively,” Alsop says. “I think it’s a way to get to know people better.”

Throughout the county, because of these groups, people are reading books (its own win, these days) and creating community. Dads and their children are getting invited to birthday parties from their fellow fathers. And in Carlsbad, some Men’s Shed meetings are taking place at Hennessey’s Tavern down the road over brunch. As friends.

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