It's all a bit dubious anyway, Iron John/sweat lodge stuff. A packaged limit experience you flog to anomic urbanites who haven't got any sort of a grip on themselves. I don't want to come off as some sort of self-appointed expert on adulthood, but no part of my self-understanding as (amongst other things) a father of three comes from having been shown how to be a Real Man by another Real Man. Life is a vale of soul-making, there are no big-bang golden tickets to maturity. If you look at the people peddling this shit, they're nearly always revolting bores and fuck-ups who have resorted to magical thinking to make sense of life stories that are mostly a trail of selfish dead-ends - that self-mythologising thing inveterate narcissists do to compensate for having lived badly, hurt others, and never taken responsibility for a single moment of it.