About Dan:

Dan Jaffe is an actor, writer, and filmmaker based in Brooklyn, New York. He is directing a short film called HARBOR in November this year, with a planned release date in 2026. The film explores mental health in men, particularly those whose upbringing never allowed them to express themselves as they grew from children into adolescents, young adults, and then husbands, fathers, and members of their communities.

The inspiration behind HARBOR

The story that inspired my film HARBOR is not one involving my personal mental health struggles, but rather those I witnessed of a stranger:

In the spring of 2019, I visited coastal Maine for a friend’s wedding, attending alone as my then girlfriend (now wife) was not able to attend. The couple’s ‘Welcome Drinks’ were held at a local bar, though the event was not private, meaning the wedding guests interspersed with the local crowd.

Towards last call when much of the wedding crowd had left, a couple friends and I enjoyed a final round of drinks when an unknown man around our age joined our table. Clearly inebriated, but relatively lucid, he made ‘friends’ with our group, though I was leery of his presence. He would weave in and out of our conversations, seemingly preoccupied with his inner thoughts.

When one friend bought us all a round of shots, the stranger downed his and dropped the glass, smashing it into pieces on the floor. As he bent down to pick it up, I encouraged him to let it go, that everything was fine – when he burst into a rage. The bar manager and bouncer intervened to kick the stranger out, but I could see in his eyes that something wasn’t right.

This wasn’t just a drunken outburst, this was the cry for help from a man who had reached a personal breaking point.

I convinced the manager that I would look out for this stranger, and after his agreement I checked back in with the stranger. He was back sat at the table, he held his head in his hands, crying, whimpering indecipherably. It was then that he told me his brother-in-law had just died by suicide.

My friends, not privy to the stranger’s dark secret, intimated they’d be leaving. But I knew this man needed someone, even if just for a few minutes, to be there for him. They left, and I took a seat across from him.

The man had trouble understanding my intentions – why did I want to be with him? Why would I want to listen? Why should I care? I told him I was there for him simply to listen. Not judge, not attempt to help or find reason, just to be there for him, his grief, and for anything else he had on his mind. He apologized for his tears, his vulnerability pouring out maybe for the first time, especially in front of a stranger.

Then, he started talking.

Our conversation touched on his brother-in-law’s death, his and his family’s reactions and grief. He received calls and alerts on his phone all the while, but ignored them and never revealed whom they were from. The conversation continued until his stories overwhelmed him and he fled to the bathroom and locked the door. The manager and bouncer followed, threatening the stranger to open the door lest they call the cops. In that instant, I decided to leave.

I walked out of the bar and into the town, smoked a cigarette borrowed from a friend, and thought about what had transpired. Only a few minutes later, the bar door burst open and the stranger was unceremoniously thrown out. I went over to him and helped him to his feet. He couldn’t believe I was still there, though I told him I hadn’t intended to be. No matter though, I would still be there for him if he’d like.

From there, our conversation continued as we walked through the town. We talked more about his family, his upbringing from a father who chastised his vulnerability with calls to “man up,” his childhood friend who was bullied and beaten for being gay, how he was about to become a father and how much that scared him, and how he’d never shared any of these stories or secrets with anyone.

The man’s phone continued to chime as it had at the bar during our seemingly hours-long walk, until we heard someone walking toward us. As they got closer, the man recognized this person, a woman, and ran in the opposite direction. She called out to him by name, but didn’t chase, all the while leaving me in bewilderment. She then introduced herself as the man’s wife. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say or do. How could I tell this woman what had transpired that night? What was appropriate?

I had borne witness to the vulnerability of a man who admittedly never dug that deeply within himself before.

With all those thoughts running through my mind, I chose my words carefully. I introduced myself, told her I’d met her husband at the bar and wanted to make sure he was okay for the night, to stay out of any potential trouble he could’ve had. I told her I’d listened to what her husband wanted to share through a difficult night, how he shared stories and thoughts, some for the first time to anyone. I told her I was only there to listen, and hoped that he could be this open for her. She thanked me and walked in the direction her husband ran, leaving me alone in the dark town.

On my walk back to my hotel that night, my mind flooded with the thoughts of what had transpired. I hoped the man was okay. I hoped that he didn’t continue running from his inner demons, just as he ran from me and his wife. I hoped that maybe soon he would start to share his inner thoughts with his wife and family. Maybe our conversation could be the catalyst for his personal growth.

A Lasting Impact

Years after that night, I vividly remember our interaction and think about how it’s impacted me as a person today. Admittedly, I have always been an introvert. I’ve found it difficult to raise my voice in times of need, to ask for help, to refrain from people-pleasing at the expense of my own well-being. This man, in a time of immense personal struggle, did all of these things with a complete stranger. He broke through walls to connect with someone who’s been building their own for years.

Witnessing his story encouraged me to work on dismantling my own barriers. With the stranger, I gave him 100% of my support and presence without judgement. I’ve tried to do the same with friends, family, and coworkers who are willing to open up about their personal struggles. But I also began admitting to myself that when things are not okay personally, I don’t have to hold it in. I can acknowledge when I’m stuck and in need, and am working on not judging that feeling. I can seek out those around me for help, for guidance, or just an ear to hear what’s on my mind.

For the stranger, I was merely an ear for this man’s long bottled up demons. But his story continues to resonate with me enough to inspire HARBOR. This film is meant to encourage men to not only open up and voice their personal struggles, but open their ears to the struggles of men around them willing to speak. Bearing witness to one’s grief, one’s struggle, one’s disillusionment, has the potential to be equally as powerful for the person opening up.

Dan Jaffe
Brooklyn, New York
Director and writer of HARBOR
@danjaffe_

Next Steps:

Explore what peer support means, how to cultivate supportive relationships, and ways to sustain our well-being as we help others.