About Us
We’re two long-time friends and fathers of boys who created this retreat out of a shared need: to slow down, work with our hands, and reconnect—both with ourselves and with other men who were looking for the same thing. Together, we create experiences that help men connect, learn, and support one another in becoming their best selves.
We’re committed to a constructive, positive masculinity that invites men to show up with their whole selves through working with their hands and learning side by side.
Jamie
Hi, I am Jamie Holder. . .
My adult life has been shaped by two turns I didn't see coming.
The first happened at 25. I was working in finance — a logical enough path for a Princeton history graduate — when my father passed away unexpectedly. His death stopped me cold and made me ask, for the first time with any real urgency, what I actually wanted my life to be about. The answer that came back surprised me: I wanted to coach. I wanted to work with people, invest in their growth, and be part of something that mattered beyond a balance sheet. So I walked away from a career I was supposed to want, and spent the next fifteen years coaching swimming at Princeton, Georgetown, and Dartmouth — building programs, developing student-athletes, and trying to help young men and women become not just faster swimmers, but more capable human beings.
The second turn came in 2020, when my position at Dartmouth was eliminated. Once again, I found myself unmoored — without a clear professional identity for the first time in years. This time, though, the pause brought unexpected gifts. I spent more time at home, present as a father and husband in ways that the demands of coaching hadn't always allowed. Watching my son grow, and thinking seriously about what kind of man I hoped he'd become, stirred something in me. I began to notice how much the culture we swim in — the unspoken rules about what men are supposed to be, how we're supposed to handle difficulty, what we're allowed to feel — quietly limits us. Not with malice, but with habit. We learn early to project strength, push through, and go it alone. And most of us carry that script well into adulthood without ever stopping to examine it.
Then I got lucky. Without any prior experience, I was hired at Rockledge Farm Woodworkers to learn the craft of furniture making from the ground up. What I didn't expect was what happened in the shop alongside the work itself. Working closely with other men — side by side, focused on a shared task — something opened up. Real conversations happened. Guys asked for help. There was honesty and connection in that space that I hadn't found in many other places. I went from novice to skilled artisan, building everything from kitchen tools and cutting boards to tables, chairs, and benches, and I became convinced that making things together might be one of the most powerful — and underused — ways men have to find each other.
That's what these retreats are built around. Not answers — I don't have all of those — but the right conditions for men to slow down, work with their hands, and have the kinds of conversations we too rarely make time for: about identity, connection, purpose, and what it actually means to show up fully in our lives — as fathers, partners, friends, and men.
Along the way I've gathered tools that inform this work — a background in leadership coaching, a master's degree focused on human performance, and two decades spent inside the daily lives of athletes navigating pressure, identity, and growth. But more than any credential, what drives this is lived experience: of loss, of reinvention, of discovering that the things that cracked me open were also the things that pointed me somewhere worth going.
If you've read this far, something probably brought you here — and I don't think that's an accident. If any of it resonates, if you're curious, searching, or simply ready for something different, I'd love to connect. The Good Guy Project exists for men who are willing to show up, do the work, and find out what's possible. Reach out. Let's talk.
Chris
Hi, I’m Chris Cunningham.
My work has always centered on one thing: helping people grow. For most of my career that’s meant middle school, first in the classroom, and later in leadership roles building and running schools, including helping to launch a mission-driven middle school program at a school in New York City. I loved supporting teachers, shaping school culture, and creating programs that gave students a real chance to thrive.
Over time, though, the work shifted, and I began to feel a real disconnect. As I moved into a larger school, I spent less time with students and teachers and more time in meetings, managing conflict, and absorbing a lot of adult frustration. The farther I got from the day-to-day life of the classroom, the less connection and purpose I felt in the work I was doing. I missed real relationships, real learning, and the feeling of building something together.
When Covid disrupted everything, I made a choice that surprised even me: I went back to teaching. Instead of feeling like a step backward, it felt like a return to what was most real. Being back with students, working directly with colleagues, and feeling the energy of a live classroom reminded me how much relationships matter and how much we all need spaces where we can show up as ourselves, try things, fail, adjust, and keep going together.
That same instinct is what drew me into creating men’s retreats with my friend Jamie. When he shared his idea of combining hands-on work with intentional conversation, I was immediately interested and honestly a little nervous. I hadn’t grown up around tools or a workbench, and I carried a sense of shame about that. Some part of me believed that not knowing how to build things made me less of a man. Stepping into the shop felt exposing and uncomfortable, but choosing to stay there, to be a beginner, to ask basic questions, and to make mistakes in front of other guys turned out to be powerful. Leaning into that discomfort and learning the craft, even at a basic level, has opened up something important: the simple satisfaction of making something physical, and the way working side by side gives men permission to talk, listen, and be vulnerable in a way that feels honest and earned.
Our retreats are designed around that experience. They’re not about having all the answers. They’re about creating honest, grounded conditions for men to slow down, build something tangible, and have the kinds of conversations we usually push off, about identity, relationships, purpose, and what it looks like to show up fully in our lives as partners, fathers, friends, and men. My background in education and school leadership gives me a long view of growth and development. My return to the classroom, and my own work with my hands, remind me how much we all still have to learn.
If you’re looking for a place to step out of autopilot, to work with your hands, and to be part of a group of men who are willing to be real with each other, I’d love to connect. The retreats we’re building exist for men who are ready to show up, do the work, and see what becomes possible when we build not just projects, but ourselves and each other, together.
