Thursday, May 10, 2012

Professional Wrestling = Life

So, I’m heading home in the morning, and that means I’m packing, and that means that I am distracting myself with whatever else I can. That means thinking the deep thoughts about Hippies that make me feel bad about myself, or boys who make me feel short (Not ugly, just not big enough) or even girls who make me feel like I’m not smart enough, or not pretty enough, or not professional enough, or…whatever…not enough of something.
Then I had this thought. Some people live their lives totally guarded. They get hurt once and they put up walls. They know they have walls and they like them. They use the walls to protect themselves and to torture everyone else who wants to see what is on the other side of the wall.
Then there are some people live their lives totally open.  They invite danger to brunch, ask it to watch their purse and to make sure no one puts rape drugs in their drinks while they go to the bathroom. Then they get upset when they wake up and all their money is gone.
Then there is ME
I live my life like a professional wrestler. WWE style. I get beat up a lot, because I enjoy the crowd, I enjoy the rush, but I don’t get raped and robbed by danger.  I am calculated but I don’t have to build a fortress around me to protect myself. I just make sure when the person hits me in the face with a chair, that he doesn’t hit me too hard and that it’s not a real chair and the ground has some give in it, and there are medics backstage to check out my shattered cheek bones. I mean it’s just a bone. It will heal.
I know that when you get hurt, you cry a little, shake it off, and take some Advil. I can live through anything, some people get paralyzed in car wrecks, some people become blind, and some people are the crazy cat lady even when they don’t want to be. I can handle a chair to the face, or a little heartbreak here and there, and even mean girls. I mean, what else am I supposed to be doing here? Being alive isn’t just breathing and paying bills, it’s about seeing all the crazy people around you, and seeing how they interact with each other and with you. It’s a joy to be alive, even when you have an emotionally shattered cheekbone.

No comments:

Post a Comment