Smitten

Dear Wrestling,

This is how you got me, and this is where I am now.

My sister was the infection vector, and her friends were for her. The academic in me wants to trace that line on back to its beginning. She was watching with her friends, and then this group came on that basically defied every single thing I thought about wrestling.

Every.
Single.
Thing.

It was the New Day. So, Black, not white: more nerdy than not, Xavier especially; brightly colored, not...how do I put this? Motorcycle-gang-color. Black denim, you know. They were so high energy, and talked about the power of positivity. That was the beginning of the explosion of my preconceptions. This all started in the winter of 2016.

I feel stunned with love for you. I've only been paying attention for about nine months, and over the last 2-3 I've fallen so hard, I don't really know what to do with myself--besides more of this, of course. I went from totally misunderstanding what you are, to having an idea, to getting it and falling hard in love--sort of.

It turns out, I always loved what you actually are. I've always loved live theatre. I've always loved stunt work and feats of physical excellence--whether in a sport or not. I've always loved strong characters, and simple ones too. A story can be profound when a character knows one thing about themselves--and especially if they are wrong.

I've always been someone with large feelings. People tend to think I'm more angry, more happy, so on, than I am, because I emote loudly or not at all. I think this makes us a pretty good match. But, the downside tends to be that the more I feel, the less articulate I become. The more I have to articulate, the less I am able to do so. This is the closest I've ever felt to one of the Romantics, gods help me. The words are lacking, but by damn the emotion is there!

I was so wrong about you for so long, and I'm so sorry. I don't really know how or why I didn't get it--pure snobbiness, at a guess. I thought you were a cruel moneymaking scheme to deprive stupid people of their time and cash. I feel terrible even typing that now: I'm not sure I could have been much more wrong.

Here's what I know now, or think I do: you're art. You're proper fucking art and I love you. You're commedia-style theatre with live freaking stunts and I don't understand how anyone doesn't like you. Sure, not all your characters are super well-developed or deep but god, isn't that true in life too? And like life, you're still going, there's all the vast future to improve and get better and innovate and fuck up and LIVE.

I love you the way I loved music when I was a teenager. I love you the way I love listening to punk rock on a long car ride. I love you like I love that one perfect strawberry every summer. I love you like laughing until I'm genuinely concerned about loss of control. I love you the way I love Night of the Living Dead when I got to that final scene the first time. I love you the way I love the Princess Bride and my lowball estimate is that I have seen that movie at least 2,000 times.

I have a memory of escaping my house when my parents were fighting and riding my bike to the church park at the end of the block, and swinging on the swingset as the sun set. It was early fall, the grass smelled warm but cool in the shadows, and whenever I catch that scent I am transported back, body and soul--a perfect madeleine moment.

I love you like that.

I kind of can't shut up about you, and it's only getting stronger.

Yours,
Autumn