Anxiety and Impermanence

Dear Wrestling,

Today I am thinking a lot about anxiety, which I am feeling a lot of, and impermanence, which we are all subject to.

If you're not familiar with the idea of impermanence, basically it just means that everything changes. Even the sun will eventually die. I'm not usually bothered by this--after all, it means bad weather and pain end too. Or at least change.

Right now we Steenerico fans are in that painful gulf between certainty and flailing panic. We know that Kevin and Sami have gone back to North America from the European tour. We don't know why and we don't know if it's a work. Part of what makes this so painful, I think, is that we just watched Sami step into the spotlight properly for the first time since NXT. Our boys were telling us a story, together, again. It's a glorious thing, and I've been off my tits on happiness about it, even as others wait for shoes to drop and reversals to happen.

We've been waiting for so long for Sami in particular to be treated as we feel he deserves. And not just us: the reason I am writing this now is because of this excerpt of Kenny Omega from Colt Cabana's Art of Wrestling podcast episode 373: "If I ask the Young Bucks opinion, that's pretty much the opinion that counts the most to me. Back in the day like before I was with the Young Bucks all the time and I was in DDT, it was always Rami, like 'Rami what'd you think?' And if Rami gave it a stamp of approval..." 

Let me rephrase that. The man generally acclaimed to be the greatest wrestler in the world, values most the opinions of the Young Bucks, and of Sami Zayn. We've heard similar things from so many other wrestlers--whether they're his friend or not.

He deserves so, so much better than he's getting. I just wish we fans were the ones who could give it to him, and not a capricious businessman.

Anyway, moping aside: anxiety because we have no idea what's going on and this just when things were starting to get good, and impermanence because boy howdy that 'just starting to get good' didn't last very long, did it?

Let me find something less morose to end on--ah, here we go. Here are some bits from my favorite poem: Church of the Broken Axe Handle by Derrick Brown. You should read the whole thing, you'll understand me much better if you do. It's excellent.



I know you are alone and soaking in it
like solitude is blood
and the night is the letting.

Your heart races
with the pressure
of everyone in the room
finding a slow dance partner
but you.

Tap in. Tap the shoulder.
Love is yours.
Make the first move.
Lose the ones who stepped on your shoes.

Love is yours.
Let it be its horrible self. Learn it.


Hug each other, hold each other tight,
Autumn