A Crisis of Faith

So, in my last post I talked about how a culture, or community, breeds familiar experiences amongst its members. This is sort of a continuation of that theme, I guess.

Somedays, I wake up ready to take on the whole world; other days I can't be bothered making the effort of getting up again. It's on those latter days, which are brought about by physical fatigue or ego depletion, I become stoic (or, as an ex-girlfriend used to call it, "being a moody arse"). When you can't be bothered doing anything, nothing is too small an excuse to reframe.

Somedays, I just can't be bothered with wrestling.

Now, everyone will experience that day - probably multiple times - when they just aren't arsed. What I'm talking about are those days you wake up wanting to quit. At least twice a year, since I started wrestling, six years ago, I've seriously considered stopping; usually the feeling stems from frustration at a lack of personal progress, or just a perceived stagnation (I've been told I'm too hard on myself). I can't say this is a universal experience amongst wrestlers, but, as time has gone by, interviews read, and podcasts listened to, I can say that there is a good number of people who have a similar low point.

Imagine putting your hours in, traveling the roads, and even the world, with a constant nag playing in the back of your brain: "Where is the next booking coming from?"; " Do we have enough for the month, yet?"; "What if you get hurt, tonight?" Imagine traveling, full-time, for years on end, and the nag doesn't cease. Instead, a new voice starts; you listen to it and it says "What if this is all you'll ever do? What if you're going to do this routine until the day your body gives out? What're you gonna do as a almost-made-it wrestler?"

Naming no names and looking at no one in particular, I've heard this fear expressed by a number of full-time, professional wrestlers. I'm a part-time wrestler. Due to always being in some form of education (whether higher, middle, or an intermediate stage) I've never been able to fully commit myself to the premise of full-time, professional wrestling employment. I earn money, but enough for food and training costs, I don't live off it. This crisis of faith hasn't occured for me yet, but, I will admit, the precursor to it has been playing about in my psyche: "What if you become that forty something, who never made it? What if all you get out of this is a growing list of injuries? What if you don't even get that far?"

I don't have an answer to these concerns, yet; I'm twenty-two years old, I don't really know anything. I suppose I'll wake up tomorrow morning, feeling a little better, training, and exercising the demons out of the system. They'll be gone for awhile, and when they return, I'll rinse and repeat.