touch after tussle
mastering the art of post fight connection
I loves me a good fight.
Fighting my way up a hill on a bike?
Fighting through layers of soil with a pick?
A pick is less fun but somehow just as if not more rewarding than a bicycle.
Fighting with time and the constraints of mortality!
I find I’m fighting both sides of the same battle. I’m fighting to live a life of meaning one moment, the next, there’s little more than just giving in to the randomness, the wild absurdity of existence.
I have the conceit of control, a foolish belief of dominance, that I can ‘make meaning’ one moment only to be subjected to the realities of existence far beyond my control the next.
There are so many ways that ‘fighting’ plays out. These days ‘fighting’ is about as nuanced as the choreographed dances of World Wrestling Entertainment.
As a kid, I was delighted by Atlantic Grand Prix wrestling with “Big Stephen Pettipas” and “The Cuban Assassin”. The characters were cartoonish. The storylines were terrible. The stunts were good enough.