Now if I happened to be doing WWF Professional Word Wrestling, I could blame the script. Perhaps the season’s story arc required my temporary setback to give extra drama to my eventual triumph. Perhaps I annoyed the writers with my consistent whining or my refusal to wear scanty costumes.
Unfortunately, despite my professional choices, I seem to be doing something more like Olympic wrestling, in which I lose because I am not the better wrestler on a particular day. I took on words out of my weight class (and very weighty words they were, indeed!) or let them use my momentum against me. It feels a little like the words hit me with a chair, but that’s not part of the rules in the Olympics.
What I have to do is practice more. Not just the part about putting the words on the mat and holding them there until they surrender, but also the part where I am not afraid to fight them. I can’t be intimidated by their bulging vowels, their sculpted meanings, their psychological full-Nelsons.
It is, after all, just a wrestling match. When it is over, win or lose, I can take my bruises and soak them in the hot tub.