We Hit

The older you get, the more you realize and understand that this discontent you feel is timeless.    In the 1950’s, the “Is this all?” movement swept the ranks of housewives across America. I think American men are at that same crossroads today.
 
Men, with their (toxic) masculinity under attack, have never been more disconnected from the ways of “Being a Man” in the history of Western Society. Real benchmarks of manhood are being replaced with “Ab Off”s, gym selfie’s, Vape contests, competitive eating, and fucking gaming. I’ll even go so far as to say the average American male has never been in a fistfight. To quote Tyler Durden, "How can you really know yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?"
 
There’s something visceral, something our minds or souls or psyches desire about combative contact. There is something about the first time you’re hit. It’s not just the sting, or the swelling, or the blood in your mouth - it’s that it doesn’t hurt the way you thought it would. Sure it hurts, but it’s manageable and your adrenaline can mitigate it while you’re actually fighting. And that, true believers, is your first REAL victory. Whether or not you win or lose that fight, your realization that “it’s just a fight” by being struck for the first time is the real triumph.
 
The first time I was hit for real by a man, I was 15. And I mean hit. Not some schoolyard fight, but by a grown man with bad intentions.
 
The clarity that comes from hitting and being hit, to the uninitiated, will read as bravado. It’s not.  I remember thinking how it should’ve hurt worse. How strangely calm I felt. As I left the house and headed to school, I laughed. That kind of laugh that happens when you almost roll your Jeep but don’t. Or when you count to 4000 too quickly and your chute opens on 5000 and a half. That relieved laugh has been replaced by a happy one. When I spar or roll against one of my students and they really put it on me, I can’t help but laugh out loud and be proud of them at the same time. When I’m getting hammered by my coach,  I can’t help but laugh and say “Good One!” as I take my licks.  I am better for it and I feel not only refreshed but proud.  Proud that I still got it in me and proud that I’m a good example to my students.