That’s More Like It

We were midway through the scoreless first period of the wrestling match and I could feel my body beginning to loosen, to gain speed and move more fluidly. It seemed my matches always started the same— an anxious stiffness, almost clumsiness—too aware of my every awkward movement. I had earned the opportunity to wrestle-off for the starting position at Penn State’s 167lbs weight class and this was the first of two matches towards that goal. I not only had to win but had to defeat the defending starter twice in order to take possession of that position. 

As the match progressed, the friction began to smooth, and I could sense an uninhibited connection between my mind and body. Now I was wrestling. I was no longer thinking, just acting, and reacting. I had wrestled Duane many times in practice and knew he was bigger and stronger, but I was faster and perhaps more precise. Suddenly he dropped and exploded forward towards my right leg— I sprawled my legs back while at the same time blocking his progression with a stiff forearm to his neck and collar bone. As he raised his body to adjust, I locked his head and arm in my grip as I dropped my hips under him, launching him over my body to the mat. He scrambled but it only served to tighten my grip on his head and arm. I knew he couldn’t breathe, and I drew him in tighter, pressing his shoulder blades flat into the mat. The slap of the mat by the ref (my coach) seemed to echo as it declared emphatically that I had won by pin. 

I Don’t Belong Here

It was only the three of us in the room and an awkward silence followed—no one really knew exactly what to say. My coach, in a rather flat tone just said, “Nice job, you guys will wrestle again tomorrow.” Though I was initially excited, I could feel a sheepishness sweeping over me as Duane and I walked back to the locker room where our teammates were preparing for practice. I felt an odd paradoxical sense of shame as we walked in and all eyes turned toward us. One of the other starters looked at Duane and said, “What happened?” I did not hear Duane’s response but heard the series of whispered responses that followed— “Really?”—“Whoa”—“No way” I could feel myself blushing—I shouldn’t have won.

I was a mediocre high school wrestler and now a walk-on to one of the top collegiate wrestling programs in the country. I counted it a distinct honor to have been granted a spot on the team. When making the team my sophomore year of college, I didn’t really believe that I would ever become a starter but felt a deep love for the sport and was committed to supporting the nation’s best achieve their goals. But over time I began to discover my own talent, my capacity for enduring and suffering, and a heart to win in the practice room and in non-varsity events. Maybe I could become a varsity wrestler, or perhaps even be an All-American—bashful dreams. 

The next day Duane and I took to the mat again. I don’t remember much about the match other than having a clear sense of holding back. And though I wouldn’t have had the insight to admit it then, I had conspired with myself to orchestrate the outcome. I remember the final whistle and my coach raising Duane’s arm in victory. As Duane and I shook hands, I looked him in the eyes and said, “That’s more like it isn’t it.” This wasn’t so much an affirmation to Duane that he was better than me, but rather a declaration to myself that, “You don’t belong here.” I had now expunged the shame and responsibility that would have been a consequence of winning.

Changing Our Narrative

Over the past several years I have sought counsel with executive coach, Rick Wellock (The Wellock Group) and one of his clear dictates was that I was not a problem to be solved but a person to be discovered. Rick would often encourage me to, “Catch yourself in the act of being you.” Part of that discovery was realizing that over my life I had adopted a faulty narrative of, “I don’t belong here” which had so often served to inhibit so many of my God-born desires, passions, and talents. My experience on the Penn State wrestling team is one of my early-adult examples of how a faulty narrative undermined opportunity. I’m now learning how to say with increasing conviction and express with deeper understanding that in varied pursuits and experiences, “I belong here.” This is by no means meant to be baseless positive self-talk but rather a pursuit of fulfilling personal expressions of my desires, passions, and talents through a clear understanding of how God made me to be. As Rick and I would discover richer and fuller understandings of who I am and how I was made to be, Rick would often say, “David, this is who you are!” Me catching myself in the act of being me.

Looking back to my experience with Penn State wrestling, I can see now that I belonged there. I was gifted with the ability to move with agility, speed, and strength; I had dedicated myself to pursuing technical excellence and found joy in the expression of that in both practice and competition; I loved the vulnerability of the 1vs1 nature of competitive wrestling; I loved (and still do love) enduring extreme physical exertion. And while a faulty narrative likely blunted a full expression of my wrestling experience, it does not mean that my experience was without value for me or the team. At the end of my senior season, I was awarded the “11th Man Award” for excellence in leadership while not always in the spotlight. This recognition served to affirm my presence and in so many ways propelled me forward into my adult life. Much later it is now serving as retroactive evidence in my process of “discovering myself in the act of being me.” I now say with conviction, “I belonged there.”

A Person to Be Discovered

This past Christmas my son bought a game for our family called, “We’re Not Really Strangers.” This game guides its players through a series of probing questions that allow for a discovery of how others see us and how we see and understand ourselves. I recently pulled the question: “What are you still trying to prove to yourself?” This question immediately invoked the response, “That I belong here.” Here being in the midst of those things that I am currently pursuing and one day dream of accomplishing— writing a book, speaking to audiences, figure sculpting, among other things— things that feel presumptuous and can prompt a blush when I say them out loud. But I will continue to observe, to discover, to catch myself in the act of being me, and make every effort to move towards those goals and dreams. 

So I will extend Rick’s wise counsel to you— you are not a problem to be solved but a person to be discovered. Catch yourself in the act of being you. Rediscover those unique passions, desires, hopes, and dreams that you have laid aside, too often saying, “I don’t belong here.” It’s not too late!