Being the best sets you up for someone else to try to knock you down. I have always found myself much more comfortable somewhere on the periphery of "best." Good but not outstanding. In the outer ring of the spotlight. Never one to toot my own horn, and never comfortable having others toot it for me...
Not that I didn't think I was good, know that I was good, but the notion of saying it out loud was paralyzing.
Enter stage right, my Jersey-licious love.
He operates on a platform of "I'm the best, go ahead and prove me wrong."
His machismo is one part rearing and two parts regional culture, South Jersey style.
He declares on a regular basis, "I think Mini Monkey should be moved up in school, she's too smart."
We traveled this past weekend to New Jersey, to the Alma Mater of the Monkey Maker so that our little grapplers could participate in a wrestling tournament. This tournament was not a "novice" tournament as the others have been, where newbie wrestlers gather to tangle on the mat and hone their newly learned skills.
They wrestle and I wrestle too.
The bouts are matched evenly, confidence vs. cynicsism, faith vs. fear, resolution vs. reluctance. These contenders tussle in my mind, feelings at once both foreign and familiar, fighting for the "tech fall."