Growing up with a little brother meant three things: on any given Saturday morning there was always someone to watch X-Men with, places my friends and I would go to as teenagers depended on whether or not they allowed children and lastly, I grew up being exposed to the glitz, glamour and hot pants that defined the World Wrestling Federation (I never did get used to calling it the WWE). Though I expressed my disdain for having to take my kid brother to, “another Monday Night Raw”, secretly, I loved it. The oiled up bodies of muscle men, the hot girls in latex, and above all, the squeals of die-hard fans (young and old) that filled the ACC could still rival any sold out show at the Opera House. That was how it felt seeing a WWF show in person; exciting, climatic and just plain fun. Never mind that my kid brother was asking me to go get him popcorn during the main match between Chris Jericho and Jeff Hardy and Rob van Dam and Rhyno; I still usually came home giddy. 

Though I considered myself a "closet WWF fan", much like proud fans I too was affected when I'd hear that someone from the mystical world of wrestling was going through something in their life. The way I saw it, I kinda grew up with these men and women and so I'd care if one of them sustained an injury or something unpleasant like that. Such was yesterday, which marked the death of one of the most iconic sportsmen in the history of the WWF, James Brian Hellwig, also known by his stage name, The Ultimate Warrior. This piece can be about his legacy, the millions of (grown up) men and women who continue to see him as a hero or the fact that he was the only wrestler in the history of the company to hold both the WWF Championship and the Intercontinental Championship at the same time, but it's not going to be. I’ll leave that for Wikipedia and the thousands of others who are just about to post (and rightfully so) their version of, “Top 50 Things I Loved and Will Miss About the Ultimate Warrior”. To me personally, his death is a metaphor for how truly valuable all human life is. Not to sound like a cliché new-ager, but his death reminds me once again how insanely grateful I am to be alive; to just simply be alive.

This is not a new thought for me but rather with every passing birthday I become more conscious that living (just living) is pleasure in itself. 20 year-old me got upset by the little things and though I continue to be a self-proclaimed detail oriented perfectionist, there is this increasing appreciation for life that comes with age that unfortunately you just do not have at 20 or even 25. That feeling was accentuated yesterday morning (without me even knowing about the passing of the Ultimate Warrior) when I was in a cab running late for work and the man (annoyed by the passing rain) said to me, “This weather eh, can you believe it?” and I replied with, “Honestly, I’m just happy to be alive. Bad weather and all.” And that’s where I am nowadays. Not entirely 100% (are any of us ever are?) but just happy to still be here; living, breathing, writing my next blog post and planning my next concert outing/adventure.   

If you are mourning the Ultimate Warrior or anybody else who was close to you, I say, mourn, give yourself time to process that you wont be able to see them in the physical form for a while but do not let your sadness overshadow what you could be doing. That is, celebrating them, their life and the fact that they were here with you at one moment in time. Try to overcome the resentment you want to deflect back into the universe while asking, “He is gone at 54? How is that fair?!”, but rather accept that some people are just meant to move on to the next phase of their life earlier than others. Am I sounding like one of those annoying new-age kids yet? Hope not.

And to those who are analyzing the events leading up to his death (his truce with Hulk Hogan and his induction into the WWE Hall of Fame) and in the process asking themselves, “Did he know he was about to go?”, my reply is, perhaps. Maybe he felt it. There is a theory about past lives that seems very logical when you think about and so maybe his "past self" was telling him, "We start the cycle all over again at 54, that’s just our destiny." Maybe that’s why there was such a hunger to achieve so much in such a short amount of time. To leave such a footprint, to inspire such joy when they were here and such sadness when they leave. At the end of the day, isn’t that what it’s all about: inspiring others, investing in people and relationships and doing amazing, outside of the box things with your life? It is for me.

R.I.P. Warrior, Till You Slay Again…