This is me caught in the head scissors of a good friend from just outside Washington, DC.

I just had a birthday, one of those -9 birthdays. The day was quiet and more-or-less comfortable--no fireworks and no meltdowns. So, it was just fine.

I was thinking about friends during the day. A couple of them contacted me electronically to wish me well. But both of them are from out of town, and only on rare occasions are they physically with me. Those friends actually present in my life are colleagues at work and siblings at church. While a couple of these friendships are rich, none are that soul-deep friendship that I long for.

I wonder sometimes if it isn't this wrestling obsession that prevents local friendships from developing into the true friendships that are so sought after. I imagine a friendship in which I can tell my friend everything about me, but I can't do that--not yet, at least--with any of the people who are with me or somehow in contact with me on a daily or weekly basis. And so I walk around with this secret hidden, desiring to share it with somebody but unable to do so. I hold back a part of me, and I wonder if they sense it. Perhaps one or two of them would be close friends but feel some mystery in me that they can't quite ignore or accept.

A few of my online friends, wrestlers like me who feel, I think, a similar longing for friendship, are truly good friends. But our physical absence one from another is the stumbling block we face. We share our secret interest, our secret desire, but we're unable to shake hands or hug or to break bread or go to a movie together. And so these friendships necessarily fall short of what I want--and probably short of what they want as well.

I've said this before: maybe the kind of friendship I long for isn't possible in an adult life filled with family and work and bills to pay. I don't want to believe that. I don't believe that. But at this point, I have no proof to suggest otherwise, only theories and intuitions.

And so I wrestle with growing older, with the absence of friendship (or with the presence of friendship that isn't all that I believe it can be), with my interest in wrestling and all the baggage that entails. And I hold onto the hope that someday some barrier will be removed--be that barrier an internal wall that prevents a friend from knowing me fully or an external geography that separates--and suddenly friendship, rich and rewarding, will be mine and my friend's.

I'm getting better and getting more and more in the mood for wrestling. Missing October's matches was tough, but I might be able to pick up a couple of those in February when I go to Louisville. I hope to wrestle my nearly local friend before that!

A Joke . . . Or Not

A man died and went to heaven. As he stood in front of St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him.

He asked, "What are all those clocks?"

St. Peter answered, "Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock.

Every time you lie the hands on your clock will move."

"Oh," said the man, "whose clock is that?"

"That's Mother Teresa's. The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie."

"Incredible," said the man. "And whose clock is that one?"

St. Peter responded, "That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abe told only two lies in his entire life."

"Where's President Bush's clock?" asked the man.

"Bush's clock is in Jesus' office. He's using it as a ceiling fan."

A funny thing, this. A thing more frighteningly true than our nation will admit. I think our lies, our national sins, from the current president downward in the socio-political structure and backward through time, must raise a mighty wind in Heaven.

I have to wonder about my fan. How much of what I do is real and how much a performance? I wrestle with life more and more as I grow older, perhaps in an effort to remain alive in all the senses of that word. But any false steps, false smiles, set the hands on my clock to whirling. How many things in life do I claim to feel the correct way about and yet don't really feel that way? Do I really care for the poor and ignorant? Do I really care about those caught up in violence and addiction? I hope I do. I want to believe that I do, but that's not the same as actually doing.

These are aggressive questions and to wrestle with them is to keep open the possibility that I am "actually doing," that I am actively living and caring.

Just some thoughts brought on, perhaps, by a gray day outside my office window.

Well, the end of October turned out to be a difficult and disappointing time. I was so looking forward to wrestling on the 29th in Indianapolis and the 30th in St. Louis, but then on the 24th, I came down with the flu. As much as I tried to get better to make the matches I had scheduled, it didn't work out. I made my trip as planned, but I had to cancel the wrestling I'd set up. I was disappointed; my "opponents" were disappointed, although they showed me great support and understanding.

Not only was I sick, but I lost the desire to wrestle. This happens to me now and then. I just don't feel like wrestling, and so I don't want to wrestle. Makes sense, right? The same happens when I get busy at work and life like I have been lately. I don't think about wrestling, and as a result, the facts that I've actually wrestled and actually liked wrestling seem foreign to me.

This morning, a little of the old desire began to creep back into my mind and body. More than likely, I'll be ready to hit the mats again soon.

I think life is like this too. When we're sick--it's not that we don't want to live (generally). We lose a sense of how enjoyable life is when we're burned up with fever or weak and aching or shaken hard by coughs. Living takes a back seat to surviving. And then we get too busy, and life takes a back seat to workworkwork and runrunrun. We're wrestling with life and losing. I guess that's the thing. We have to keep wrestling to keep our heads clear, to keep our bodies in shape.

It's all about the contact. We have to make contact with life and each other, whether we're wrestling or just living. So, regardless of sickness and overwork, stay in touch. Keep a good hold on your opponent, friend or foe, and always be thinking about your next move toward winning or at least enjoying yourself.