In the '90s, my dad, brother, and I were devout followers of the WWF. Each week, it was a ritual—a bond forged in front of the screen. I can still taste the electric anticipation as Bret "Hitman" Hart soared off the ring's corner with a Diving elbow drop or when The Ultimate Warrior effortlessly hoisted a 230-pound wrestler with his Gorilla Press.

But as time went on, I just wasn't into it anymore. It wasn't until a chance encounter at an indie wrestling show in Portland, OR, that my love for wrestling was rekindled. There, amidst the fervent crowd of fans, their cheers and jeers, a primal symphony, I felt it—the stirring of something innate within me. The thunderous crash of bodies meeting canvas, sweat flying off chest like a monsoon— I found myself thinking, “I’m back” in the middle of chaos, riding the wild wave of wrestling’s raw energy.

I'm eager to continue delving into various wrestling scenes across America and beyond to see where they take me. I'll share details along the way.