I used to enjoy a good prize fight.That’s what my Nana and others of her generation called boxing. I think because at first, what happened in the ring was a true brawl: the gloves were thinner, the matches were longer, and the outcomes felt earned, like a prize.I don’t mean to suggest the newer generations of boxers don’t earn their ‘prize’, but it was just … different … when Larry Holmes and Muhammad Ali were on the ticket.Those dudes knew how to throw a punch. They also knew how to duck and weave.I’ve never been in the ring (and when I see bloody noses and lips, along with cauliflower ears, I am not planning on stepping in there any time soon) but have learned how to duck.My experiences are more with verbal or written jabs.I used to hit back (well, since we are tight like that, I can tell you the truth: I still do, from time to time …); I would train — stew on whatever it was until I had the perfect git-back for the git-back, you understand?The results were often in my favor.But to what end?I caused harm, just as the person who swung at me caused harm; they just did it first. And I sometimes wonder if it was completely purposeful.I still think about the git-back, trust me. However, I take it in stride more often now than I used to. I try to understand the other person’s perspective: are they hitting out of their own pain, their own envy? Sometimes, I think it is very much so.Instead of adding a bloody nose to that, I just duck and keep on pushin.And life is so much sweeter for it.
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