I’d feel guilty about (the rising perception that I’m) mailing it in.
I’d acknowledge that I have just as much of an obligation to grow as the performers I’m charged with presenting.
I would be sitting in on classes at Full Sail, talking with the kids who are working on NXT’s television. Talking with, not at. And listening. Mostly listening.
I’d be talking with my nieces and nephews and other younger relatives about the music they listen to.
I’d be keeping tabs on new independent films and paying attention to their scores and soundtracks — not to mention visual storytelling devices.
I’d be talking with Paul Heyman.
I’d watch Lucha Underground — not to steal ideas, but in an endeavor to understand how they create drama with simple techniques.
I’d refer often to the idea that writers read. Musicians listen. Photographers look through others’ eyes.
I’d attempt to cultivate humility, and openly speak about my place in the history of televised wrestling — and wonder if my positive contributions outweighed my negative ones.
I’d be open to the idea that I had contributed negatively to that history. I’d try to conquer my (as perceived by the author) fear of mentally stepping outside the hermetically sealed world that seems to be WWE. I’d make every attempt to own my insecurities and work to diminish them.
I’d understand that my position is one of incredible influence. I’d understand that I will be judged not on how great people thought my abilities were, but on the lasting effects of the manner in which I deployed those abilities.
I’d want people to believe that I love my job, because I would.