Do you remember every single detail of the houses, the towns, the cities you grew up in? Have you ever yearned for the feeling of running through it again, to relive the moments that made you? Though you have had ups and downs, there’s something about specific moments that you want to visit, at least just once, without the downs.

There’s such a thrill to it that feels like you are touching beyond yourself, beyond a place, beyond time. You’re touching what it felt like, but it’s not the hardwood floor you remember – it’s a fuzzy surface that is vague to you and if you’re not careful, you’ll step on a splinter.

The House That Built Me is a song by country artist Miranda Lambert (I know, country music – ick). In the song, she details this very feeling; exploring a house where it all started, and if you touched it, maybe that part inside of you that is lost or hurt may just heal. Maybe. 

That’s what I imagine it’s like for wrestlers when they attempt a return. Sometimes it works like a dream, and sometimes it ends in heartbreak, embarrassment, disaster.

When I witnessed Shawn Michaels coming out of retirement for 2018’s Crown Jewel, I was excited heading in. He was finally home again, wearing his gear like a cowboy headed for one more shoot-out. Alongside Triple H as D-Generation X, the pair met The Brothers of Destruction – a tag team dream match from a bygone era. Michaels, oddly enough, felt the most at home. He seemed to work alright, showing glimpses, but it was easy to see why he stayed retired: the Heartbreak Kid outgrew this home.

There are many cases of a wrestler who gives the squared circle one more try when they should hang up their boots. That was the moment that I finally let it sink in, not everyone is meant to come back. Sometimes things are better left in the past. It’s okay to gaze out of your car window and smile a fine melancholy as you pass by where you matured.

We’ve seen this unfortunate case ring true for many a star we grew up watching. Whether they come back or are now coming to grips with their age, grappling with the knowledge they have to let go. Goldberg and Undertaker, and maybe soon-to-be Jeff Hardy and Hiroshi Tanahashi. Maybe not now, but soon.

If they stick around, it won’t be the way it was. They gave us what they had when they had it, it’s the exact reason why they can’t be that person anymore. Life’s vicious cycle hooks you into what was, and doesn’t want to let go, or else pulling it out of your flesh will hurt just as bad, if not worse.

However, it’s not all bad. It doesn’t always have to do with returning to competition.

Oftentimes when you see a wrestler come out of retirement, return to their promotion, or simply enter the ring again as a guest, you’ll see them spin three-hundred sixty degrees as they are showered with the love of a crowd that missed them. You’ll see them run their hands along the ropes and turnbuckles, even going so far as to smell them. That is a soul in longing, someone taking in the house that built them. Jake Roberts, his first night on AEW Dynamite, hauntingly threatened Cody Rhodes as though he was still in the late 1980s. These are the moments that tether the souls of our plane with that of kayfabe.

Edge, when he returned, ran frantically and excitedly at the 2020 Royal Rumble. Adam Copeland the man was overwhelmed, before resuming to the Rated-R Superstar once more. Sting returned to TNT on a cold pandemic night to stare in snowy isolation towards the past, present, and future of the industry before returning to the fray. Katsuyori Shibata was able to face Zack Sabre Jr. in a brief match, years prior assuring the audience “I am alive! That is all!”

It cannot be understated what it means to wrestlers to be able to step into the ring. This simple shape has been their home away from home when away from their family. This four-sided object was why they wanted out there again, to face the pain of bumps and the exhilaration of movement. It’s all they knew. That was the hallways they’d sprint down, the yard they played catch in.

When CM Punk came back to pro wrestling after spending almost a decade jaded from that which nurtured him like a fickle mother, he turned away for he saw her for her other side, only to come back again. He’s haunted by this house. He will not act like one normally would, but he’s glad to be here and will give it all before he leaves his boots in the middle of the ring for good. 

On that Dallas night Cody Rhodes returned to WWE, he found himself back at home. The same place he watched his father Dusty give a new generation an American Dream, the same place he wants to finish his business. It was that same Texas sky that saw Stone Cold Steve Austin return to the ring for one night only, to kick Kevin Owens’ ass as the Rattlesnake slithered once again after saying no to a return for decades. 

That’s the beauty of it. The crowds, the thuds on the mat, the frenzy of it all, that’s what makes it intoxicating to the wrestlers. Be it in a broad arena or an intimate independent show, their heart beats here. It’s where they can let go of their life, by feeling like someone else maybe they can find themselves.

Our nostalgia is oft-tinted with rose-colored glasses, and these fleeting moments of remembrance can often crack the lens once we see past that. These good moments can’t last forever, because life gave us what it had when it had it.

Every time I step into my grandpa’s old house, I see the heating vent he’d stand on as he’d read novels. Each time I sit at a table with a placemat on each corner, I think of my aunt who would ask me about the interesting things I’ve learned and the books I’ve read. Whenever I look at my friend’s old apartment where we’d watch wrestling, I think of these shows, the jokes he’d tell, and the Snapchats of matches and segments with his commentary (his first-time reaction to Torrie Wilson and Mr. McMahon still kills me). I soak in those times with fondness, realizing I won’t get that with them anymore. They’re gone, years into my adulthood. They won’t be around when I make each of life’s moments count.

That’s what wrestlers come out for – for that thrill of what they knew, to make more memories. Tomorrow is never promised. So we make of what we can while we have it. What starts as a way to make a name and make ends meet for yourself or for your family becomes an itch you just can’t scratch. A nostalgia that becomes muddier as the want for more overtakes.

I’ve come to peace when it’s time for a wrestler to leave. As I wonder if Billy Gunn is truly done running the ropes and scissoring, I come to peace with the fact that if he’s done, then that is great. He’s earned it after a career renaissance during one of wrestling’s defining eras. 

After all, every wrestler has to say goodbye and move on to another place.

Just so long as they don’t forget the house that built them.