Creative concept and visual design by Megan Ambers
The following content reflects my personal opinion and should be interpreted as such. Any views expressed here are solely mine and do not represent any official stance. This opinion piece is intended for entertainment and discussion purposes only, and should not be construed as factual information or professional advice. Reader discretion is advised.
You can never go wrong betting on yourself.
At least that’s what we try to convince ourselves of as adults. Because somewhere between being a teenager with unlimited dreams and becoming an adult who has had the world drag them face-first across concrete a few times, something changes.
The belief starts cracking around the edges. The fear starts sounding responsible. And survival becomes more practical than purpose.
This is about the people who don’t.
Ten years ago today, Cody Rhodes requested his release from WWE.
And on paper, it made no sense.
Why would someone voluntarily walk away from the biggest wrestling company in the world? Why leave a machine your own family helped build? Why trade security for uncertainty over something as fragile as a feeling?
I realized that blood is thicker than paint, that I know who I am and what I’m capable of…I’m not Dusty Rhodes. I’m Cody Rhodes. I’m a pro wrestler. I’m proud of that. It’s been said never to leave money on the table, but no money is worth being less than you are. Ask my wife: I don’t even read the check breakdowns…this was never about the money, this was always about the moments and I’ll be damned if my father’s legacy is “Stardust” or a series of sizzle reels for NXT. – Cody Rhodes (Open Letter to WWE 2016)
Because sometimes the dream stops reflecting who you are becoming. And staying somewhere that no longer sees your potential starts to hurt more than the fear of leaving it behind.
At the time, Cody was buried inside the Stardust character. What began as a temporary creative direction alongside his brother Dustin Rhodes had slowly become a box he couldn’t get out of. And while some fans remember the character fondly, that was never the point.
That takes a different kind of courage.
Shortly after his release, Cody posted a handwritten checklist.
Names.
Promotions.
Goals.
People he wanted to face. Stages he wanted to conquer. To some it looked ambitious. To others it probably looked like someone trying too hard to convince yourself. But looking back now, that list reads like a man trying to speak himself into existence before the world had any reason to believe him.
And then he got to work.
He wrestled everywhere. He built the American Nightmare from scratch. Not Dusty’s son. Not the midcard talent people thought they had already figured out. Something entirely new.
The suits.
The presentation.
The confidence.
The logo.
Every single piece of it felt intentional, like a man who decided that if he was going to rebuild, he was going to build something worth watching.
Six years later, in 2022, Cody Rhodes walked back into WWE at WrestleMania 38. The pyro hit. The crowd lost their minds. And none of it would have meant anything without understanding the version of Cody that existed the day he left.
The uncertain version. The grieving version. The version nobody was applauding yet.
Since his return, Cody has become a three-time WWE champion. He finished the story his father never got to see completed. He became exactly what he believed he could be before anyone else could see it.
But here’s the part that gets overlooked every single time we tell this story.
Nobody claps during the risk. Nobody hands you flowers when you are scared, rebuilding, doubting yourself at two in the morning, trying to hold onto a belief that has no proof behind it yet. The applause comes after. After the transformation is visible enough for other people to attach meaning to it.
The real story always happens before that part.
In the uncomfortable middle. In the quiet seasons where the only evidence you have is your own conviction.
And that is exactly where some of you are right now.
Maybe you are sitting in your own Stardust moment.
A job that no longer fits.
A path that once felt right and now feels like a costume you are tired of wearing.
A version of yourself that the world keeps asking you to stay inside of.
The outside noise will always be loud.
People will always have practical reasons for why the leap isn’t worth it. They will list every risk, every obstacle, every reason to stay comfortable. And some of them will mean well. But none of them are living inside your potential. Only you know what’s in there.
Cody Rhodes bet on himself before he had a single reason to believe it would work.
And it worked.
So does that mean it will work for you? There are no guarantees. There never are.
But what Cody’s story proves is this: the version of you that you keep imagining at two in the morning is not a fantasy. It is a direction.
All you have to do is be brave enough to move towards it.
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