I have had a theory that I thought of right now to make this deadline. This is my theory.
Over the past twelve years or so, my life hasn’t been so great. The end of high school was basically the beginning of the end for me. Starting in about 2000, I remember watching every Olympics, every night, every two years. Up until now, I thought it was due to my love of televised athletic competition and the quest for international dominance. I always dreamed of being in the Olympics, but knew it would be difficult to convince the IOC that never having any cavities and being super nice isn’t only not a sport, it’s not anything.
This is the first Olympics I remember not really watching at all. Tonight, after thinking about it, I think I have a good reason why. Whereas before, when my life was in shambles, I turned to the Olympics as an ideal I wished to someday achieve, or at the very least something pleasant that I could fall asleep to and synchronize my dreams with the soothing voice of Bob Costas talking about champions. This is the same reason that I used to plan my life around the TV Guide. It was a nice escape.
Now, though my life is far from perfect, I don’t use television so much as a crutch, but rather as more of ancillary entertainment. Of course I’m saying this sitting directly in front of a running television, glancing up every few moments to see what’s going on in the lives of my favorite non-existent people. The following theory is not only based on no research, science, or observation, but I can guarantee you that it is completely inaccurate, and may be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever said, and when I was 19 I once asked what the word ‘moisture’ meant.
Here it goes: People that are glued to the Olympics yearn for more in their life, and people that don’t watch it too much are generally content with the way things are going. I know I’m not Michael Phelps, and I’m finally okay with that. I know that no matter how great my life gets, it will never be as good as the absolute worst moment in Phelps’ life post age 18. I would rather be Michael Phelps as a 54-year-old abusive, drunk, alcoholic than me as a 30-year-old happily married, wealthy, gorgeous man.