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.

Dating is a marathon, not a sprint. It’s not about how fast you can find your beshert or how quickly you’ll get married, it’s about finding the right person no matter how long it takes. Some dates will get a gold medal for being the rudest scums of the earth, while others will medal for planning an awesome, unique date. Some dates will earn high scores for keeping the conversation moving and interesting while others will stand on the podium for failing to make an effort or intrigue. The only person you can worry about is yourself, so make sure you leave every date thinking of you as a class act, even if they were a classless schmuck. Keep everything in perspective and make sure that at the end of the day you are happy with your decisions – whether that means accepting a 2nd date or cutting a bad date short – because you have to live with yourself. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself to find the right person right away… remember, 26.2 miles not the 100 yard dash.