I love the pageantry: the drama: the emotions.
So much is on the line, every run, every performance, every moment.
The leader board rolls in constant change. Sometimes underdogs winning from behind, sometimes expected leaders winning it all as expected. We get to watch it all.
Actually we don’t.
We, the viewers, only see one version of one finished project. Many do not see the qualifying rounds. Even less of us see the National qualifications that select the teams. And fewer still, the competitions, the trials, the practices, or the training. In fact, I bet less than 1/2 of 1/2 of 1/2 of 1% ever see anything other than the NBC nationally broadcasted, primetime events. I’ll raise my hand and admit that I’m one of them that only sees the Olympian during the free-TV broadcasts.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate the efforts. But it is so easily lost in the heat of the moment that it’s only a moment.
I like sports because of the humanity that it displays; the conquest of the human spirit. I love this stage of Humanities, of will, of might, of determination, of success and of failure.
I love the application or perspective that the Olympics provides for me.
I write books. No one sees the hours I spend by myself struggling over this word or the other. These sentences this morning have been changed a few times, even this one. But no one, but a few, see anything but the finished product. My writings are then read and the moment is over.
My moments continue.
How much I put into these other moments are mine and mine alone. No one cares whether I do it or not. I know, however, that these moments will determine whether the finished product is good enough to win literary Gold or not. Maybe they will only add up to be good enough for a passing “not bad”; perhaps only meriting to some to be barely worthy of a “one-star” brutal review. There will be a point where my talent, my efforts, and my end results can only take me so far. There are others out there doing the same thing and the competition is tough.
Some are better writers than I am. Some are better funded or supported. Others may even be lucky. Those are factors over which I have little control. I can only put in the work and hone the craft the best I can. When I have taken my training, my practice, my qualifications; as far as I can, I then can only put it out before my judges, the readers.
I will not be on NBC. You might not be either. But we can watch those athletes that are performing before us. We can cheer and cry with them. And then mimic their efforts as they have mimicked our lives.
To stand on the Podium must be a wonderful feeling, but to have a chance to even compete for the chance to do so; is not an accident.
Neither is yours or mine.