When the Past Meets the Present

In 1983, I was on a school trip to Italy. Venice was the destination, but somewhere along the way we crossed the Alps by bus. I took a photo through the window with a very unambitious camera. No framing. No intention. Just mountains appearing briefly and then disappearing again.

That photo is the only one I still have from the trip.

Years later, those same mountains—the Dolomites near Bolzano—are hosting the Olympics. Bigger. Faster. Stronger. Global cameras, global narratives, slow-motion triumph. I love the Olympics. I really do. I will absolutely watch them and already saw the opening ceremony (the parade of nations is my favorite part). I admire the discipline, the endurance, the sheer stubbornness of the human body doing impossible things on ice and snow.

I just tend to notice… other stuff.

While everyone else is focused on the podium, my brain drifts toward the edges of the frame. The athletes who trained just as hard but didn’t make it into a highlight reel. The towns that become backdrops instead of stories. The people whose names never get pronounced confidently by a commentator.

This is not a critique. It’s a personality flaw. That's why I am so fascinated by the parade of nations. I always look at the people from the countries that bring a small contingent of people, like less than ten.

I’ve always rooted for underdogs. Not in a loud, banner-waving way—more in a quiet “I see you over there” way. The ones who don’t fit the broadcast narrative. The ones who keep going without sponsorships, slogans, or dramatic music swelling behind them.

Somewhere along the way, media coverage stopped being curious about those people. Everything became optimized: faster clips, clearer heroes, cleaner arcs. And while I understand why—attention spans, algorithms, branding—I still miss the nobody stories. The almost-there stories. The “kept going anyway” stories.

Maybe that’s why that blurry mountain photo stuck with me. It wasn’t meant to last. It wasn’t meant to be important. It wasn’t even meant to be taken. And yet, there it is—still standing while everything else from that trip (and my past) vanished.

So yes, I’ll watch the Olympics. I’ll cheer. I’ll admire the medals. I’ll enjoy the spectacle unfolding in the Dolomites, including events in Cortina d'Ampezzo during the 2026 Winter Olympics.

I’ll just also keep wondering about the people no one interviews.

Because apparently, that’s just how I watch things.