Armchair Reporter

After a week like this one, I’m left with questions. I wonder about so much.

I wonder.

I wonder why I overthink myself to death about everything under the sun.

I wonder if the anxiety I keep tucked deep within my chest will ever subside and if it will stop rising to the surface at the worst possible times.

There’s a sad reality that I’ve found comes with getting older.

Yes, I’m only 24. But this column begins about 15 years ago, which is a fairly long time in the past.

At what point is enough, enough?

Throughout this installment of the NBA Finals, I noticed a recurring sentiment among fans.

“This is the most boring NBA Finals of all-time,” read one tweet I saw. “This series has been putting me to sleep,” read another.

It’s not about the beginning or the end of the journey. It’s about the person you become along the way.

I won’t lie. I’ve been a little sentimental this past week. My favorite television show, Ted Lasso, ended last week after three years. That’s 100 percent of the reason.

Topics like these make me wish I was allotted more space for this column. But I’ll work with what I’ve got and keep it sports-related.

Every time I go on social media — Twitter, mainly — it feels like I see several new versions of the same old story.

I’m all for second chances. Heaven knows throughout my life, I’ve needed second, third, fourth, fifth chances, and often more. People make mistakes. I’m no exception, and neither are you.

Our mistakes, however, likely aren’t costly to the effect of hundreds of millions of dollars.

I remember sitting in my living room at age 11, waiting anxiously for the Panthers’ pick to come in.

I mean, if we’re being honest, I wasn’t that anxious. Everyone and their mother knew who the Carolinas Panthers were going to pick.