I’m Not a Pessimist—Yet
Many of my friends and acquaintances have implied on more that one occasion that I’m a pessimist and sometimes a bit too gloomy for their comfort level. Actually, I talk less about my personal problems than they do. I tend to be the one that people tell their problems to rather than the other way around. I was cast in that role years ago as the oldest sibling in a highly dysfunctional family.
You probably have a role that you’ve played for as long as you can remember, too. Most of us do.
So, I’ve been fielding the worries, fears, and complaints of others for so long that I’m kind of used to it. Maybe that’s why I can’t be the eternal optimist. I’ve been trying to fix other people’s problems since I was a kid, making it impossible for me to pretend that everything will always work out to everyone’s satisfaction.
I’m a realist.
I don’t know if I was born that way or became that way, but it’s come in handy more than once when attempting to solve my own problems. I’m compelled to look at a problem head on, identify my options, and then try to fix it. As long as I have options, I feel hopeful.
I’m also a pragmatist.
I don’t expect to get 100% of what I want, ever. So far, that’s rarely happened to me. I consider it to be a good day if I get 70% of what I want. Being a pragmatist is helpful. I generally seem to be able to identify more options for myself than someone who won’t settle for anything less than 100% perfection.
As long as I have options, remember, I feel hopeful.
If I’m to be perfectly honest with you, overly optimistic people tend to irritate me. Even more so when their optimism is linked with a toxic belief in their inherent right to be happy all of the time. Since that’s an impossible goal, the only way they can pretend to achieve such a state is to wear blinders, plug their ears, turn the other way, and develop a sense of self that is rather self-ish.
Saying things like — I’m blessed— drives me insane.
Don’t get me wrong. I can appreciate expressing gratitude, but claiming that a higher power has chosen to give you a new car, big house, or good health while leaving others with an empty belly, homeless, and sick makes me want to barf. Literally not figuratively, I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
And when these people fall upon hard times, then what?
Do they suddenly need to talk to a therapist or unload their worries on a realist’s shoulders? Then and only then does it become acceptable for people to complain about their problems?
I wonder.
But beyond the unrealistic expectations that these overly optimistic people voice, I’m also keenly aware that they’ll rarely be around when a problem needs solving. Now, if it’s just me and my problems, I can live with that.
But these folks tend to be in denial about big problems that impact everyone.
They don’t like to think about problems like climate change, a pandemic, political unrest, inequality, and human rights. Maybe they’ll take an occasional brief glance at these challenges to society, but they can’t linger there for long without resorting to making promises that things will work out or that they believe that good will win in the end.
Was this kind of toxic optimism even around back in the day or is it a modern thing?
I really can’t say. Life could be pretty grim in the good old days. Maybe people had lower expectations because of that. I mean if a person buried three of their twelve kids before they turned five, a realistic outlook just might be difficult to avoid.
All I know is that if we’re ever going to solve problems, we need to know the facts and understand our options.
We’ll need a plan and a way to administier the plan. We’ll need people who can look at things like climate change for more than a few minutes without fainting or going into a state of denial.
If we refuse to do the above, our optimism will not fix things in our absence.
Eventually, we’ll be forced to deal with it whether we think we deserve everlasting happiness or not. Just like our forefathers dealt with burying their children in the family cemetery one right after the other, the risks of being alive will step in and take over.
I’m not a pessimist, however.
Not yet. As long as I accept that there is a problem and then can identify my options, I have hope. But if I ever do become a pessimist, it will be because the giddy optimist wasted so much time pretending that they lived in a fairy tale world that my options dwindled to nothing.
Who knows.
Probably if it comes to that, I’ll be too busy listening to the eternal optimist’s problems that I’ll not have enough time to feel too sorry for myself. Because if there’s anything worse than a realist when it comes to painting a bleak picture, it’s a disillusioned optimist.
Teresa Roberts is a retired educator, author, world traveler, and professional myth buster. You can find her books on Amazon.
