I’ve always considered my pessimism a badge of honor. Optimism, I thought, was for the naive. Better to be perpetually on guard for the worst outcomes, thus avoiding any nasty surprises. While an optimist might see a cloudy sky as a chance for nourishing rain, I’d brace myself for an impending deluge that could lead to costly roof repairs and a flooded backyard, all because of a broken mainline. Yes, that’s the pessimist in me.
However, this year marks a shift towards optimism.
My journey began when a group of inspiring women writers invited me to join them in January to set our writing goals for the year. I agreed, even though the idea made me uneasy. I’ve never been one to openly express my goals and dreams, fearing the universe might conspire to take them away from me.
During our meeting, we each chose a theme to guide our yearly aspirations, something that encouraged us to step outside our comfort zones. The phrase “Determined Optimism” popped into my head, but it felt contradictory—too grim next to the cheerful notion of optimism, which I had long dismissed as foolish.
So, I abandoned the idea of a theme and spent weeks in a panic. Without a guiding principle, I feared I’d remain unproductive forever.
Yet, a seed of optimism had been sown. I began to notice how my own pessimistic outlook was affecting my son. At just 11 years old, he reacts to setbacks with a sense of doom. When his drawing doesn’t turn out how he envisioned, he groans, “It’s terrible,” despite my seeing something beautiful in his work. If we’re running late to a movie or he scores lower than expected on a math test, he jumps to the worst conclusions: missing the movie entirely or failing math altogether.
Hearing my own negative perspective echo in his words hurts; it pains me to see him stressed over scenarios that are unlikely to materialize.
Recently, as we drove home from school, he lamented, “I don’t think I did well on my quiz today.” His tone mirrored my own negativity, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly. But then he brightened up, saying, “But, you know what? I’ll do better next time.”
I relaxed my grip and glanced in the rearview mirror. “That’s true,” I acknowledged.
He beamed. “I decided I want to think more positively this year. It’s one of my resolutions.”
Where did he even learn the word “resolution”? “That’s a fantastic goal,” I replied. “What inspired it?”
He recounted an incident during a photography project where he fell off a play set and chipped his camera lens. “The art teacher said she’d disassemble the camera and use it for an art project,” he explained, excitement lighting up his face. “She didn’t get upset about the lens. She found something good in it. She’s an optimist, and I thought that was a great way to be.”
As he shared this, he exuded calmness and joy—so different from my anxious thoughts about potential school fees and worst-case scenarios. While I envisioned disaster, my son saw an opportunity to learn and grow, which deepened his passion for art and led to countless peaceful hours sketching and dreaming of becoming an architect or cartoonist.
Pessimists worry. Optimists dream.
It’s time for me to rediscover the art of dreaming from a place of confidence and anticipation. So, this year, I’m choosing to leave behind my anxious pessimism. Bring on the optimism! If you need me, I’ll be in my corner, focused on achieving my daily writing goals. Because I believe it—I can do this. I can feel it in my bones.
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In summary, my child’s optimism has inspired me to reevaluate my own outlook. By embracing a more positive perspective, I hope to foster creativity and joy in both my life and my son’s.
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