Sunshine and Rainbows: An Argument for Optimism from a So-Called Pessimist

                One of my closest friends is, by all standards, a real, genuine, bona fide optimist. I have never considered myself one, and our friendship has been wonderfully tempered by the glaring disparities in several of our viewpoints—we frequently joke about the balance that exists between her peppy sunshine-soaked idealism and my undeniably darker views, which occasionally cross over into the territory of outright cynicism. It’s from Kaitlyn that I garnered one of my favorite adages: “everything is a learning experience.”
                There’s something inherently beautiful about such an idea. It’s not as clear-cut as drawing a line between good and bad and dismissing people or events to one side of the line and one side alone. Instead of making such a black-and-white—and quite frankly, unrealistic—distinction, there’s an opportunity that arises: a chance to explore those grey areas. A chance for personal betterment, for self-awareness, for the recognition of hidden realizations buried under layers of denial. The darkest moment can lead to the brightest knowledge, and that is something I can stand behind. What this idea really means is that even in seemingly powerless moments, you are not truly helpless. Everyone has the chance to choose how to move forward from their most challenging moments. We can choose to remain stagnant in our development, or we can choose to grow. We can hide in the shadows of our pain, or we can choose to crawl out of the darkness and face the sun.
                Take a break up, for example—be it the termination of a romantic relationship or the end of a friendship. Not all breakups are devastating messes, true; on occasion they may not even prove to be painful for one party, or even for both—but they are not black and white. They can be painful, they can be little eruptions of emotion, they can be agonizing, but they can also be cathartic. Heartbreak is not easy—and it does not get easier with each new occurrence. Heartbreak is scary—and it’s much easier to dismiss something which scares us than it is to face it and open ourselves up to all that it really entails. And while the heartbreak may be scary, the thought of opening oneself up again can be just as terrifying, if not even more so. Could we not choose to use the ruinations and wreckage of heartbreak as an excuse to employ the life of an emotional hermit?
                But are we not also capable of accepting the difficulties that such an experience lays at our feet, and moving past them to seize the possibility of some currently unknown marvel awaiting us in the future? Is this not a chance for introspection and personal growth, to find beauty in misery? True, it may also be a chance to run through a box and a half of tissues in less than twelve hours and to cry until your eyes are puffier than a Chow Chow’s fur coat—and as emotionally painful, and in the case of those tear ducts, physically painful, as that may be, we can choose to be okay. It’s easier to write people off as cruel and selfish—judge them solely by their harsher moments—and close ourselves off to the possibility of emotional vulnerability than it is to recognize that people can have moments of weakness and callousness, yet still have the capability of human decency. And even if they choose not to exercise it, is that really a reason for us to do the same? If people put cruelty out into the world, wouldn’t we be better off putting more kindness out there to counter it? People think kindness is the weaker choice—I disagree. I think we should be better than the people who disappoint us. Be kinder, be more understanding, be more forgiving. Because while some people might think that's weaker—it actually takes a lot more strength to recognize someone’s cruelty and coldness and choose to override their own desire to resort to the same behavior.
                I have long thrived on a melancholic mentality that discounted the utilization of optimism, as indulgence in such ideas opened up the possibility for disappointment. It was with the slightest of smiles that I would elucidate my outlook to friends: if you expected the worst, and that was what the situation brought, then you were prepared, and not disappointed—if, however, you expected the worst and reality was anything less, well, then you were pleasantly surprised, even if it was only mildly so. It was, I informed them with a less than comforting laugh, a win-win situation. Such thoughts were dismissed by most friends as the simple machinations of a soul that had been beaten and broken by various small moments in the fabric of her life—patches held together by stitches that simply couldn’t be cut. What people didn’t do was dismiss it for what it truly was—a coping mechanism being employed by a young woman afraid to face the possibility of pain. If anyone did recognize it for what it was, they didn’t tell me, and my ignorance was indulged—ignorance may be bliss, but that ignorance is no part of a life I want to lead. It’s much easier to hide from the negative than it is to face its existence, let alone face its actual occurrence and all that it entails.
                I still find myself using this coping mechanism from time to time. The difference now is learning from it—recognizing that I cannot truly enjoy the chance to grow and expand as a person without embracing the possibility of being hurt and disappointed. Even recognizing this coping mechanism’s true identity is a learning experience—it brings to light not only its inherent flaws (in order to truly achieve the personal growth and happiness that I desire in my life, I must grow emotionally, and the only way in which I can do so is to undergo the trials and tribulations of emotional upset), but also a recognition of my own conscious fears, such as the fear of once again opening myself up to the possibility of emotional vulnerability.
                I don’t know if I’m an optimist. I don’t know if I’m a pessimist. I don’t know if I’m a realist. I don’t know if I’m some sort of amalgamation of all three. And that’s okay—because what I do know is that everything is a learning experience, and for now, I’m learning, and that’s enough.