I'm an eternal optimist. That doesn't mean I'm a sap.
The words above, from President Obama as quoted by Bob Herbert (NY Times) perfectly express my qualms about this whole optimism thing. So perfectly I'm thinking of setting them to music or putting the sentiment in cross stitch. Here's a crafting possibility:
Optimist. Sap. Optimist. Sap. For most of my life, those two words have meant the same thing. (Apologies to my husband, "Mr. Glass half-full." I don't mean you) An optimist gets credit for being forward-thinking, for seeing opportunity ahead and acting on it. A sap gets taken. By the way, you notice a pessimist never gets called "forward-thinking" even if the gloomy prediction turned out to be true.
So. Were we optimists for putting money in the market for college, retirement, etc? Were we optimists when we decided to buy a house? To spend our savings to put kids through college? To stay home with the kids?
Or were we saps?
I like to think we were realistically optimistic when we made all those decisions. The evidence and the news seemed to support us. They felt like the right decisions. If you look at how things were just a few years ago, we seemed overly pessimistic, if anything. We didn't go deep into credit card debt or refinance our house, even though every commercial and piece of junk mail urged us to not be saps by missing out.
(In one commercial that used to be on each weekday morning, an animated "granny" would shake her finger and roll her eyes impatiently at her hapless son, who just couldn't figure out how a new home loan could make his life better. The idea was that his family was suffering, I guess. In fact, most older people I know who've lived through the 30's Depression are horrified at the thought of all that debt.)
More and more, though, I'm feeling like a sap. And we don't have any of the terrible problems that have beset people on the coasts. We weren't ripped off by Madoff, for example. Our house isn't about to be foreclosed.
We avoided debt by scraping along, eating in, getting by with one car in the suburbs while XKE drivers partied it up with imaginary money. And we thought we'd be okay because the tassled-shoe set told us business could police itself. There's the sappy part.
But--whoa--I'm about to get off the optimism track here and venture into a tirade. We don't want that.
The enduring thing about all our troubles, I think, is that it may bring about new definitions of "optimist" and possibly even "sap." For example:
Buying a peanut butter product or a child's toy? You'll be an optimist if you take that risk after first thoroughly checking the company and country of origin. Otherwise, a sap.
Buying a lottery ticket? Optimist.
Buying stock? Sap.
Saving for retirement? Sap. You won't be able to retire.
Saving for a big trip to Europe? Optimist. Global recession has brought about some really cheap fares and weak currencies. If only you keep your job long enough to take advantage.
And...that makes me feel better. We must go to Europe! What a great idea! You think I'm being sarcastic but I'm completely serious. I think I can fit it in the budget after the car's front end, the cat's blood work, the stove, the refrigerator....
Before I close, I wanted to include this interesting poem on optimism by Stephen Dunn, with thanks to Jean Burke. And also, my daughter's rendition of "I Puke Rainbows."
Optimism
by Stephen Dunn
My friend the pessimist thinks I'm optimistic
because I seem to believe in the next good thing.
But I see rueful shadows almost everywhere.
When the sun rises I think of collisions and AK-47s.
It's my mother's fault, who praised and loved me,
sent me into the dreadful world as if
it would tell me a story I'd understand. The fact is
optimism is the enemy of happiness.
I've learned to live for the next good thing
because lifelong friends write good-bye lettres,
because regret follows every timidity.
I'm glad I konw that all great romances are fleshed
with failure. I'll take a day of bitterness and rain
to placate the gods, to get it over with.
My mother told me I could be a great pianist
because I had long fingers. My fingers are small.
It's my mother's fault, every undeserved sweetness.
The words above, from President Obama as quoted by Bob Herbert (NY Times) perfectly express my qualms about this whole optimism thing. So perfectly I'm thinking of setting them to music or putting the sentiment in cross stitch. Here's a crafting possibility:
Optimist. Sap. Optimist. Sap. For most of my life, those two words have meant the same thing. (Apologies to my husband, "Mr. Glass half-full." I don't mean you) An optimist gets credit for being forward-thinking, for seeing opportunity ahead and acting on it. A sap gets taken. By the way, you notice a pessimist never gets called "forward-thinking" even if the gloomy prediction turned out to be true.
So. Were we optimists for putting money in the market for college, retirement, etc? Were we optimists when we decided to buy a house? To spend our savings to put kids through college? To stay home with the kids?
Or were we saps?
I like to think we were realistically optimistic when we made all those decisions. The evidence and the news seemed to support us. They felt like the right decisions. If you look at how things were just a few years ago, we seemed overly pessimistic, if anything. We didn't go deep into credit card debt or refinance our house, even though every commercial and piece of junk mail urged us to not be saps by missing out.
(In one commercial that used to be on each weekday morning, an animated "granny" would shake her finger and roll her eyes impatiently at her hapless son, who just couldn't figure out how a new home loan could make his life better. The idea was that his family was suffering, I guess. In fact, most older people I know who've lived through the 30's Depression are horrified at the thought of all that debt.)
More and more, though, I'm feeling like a sap. And we don't have any of the terrible problems that have beset people on the coasts. We weren't ripped off by Madoff, for example. Our house isn't about to be foreclosed.
We avoided debt by scraping along, eating in, getting by with one car in the suburbs while XKE drivers partied it up with imaginary money. And we thought we'd be okay because the tassled-shoe set told us business could police itself. There's the sappy part.
But--whoa--I'm about to get off the optimism track here and venture into a tirade. We don't want that.
The enduring thing about all our troubles, I think, is that it may bring about new definitions of "optimist" and possibly even "sap." For example:
Buying a peanut butter product or a child's toy? You'll be an optimist if you take that risk after first thoroughly checking the company and country of origin. Otherwise, a sap.
Buying a lottery ticket? Optimist.
Buying stock? Sap.
Saving for retirement? Sap. You won't be able to retire.
Saving for a big trip to Europe? Optimist. Global recession has brought about some really cheap fares and weak currencies. If only you keep your job long enough to take advantage.
And...that makes me feel better. We must go to Europe! What a great idea! You think I'm being sarcastic but I'm completely serious. I think I can fit it in the budget after the car's front end, the cat's blood work, the stove, the refrigerator....
Before I close, I wanted to include this interesting poem on optimism by Stephen Dunn, with thanks to Jean Burke. And also, my daughter's rendition of "I Puke Rainbows."
Optimism
by Stephen Dunn
My friend the pessimist thinks I'm optimistic
because I seem to believe in the next good thing.
But I see rueful shadows almost everywhere.
When the sun rises I think of collisions and AK-47s.
It's my mother's fault, who praised and loved me,
sent me into the dreadful world as if
it would tell me a story I'd understand. The fact is
optimism is the enemy of happiness.
I've learned to live for the next good thing
because lifelong friends write good-bye lettres,
because regret follows every timidity.
I'm glad I konw that all great romances are fleshed
with failure. I'll take a day of bitterness and rain
to placate the gods, to get it over with.
My mother told me I could be a great pianist
because I had long fingers. My fingers are small.
It's my mother's fault, every undeserved sweetness.
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