June 3, 1999

The Death of an Optimist

When I was younger, I used to often say the phrase, "Well, it could be worse." I did this out of a formality to be pessimistic like modern times demands. Actually, I did it to hide my most flagrant social defect; I am an optimist. I believe in a lot of positive things.

There is someone out there for everyone. It might be nearly impossible for me to ever meet her, but I believe she's out there. Someday, my life will be shared with someone who just clicks. I believe it.

This is the best of all possible worlds. I wouldn't want it any other way.

Friendships are everlasting. True friends, those that cry when they part, should never hate each other.

People who make decisions make the right ones. The choice might lead to ruin or just hurt, but it was their choice. They can learn from it.

Any problem is solvable.

No hurt cannot be undone.

Too bad that optimism is not allowed in reality. It's childish hope and nothing more. I find myself looking at all these treasured ideals and seeing the lack of any sustenance in any of these. I don't think I can be an optimist anymore. I have too much of a dose of reality clogged down in my stomach at the moment, and my digestive juices are not eating it away. I used to feel that my perfect epitaph would be:

Now, I find that with my optimism now reaping the results of a living will, I should spring for a third line on the gravestone to read: