I have a confession: I’m not a true optimist.
I’m what you’d call a fairweather optimist, although maybe fairweather might be the wrong adjective. Maybe foulweather optimist suits me better.
When life is hard, when things really suck, I’m somehow able to look at everything around and say, “Well this won’t last forever. Things will get better.”
But when things get better, when life is easy-breezy, I’m convinced of the opposite. I become a reluctant, but insistent, pessimist.
“Something isn’t right. There is no way things could be this good.”
Cue internal struggle.
For years I’ve been struggling with this, but I’ve been in denial. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve got a blog dedicated to optimism. It’s practically religion for me. Recently I recognized it for what it really was: A habit.
Most of my life has been chaotic, unsorted, unpredicatable, unstable and otherwise crazy-making. It’s only in the past few years that I’ve learned and experienced trust, peace and love.
And while some people pray for that night and day, it has made me feel a bit like a caged animal. This is not protocol! Something must be about to go wrong.
Minds are powerful tools, and these thoughts aren’t something the Universe ignores. I know this. And I can look back at the pattern of my life and see that (in smaller ways), my negativity has been pushing away happiness for years.
No more, I say. The first step to change is admitting there’s an issue. I will not deny it any longer.
My name is Rebecca, and I’m a pessimist.
I will work harder to believe that I deserve my amazing job, my smart and sexy husband, my talented and loving friends, my house by the Santa Cruz harbor on the Pacific Ocean and the countless other blessings in my life. And not only that, I will do my best to believe that my life will continue to be blessed.