Proof Positive

There was a time in my life when I would have categorized myself as a pessimist. Not completely doom and gloom all the time, but seeing my share of half empty. Hoping for the best, but never really believing it would ever happen.

This way of life was okay with me. I was just pessimistic enough not to be disappointed by the downs of life, yet not so much like Eeyore that I brought others down with me. A good balance, I thought. I was perfectly happy not being happy all the time. In fact, I thought people who were cheery and positive were fooling themselves, and others. No one can be optimistic all the time. At some point you have to be real and admit that there's just as much chance for something to go wrong as there is for something to go right. And when it does go wrong, don't pretend that even in it's wrongness it will be alright. That's just stupid.

Well, call me stupid, because I seem to have inched my way over to the half full side without even noticing. This morning I woke up with my optimistic self just waiting to jump out and singsong at me "nah nah nah nah, you're a happy person."

I woke up rested, and when I noticed that I had overslept- missing my morning yoga with the nice lady on PBS- the optimistic voice said to me "you must have needed that extra half hour of sleep more than you needed the exercise." When I dropped yesterday's coffee filter, full of grounds, on the floor the voice said "at least you didn't mop the kitchen yesterday like you said you were going to. Think of what a shame it would have been to drop all that on a clean floor." When my grace and agility failed causing me to dump half of my fresh brewed coffee down the front of me as I tried not to step on top of the baby who had crawled silently right behind me, no one said "great! Of all the days to wear a white t-shirt!" No, instead I heard "whew! Get that shirt into the load of whites you just started in the washer and the stain should come right out." Does it ever stop?

Apparently not, for as I drove down our street toward the school, realizing that I had forgotten to make a lunch for Sarah Jane and knowing that we were already too late to go back, that voice came again "hey, the change from the grocery store yesterday was 2$, just enough for her to buy a school lunch today." And as Sarah Jane ran to class with her tardy slip in hand I didn't feel guilty for ruining her perfect attendance, I thought "at least they don't send home truancy letters for being late."

How did this happen? How did my inner voice turn into the barefooted Bobby McFerrin whistling the tune to Don't Worry, Be Happy? Personally I blame all of you. It's my parent's fault for always telling me that they loved me and that everything would be alright. It's my brother's fault for giving me an emotional sibling relationship to rival Chang and Eng. It's my husband's fault for making me believe that together we can conquer anything. It's my friends' fault for being so encouraging and supportive. Darn you all! You've taken a perfectly good life of pessimism, and proven that the grass really is greener on the other side.

Good work. And have a nice day.