I like to think of myself as an optimist. I’m not the ‘life is full of rainbows and kittens’ type (although I have been known to watch kitten videos
for hours on end on occasion), but I tend to think things are pretty great most of the time.
The tricky thing about optimism is it actually takes hard work. There are days when all I want to do is have a pout (and possibly a large drink) because something didn’t go my way. It’s easy to let the little things get to you, something as simple (ha!) as dealing with the masses on public transit — be it rush hour at Union Station or a crowded, delayed streetcar when you’re running late on a slushy day.
There are times when I stress over a decision (big or small), worry about making the right choice, and wonder what will happen if I don’t. When friends come to me with similar struggles, my sage advice tends to be along the lines of, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ and, ‘You won’t die’ (although one time while trying to convince a friend to get on the ice at Nathan Phillips, the worst did happen when another skater fell and broke his nose. But true to my word, she didn’t die!). The difficulty, it seems, is telling myself the same.
I don’t think being optimistic means I have to be happy and sunny all the time. I think it means dealing with the challenges without letting them overwhelm you, and realizing that whatever it is really isn’t the end of the world. Besides, there isn’t anything that can’t be fixed by a good book/friend/solo dance party and some sparkles.