A friend chatted with me last week while watching his toddler daughter sleep on the kitchen floor, her blanket gripped in her hands, and her hair spread on the linoleum. She'd woken up and gotten out of bed to go be where he was while he worked at his computer. He looked at her while he typed. "Sometimes I think about how arbitrary we are. One small change in the particulars of my daughter's conception and she wouldn't be here. I'd be living with a completely different person, or no person at all." I told him I'd thought the same thing and that - to my surprise - it made me think we were each supposed to be here. Like the stars aligned so Anonybabe could come into my life.
He elaughed. "Ha ha. My reaction is pessimism and yours is optimism." We had to cut our chat short soon after and I've had a protest to his label for me - "optimist" - simmering ever since.
It doesn't feel like I'm being optimistic when I choose to believe we were all meant to be. Or maybe it's just that optimism feels different than I always imagined. My "optimism" has a healthy dark streak. An acceptance of my own fear and ignorance. I don't know why we're here. I don't know that we have a purpose. For the most part I think "purpose" has such a broad meaning that it becomes meaningless when you narrow it down to individuals.
But there's a part of me that sees how it could be, and I let myself cling to the belief. Because it's better to believe than not. My optimism is strictly utilitarian. This is what my psyche needs to be content, to function. So I give it what it needs. Why not?
He elaughed. "Ha ha. My reaction is pessimism and yours is optimism." We had to cut our chat short soon after and I've had a protest to his label for me - "optimist" - simmering ever since.
It doesn't feel like I'm being optimistic when I choose to believe we were all meant to be. Or maybe it's just that optimism feels different than I always imagined. My "optimism" has a healthy dark streak. An acceptance of my own fear and ignorance. I don't know why we're here. I don't know that we have a purpose. For the most part I think "purpose" has such a broad meaning that it becomes meaningless when you narrow it down to individuals.
But there's a part of me that sees how it could be, and I let myself cling to the belief. Because it's better to believe than not. My optimism is strictly utilitarian. This is what my psyche needs to be content, to function. So I give it what it needs. Why not?
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