(photo copyright Sarah Arbogast)
I'm making an attempt to become an optimist. Given my history and predispositions, this is kind of like a turtle saying, "I'm making an attempt to become a Boeing 707." Even with the best intentions, it could be a while before the amphibian is cleared for takeoff at O'Hare.
My natural tendency is to imagine what could go wrong in any situation. In a sense this makes me good at risk analysis. "And now Cris Cohen will explain how you could be killed by corn holders." It doesn't make me someone who embraces life with arms wide open, though. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that I face life with arms crossed, tensed, and bracing for impact. I tend to wake up every morning feeling like I am about to start work as a crash test dummy. "Morning, Cris. You're in car 15 today, 'Head-On Collisions'."
I would like to stop being a pessimist, though. For one thing, there is no tax incentive. "W2 form / Line H: Put a 1 in the box if you think you suck." Also, although it comes naturally to me, it's tiring. Constantly imagining the worst leads to an exhaustion normally only seen among people who have climbed Everest.
I'd like to be an actual optimist, though, someone who is hopeful but views things realistically. I don't want to be like those artificial optimists, the ones who achieve an upbeat state of denial through giddiness and, possibly, exposure to paint fumes.
I mean, from what I can tell, even when things are going well, life is not perfection. It's messy and off-balance, like a waiter trying to bring an order of soup across wet tiles.
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