I try to be optimistic most of the time, and it can't always be helped not to be. But I feel like I've gotten a little better over the last couple of years about being less sad about how things are playing out. I was looking through my old posts while getting re-acquainted with my blog after almost a year and a half of neglect and it's interesting to see how much I've changed even in just this year and a half. I found a post I never published. I think I was trying to find an appropriate analogy for the grief I was feeling at the time and I kept it private because it was just too much, too personal, to share with the world. And now...well, while I'm still greatly saddened by the course life has taken, I think I've come to terms with it a little more, enough to have a (dark) laugh at the slightly melodramatic nature of what I wrote.
In this post, I think I was trying to describe how my sadness and "me" are very separate. I mean, it's always there, and if I acknowledge it at all it will consume me. But for the most part, I tuck it away and keep my distance (until I can't anymore). It has this strange quality to it; it doesn't feel like it's integrated into who I am. It just rides alongside whatever I'm doing, and I know it's there but I just try to ignore it best I can. Like a creepy stalker that won't go away and although you put a restraining order out against him you can still see him lurking around 300 feet away, always following you. Anyway, my roommate, a social worker, tells me that's not healthy and I should deal with my feelings, but what does she know ;)
So I guess the question is: is that truly optimism? Or just pure, unadulterated, blissful avoidance? I don't know. But it sure makes things easier.