When the pandemic emerged, I began thinking about blind optimism. While some people were rushing to purchase bulk toilet paper, or double-down on their jobs, a small but loud camp started preaching love over fear. Angst and worry were unnecessary, they said, for ‘love over fear’ would fix everything. It applied to all situations, including pandemics, and negated any need to prepare. It was a level of optimism that seemed more destructive than useful, centered around a focus on self rather than the collective; and usually designated to a particular stratum of privilege. Yet as we continue to endure uncertainty and live with question marks around our futures, I have returned to thinking about optimism. At what point is it useful and at what point does it become destructive? If this year has taught us anything, it’s that incorporating lightness and pleasure into our days is vital, if only to endure them. What I’m less sure about is the dosage.
In an episode of The Cut podcast titled ‘Optimism’, host Avery Trufelman tackles this question. She explained that during the pandemic, the adjective ‘optimistic’ morphed into a euphemism for ‘delusional’. It was used in the news as a polite term for ‘unlikely’; as we read about ‘optimistic’ vaccine timelines and ‘optimistic’ border reopening schedules. Yet after speaking to Emily Esfahani Smith, author of The Power of Meaning, Trufelman discovered a crucial nuance. Soon she was able to redefine optimism for herself. It wasn’t so much about denial or delusion, but rather an awareness of the reality and a simultaneous belief that this suffering was for something. “[Optimists] can find meaning in their pain. Because life is suffering. Bad things happen, and optimism is a matter of how you frame your role in that suffering. It’s the narrative you tell that allows you to move forward. In this way, optimism is a tool of survival,” said Trufelman. “Realism and optimism don’t preclude each other. In some ways they buttress each other. They help make significance in what we’re all going through now.” And this is what separates realistic optimism from blind optimism; an awareness that our inner worlds are deeply connected to our outer worlds, and vice versa.
In her book, Phosphorescence, Julia Baird wrote about the differing happiness levels between realistic optimists and blind optimists. In perhaps surprising findings, it is the realistic optimists that come out on top. One of the secrets to happiness, Baird wrote, is having low expectations - or at least realistic ones. She cited a 2006 study where epidemiologists from the University of South Denmark tried to work out why the Danes regularly topped the list of most satisfied people in the Western world. Professor Kaare Christensen, who conducted the study with his team, found having a ‘low bar’ was the answer. “If expectations are unrealistically high they could be the basis of disappointment and low life satisfaction,” they wrote. “While the Danes are very satisfied, their expectations are rather low.” With the bar set lower, realistic optimists have a greater capacity to look around and take in small, joyous moments. Social scientists call this ‘savouring’, and it’s an act each one of us can use to cultivate more optimism in our days. “The crux of savouring is paying attention to pleasure,” wrote Baird. The art lies in three simple steps: look forward to something, enjoy it at the time, and reminisce about it once it’s over. Or as Baird writes, “Eat slowly. Don’t get distracted. Be present. Look for something beautiful on your daily walk. Don’t waste time fault-finding, or dwelling on mishap.”
On Wednesday night, I walked over to my sister’s apartment to pick up some paperwork. I walked in to find her boyfriend cooking and my sister cleaning/dancing because Usher was blaring through the house. I suggested Usher was an interesting choice to which she declared it was Hump Day. Who else would she have on? She had been juggling full-time work by day and university assignments by night and somehow still had the energy to dance to Usher because it was Wednesday. She is my muse in savouring and, in that moment, she reminded me of a Kendrick Lamar line: “The sky could fall down / the wind could cry now / The strong in me / I still smile.” For some, it’s easy to hold on to these moments of lightness and pleasure, while for others it’s a learned practice. In a world that prioritises striving and progress, it’s also easy to become too busy to find meaning in a good conversation or the sea breeze. Yet those moments are all sitting there, waiting to be savoured. Whether we see them or not, depends entirely on whether we are paying attention.
Some related (and unrelated) recommendations:
Obviously, this episode on optimism by The Cut. I also can't recommend their latest episode - 'Rich People Problems' - enough.
The New York Times' investigation into President Trump's taxes. Start here.
I enjoyed this article by advice columnist Heather Havrilesky for The Cut titled, 'Are You Aging Correctly?'
Another article from The Cut around friend paranoia during lockdown, titled, 'Are All My Friend's Mad At Me?'
This feature in The Saturday Paper on the decline of women's media in Australia. (Paywall, sorry.)
If you would like to know more about Trump's pick to fill the empty seat on the Supreme Court, listen to this podcast episode from The Daily.
I have been savouring this album from Moses Sumney this week. His latest album is also completely moving.
Obviously, Phosphorescence - again!
If you enjoy this newsletter, you can support it through a small, monthly donation on Patreon. Otherwise, forward this email to a friend. The more support I receive, the more time I can dedicate to it.