We're All Gonna Die: The Power of Positivity
On the afternoon of my mother’s funeral, I headed back to my father’s home (which had, up until two days before, been my parents’ home) after the burial. There, the family was set to meet with relatives and friends, share food and stories about my mom, and gain comfort in our communal mourning.
As I entered the house, I was met with hushed conversations emanating from the living room, like headlights in fog, soft and muted. Sitting together on the sofa, I saw my dad’s oldest friend, Noah, patting his shoulder while while my father cried.
Dad’s tears no longer shocked me. Having never seen my father cry before her illness, I’d become accustomed to him weeping daily since my mother’s hospitalization. He’d finally been forced to accept that she wouldn’t make it this time.
My heart contracted to see him so frail and hunched, this formerly strong, muscular man who’d appeared larger than life to his children for most of our lives. People who’d loved my mother–her sister, her best friend, nieces and nephews–were there on either side of him, their presence a reassurance that he wouldn’t be forgotten now that his wife was gone.
He stood up, took a sip of water and cleared his throat.
“This is a terrible day,” he began. He nodded a few times, as if agreeing with himself. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks, past his chin and onto his handkerchief, folded neatly in his breast pocket. He reached down for it and began to dab his eyes.
“But I know that, even though I feel awful right now, eventually, things will get better.” He stood there, nodding.
After a pause, my younger sister got up and went to him, put her arm around his shoulder.
I still wonder: What does it take to possess such presence of mind, to have that kind of insight at such a traumatic moment? When the rest of us were drowning in our grief, unable to see past that same evening, how was he able to tap into the fact that, with time, things always get better?
In retrospect, I’d attribute it to my father’s lifelong optimism. While he was a classic optimist, my mother, on the other hand, was a quintessential pessimist and the embodiment of learned helplessness. (I offered a glimpse of my mom’s temperament in the opening of this penultimate Be the Dog column).
Whereas my father was always focused on action and desired outcomes, my mother was notorious for pointing out every possible hurdle and challenge, and never really believed that events would turn out well for her (or anyone else, come to think of it).
And while my own tendency when younger was to be more like my mother, I’ve spent most of my adult life working on reprogramming those neural pathways to emulate my father’s approach to daily living. Because not only are optimists generally happier than pessimists (um, wait, isn’t that actually the definition of those words?)–they are healthier and live longer, too.
As we move toward another year in this decade of upheaval and change, I’m of the mind that optimism is no longer merely a “nice to have.” Instead, it should be categorized as a “need to have.”
A friend recently reminded me that we are all going to die. (I know, what kind of friends do I keep?). But she didn’t offer the thought as a harsh reminder of mortality or as reason to lament.
No, as Wallace Stevens observed in his poem Sunday Morning, “Death is the mother of beauty.” If we weren’t aware of the impermanence of life–this hard stop to our daily interactions on earth–we might lose sight of what’s truly important and meaningful and beautiful and worth cherishing.
And it has certainly been a challenge to maintain that vision of life’s beauty over the past almost-four years, hasn’t it? The other day, the hubs remarked how shocking it was to think that 2024 is almost upon us. Somehow, we managed to cram what feels like a decade into the years 2019 to 2023, yet this past year in its entirety seems to have passed in about ten minutes.
Despite the veritable shitshow** to which we’ve been treated the past four years, I still believe it’s imperative that we look forward to something better on the horizon. Why? Well, to begin with, what are the options?
As for me, I’d rather side with the optimists. One of my uncles, then deep into his 80s, used to say, “Every day above ground is a good day.” We’re still here. Why not make the best of it?
I’ll leave you with one final story for the year. It’s about finding the positive in one’s current situation. I think of this every December 31st.
When I was about 15, my then-best friend (let’s call her Amy) and I spent New Year’s Eve at my parents’ house.
Having no plans ourselves, we were left in charge of watching my younger (then 12 years old) sister while my parents partied with their friends. Amy and I had bonded over the fact that neither of us had boyfriends through high school, so we were “on our own” that night. As usual, we felt sorry for ourselves, lamenting our singleton status.
By the time midnight rolled around, we had guzzled close to a full carton of eggnog as we watched Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve and the festivities at Times Square on TV. A thrumming crowd, filling the screen! Confetti and noisemakers! People squished together cheek to cheek! (And no masks anywhere!!).
As the ball inched its way down the flagpole, I proclaimed, “Let’s raise our glasses!”
My friend promptly grabbed her eyeglasses, whipped them off her face, and held them aloft.
My sister, having no idea what a “toast” actually entailed, followed suit. Soon all three of us were holding our eyeglasses above our heads, roaring with laughter.
In the end, it was actually a pretty great way to usher in the new year.
Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing this holiday season, I wish you happiness, health, and the ability to seize the positive in any situation, whether or not you hold a glass of champagne at midnight.
The next time we meet here, it will be a new year. So when the time comes, let’s each raise our glasses and usher in 2024, with the belief it will be better than anything that preceded it.
Thank you, as always, for reading. I appreciate each and every one of you for consistently stopping by, for commenting and for your support.
See you next year!
Hugs,
Ricki
** If you’re one of my followers who’s been with me for a while and are still taken aback when I use words like “shitshow,” I’m sorry if I startled you! Remember that Substack is pretty lenient that way. And while my writing doesn’t usually reflect my “real life” potty mouth, sometimes, well, life really is a shitshow.
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I sooo enjoyed reading that Ricki. You have such a wonderful way of expressing with words. Being positive is definitely something I need to work on. Thank you for that.
Deb Bedard