Journal 2018

I’m an optimist who married a pessimist, for whom the worst-case scenario is always at the forefront. Each positive statement I make gets countered with the opposite. While I focus on the 70% chance of sunshine, a 30% chance of rain spells certainty that he’ll get wet. Why do pessimists do that? If they prepare for the worst, does it lessen the impact?

Okay, I have to quit trying to figure out what makes a pessimist tick and figure out why it bugs me so. It’s okay for him to choose to live that way and I can’t stop it, but I’m letting it affect me, and that’s my issue.

VISUAL: I’m a balloon trying to soar, irritated that the pessimist is holding onto my string. But then I see that this string is retractable. I can pull it—zip—up to the balloon where it’s unreachable to those on the ground. Is that my solution or God’s?

But what if my balloon is on the ground? Then it’s liable to be stolen, stepped on, or played with. I can’t rise above the situation and that feels sad.

I’m willing to give up my irritation and seek the truth. Perhaps my optimism is more like soap bubbles, not solid or substantial. I want to enjoy the beauty of the bubbles while they last, shimmering and glowing and swirling colors. But boys delight in chasing, poking, popping or stomping on them. “What’s the use of blowing bubbles if you’re just going to destroy them?” I cry.

Both viewpoints bring pleasure to the individual, but I’m still sad because it’s less fun for me in this activity. My pleasure is cut short.

And so, I hand the bubble wand to Jesus. He’s taller than me. He can blow bubbles over our heads, out of reach, where I can watch in delight until they float out of sight. And He can blow some low so my pessimist partner can stomp on them.

So now I can sit on my back deck with coffee in hand and declare it’s a beautiful day, and Scott can respond, “But it’s muggy, there are bugs out here, and the chairs are dirty.” And we can both be right. It’s no longer one tugging against the other.

I now have a bubble of sunshine around me, while my husband sports a gray and gloomy cloud. When we come together, I bring a little sunshine into his gloom, and he provides a little shade from the heat. It changes the “but” to an “and.” It’s 30% chance of rain AND 70% chance of sun. Both are correct.

I wonder what a pessimist’s visual would look like?