I Hate Cautious Optimism

Why do we act like disappointment accepts advance payments?

Tuesday was one of those workdays where every task required more thinking than I seemed capable of.

I’d answer half an email, open Canva, stare at it, refill my water, attempt another email, reread the first one and wonder if I’d lost the plot. By five o’clock I was tired without having accomplished much of anything satisfying.

Wilson was supposed to be at karate.

Two minutes before they left, he convinced us that the beach was a better idea than the dojo. He’s twelve, which means he’s a master salesman whenever he’d rather be doing something else.

I was... annoyed.

He should go to karate.

Discipline. Commitment. Follow through. What are we teaching him?

...But I also didn’t want to be the only one left at home.

So I went.

I stomped across the sand scowling, which is ridiculous because the beach is one of my favorite places. I plopped down still distracted by work.

Then Wilson pointed.

“I want to swim out to the buoy.”

If you know Santa Monica Tower 26, you know the one. It’s about a quarter mile offshore. It looks further than it actually is once you’re in the water swimming towards it.

If you know Wilson, this suggestion would’ve surprised you. He’s not usually the one volunteering for a challenge.

My response:

“Dude. What? Really?”

Alex’s response:

“Love it! Let’s go.”

Offffffff course.

Suddenly my brain came back online.

The water was choppy.

There had been bacteria advisories.

I’d read recent headlines about it being a “sharky” summer, which should never have become an adjective.

I complained almost the entire way.

Halfway back the current picked up and I started venting my anxiety. Alex and Wilson laughed. Not because they were being mean. It was just that my drama turned an evening swim adventure into a Broadway production while the two of them were... just swimming.

When we got back Wilson was beaming.

A sweet older couple who’d been watching called him over.

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“Good job. We watched. You all didn’t quit.”

I was proud of him.

Then I was embarrassed.

I realized I was the only person making the experience miserable.

I wish I could say that was rare behavior for me, but I have been known to pre-live the bad version of an event before it happens.

Swimming to the buoy.

Hiking hut to hut through the Swiss Alps after convincing myself the altitude would level me.

Walking into dinner parties where I barely know anyone.

Almost every time, I end up loving the very thing I’d already argued against.

My imagination and reality rarely agree on a first draft.

Which brings me to a phrase that bugs the absolute shit out of me.

“Cautiously optimistic.”

I’ll also throw in:

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I’m just going to dip a toe in the water.”

I’ve been trying to figure out why they’ve always gotten under my skin.

I think it’s because they’re all selling the same idea.

That if we cushion our hopes with enough bubble wrap, we’ll somehow soften the blow if things don’t work out.

When was it decided disappointment accepts advance payments?

What exactly do we think we’re buying when we refuse to get our hopes up?

I don’t think we’re buying protection. I think we’re buying the illusion of control.

Maybe it’s even a kind of superstition.

As though getting excited somehow tempts fate. Like joy itself might jinx the outcome.

I’ve just never found that to work.

I can’t think of a single time I’ve looked back and thought,

Thank goodness I spent the previous month worrying.

Mine just sounds different.

Mine sounds like complaining my way to a buoy.

Or mentally writing off a dinner party before I’ve even walked through the front door.

Reality almost never reads the script my imagination wrote for it.

Maybe that’s why those phrases have always bothered me.

If disappointment wants to find me, I don’t think it needs my help.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep my hopes up.