Optimism is scary, but that is why we must believe in it. It is far too easy to be afraid of tomorrow than to look it in the eye, smile, and say, “Come on, come on in; I’m sure you have something good you’ve brought to show me.”
It is still early enough that dawn has just begun to break. I stand on the balcony, looking around, taking a few steps to and fro over the cold grass, taking my time to be a person again. There are others, of course, going through their motions of the morning, peppered onto this scene like watermelon seeds, existing wherever they are, no pattern to it. It is curious how we all begin our days differently from one another, and surely, we spend them differently, but when they end, we all have more or less the same things to say about them. I believe the coffee has begun to work. I feel I fell out of this habit of watching the world begin every morning, and now, I think I will take my sweet time building it back up again. That is all it is, this life: a series of missteps and corrections, minor or major, big or small, it does not matter. So many memories of moments where everything could have changed altogether, so many decisions I made in the moment as best as I could, so many crossroads I will never know the other side to, and yet, I look ahead with a smile on my face.
Where does it come from, I almost wonder for a second, but then, I immediately stop the inquiry. It has been my experience that you must never question happiness, the slightest hint of it. Foolish are those who live to create misery in their own days, of their own accord, when there is still something to laugh over. All days begin and end, and most of what happens in them, or maybe, to be more precise, most of what is remembered about what happened in them is up to us. On most days, we define what the story is about. As much as I have failed continually to write fiction, I believe this is the one medium I can make stories up well enough to convince myself that this is a good life.
After all, isn’t it what you make of it?