Reflecting on one of the three words I once used to describe myself in my school leavers year book, I’m surprised by a) actually having enough useless memory space to remember this and b) why on earth I decided to make one of these words, pessimistic.
Not that I go everywhere armed with towels to mop up the overflowing glass of too much optimism, I at least feel very confident in confirming that I’m generally a positive energy in the room – even if some would rather label this as annoying energy. I call those people jealous.
So, when reading an article in the Guardian, all the while attempting to withstand a human righteous level of space between the smells and scowls of London commuters trapped between the doors of the Piccadilly line with an optimistic smile, which was headlined ‘Optimism may hold secret to longer life’, my first thought (after a quick wonder of what hippy came up with this rubbish) was actually, “this could make some sense, y’know”.
I’m not talking shitting rainbows and spreading gold dust-level optimism, but just attempting to move closer to the full level of the glass can’t half have an impact – and shit just got real that we now have some mediocre evidence that it also increases life expectancy. Smiles all round, I say.
It’s safe to say that in one period of my life, that optimism was well and truly tested. Tracing back to that testing period in time, it’s no wonder my brain now starts working so hard to remind itself to just smile and stop negatively overthinking, because it knows it never wants to venture back into that dark place again.
Forcing out those habits of thinking negatively does seriously take its time and by no means do I think I’m all there, yet. But I’m certainly a hella closer than I once was.
Does anyone else smile in front of the mirror until they start believing it and then just crack themselves up because they realise they are quite literally just smiling at themselves? Asking for a friend…