Coming Out of the Closet

The pessimist sees the glass as half empty.  The optimist as half full.  The realist recognizes he's got a half a glass to drink and the opportunist drinks it while everyone else ponders the present situation.

I'd like to say I've stayed away from them all, but there's one four letter word I've always carefully avoided.  It's caused me tremendous fear and has made my heart twist in knots.  I've avoided it because of all it's connotations and what I thought it would do to my life.  If this word were to escape my lips, the terror is, it would change my whole being.  My outlook on life would need to be different and I would be forever... Someone else.  *Shudder*  The thought of it still gives me some anxiety and I wonder if still, even today, it's best left unsaid.  How can I be me, the me I've come to accept and love, if I allow this word to become part of my vernacular?

Hope.  Such a small and seemingly simple word I've kept at bay for as long as I can remember.  HOPE. In retrospect it seems so silly and yet at the same time, I still utter the word with a hint of fear.  Can I really be the same me as I've always been, yet be hopeful?

Some call me a pessimist.  I've always preferred "realist-with-melancholy-tendencies," but pessimist has worked for me. It's allowed me to stay really comfortable.  But I've realized I've been hiding, even from myself who I really am with concern I'd need to become an outgoing, extroverted, smiley-smiley, life of the party, optimist.  Blech!  Not that there's anything wrong with people who are like that, it's just not me.  (Please oh please don't say I'll be writing again in a year saying it IS me!?)

But it's time I come out of my closet and face the light. I seem to be an optimist.  Hmmmm.  Not only that but I'm hopeful things will be ok.  They'll get better and some of them may even be really good.  I can both feel my body tighten up as I share and feel the relief of letting that out at the same time. 

I can both maintain the me some, including myself have come to know and love and integrate hope into my being.  Me, the "realist-with-melancholy-tendencies," being hopeful.  For better or worse, it's the hard times that brought it out of me.  I realized one day I'm just not the "everything is horrible, we're all gonna die someday anyway" kinda guy I thought I was.  I was able to look at a situation and say to myself, "wow, this stinks.  But I believe it'll get better."  Right there, hope smacked me in the face and I couldn't ignore it any longer.

Another learning experience.  Another glimpse into figuring me out.  But I've learned (again) that labeling myself and boxing me in isn't the answer.  I am the pessimist.  And the optimist.  The realist and sometimes the opportunist.  Yet I still get to be the hilarious "realist-with-melancholy-tendencies."  Whatever it is, I am me.  Today, dropping the fear of hope, I feel freer.