This is not beer.
I wish it was beer. No, it’s something called “Kombucha”. I don’t entirely know what Kombucha is. I think it is some sort of witch’s brew of fermented tea made with something ominously called (I am not making this up) SCOBY. Anyway, it’s bubbly and has probiotics in it which, I am told, is great for guts recovering from trauma.
This is all by way of saying that I am still down with the blasted tummy blight. I thought I was getting better. I felt about 70% yesterday and was looking forward to a good night’s sleep and feeling 100% today. These dreams were (literally) shattered at about 11:30PM when I was rudely awakened from my slumber by the unpleasant sensation of being vomited upon. My four year old had crawled into bed with me to make sure I was fully aware that I had not, in fact, been down with food poisoning, but rather a stomach virus. Nothing says, “I need you, mommy” like Cheez-it based puke(tm). So, no good night of sleep for me. I spent the duration changing sheets, holding basins, wiping up bodily fluids and shooing away Mr. Agent Romance for fear that he would catch the dreaded creeping crud if he got too close.
This was not the start to 2016 either of us were envisioning.
Just the day before, my husband had hovered over my sick bed and declared, “2016 was supposed to be better!” His beloved Jeep had refused to start that morning and it, coupled with my helpless incapacity, apparently pushed him over into full-fledged despair. I glared at him with all the strength my little weak frame could muster.
It’s been 11 days. You can’t give up on 2016 already!
He was not convinced. The consummate pessimist, he likes to reserve his right to give into despair at the slightest provocation. Unusual for him, he had been expressing hopeful thoughts about the coming year up to that point and I think he had completely overextended his capacity to do so by the 10th of January. “Enough with this positive outlook! I was an optimist for, oh, ELEVEN days and look where it’s gotten me! Nowhere! Now, I have broken Jeep and a vomiting wife. I’m going back to my cave!”
Of course, you are, my love. Just give me a day or two to crawl back from death and retake the mantle of hope for the family.
How’s your 2016 going so far? Good? Bad? UGLY?
The difference between my husband (the pessimist) and me (the optimist) is often how we frame things in our minds when life isn’t going our way.
The Pessimist says, “It’s all going to hell!” or to quote What about Bob? “With all the horror in the world, what does it matter?”
The Optimist says, “Well, that was unfortunate. Hope tomorrow is better.”
The words we use are important
I try not to think and talk in negatives and negative absolutes least of all. I don’t think there is any magic voodoo to it, but you aren’t doing yourself any favors by declaring all is lost. It’s sort of declaring surrender even if you don’t mean it. You damage your own morale. If you want to succeed, if you want 2016 to be better, you have to do the best you can to keep speaking positively even when the going is tough.
Are things sometimes going to stink?
Will you sometimes feel disappointed?
Sometimes, hope goes splat.
But that’s okay. Make it funny. Have a sense of humor about it. And then get up, scoop your hope up with a spoon and keep going.