Deep Thoughts, Bruises and All.
First of all, Happy Holidays. No matter your outlook or what you celebrate, I wish you renewed joy and well-being.
Okay. Now. To the pressing matter at hand: keeping on in a time when the world rages and each headline is more bizarre than the next.
Every morning, I tune into the national news. I’d rather ostrich myself. Truly. But I do live in this jumbled period of history and construct stories, so I must, if not understand, at least observe.
I wear deep frown lines. Yes I do.
But I also own deep smile lines. Thank the heavens.
I used to be a blind optimist, the kid who found the pony beneath the pile of poop, the woman who trusted in ultimate peace and universal benevolence.
I’d love to say I am still that person. Alas.
My mother once told me I was a new breed, what she called “a bruised optimist.” This is true. I still hold to the belief goodness and kindness exist, because they do. I bump into strangers in the grocery store, at the gas pumps, in line at some eatery: those who smile and pass a few moments, who seem to long for gentle interaction as much as I do. No social media post can rival the connection between people, no matter how brief.
In this season where hope and hatred bash against the glass in equal measure, I vow to bring bruised optimism to my work, to my interactions, to my world.
My very best to all of you. Should we meet in line for soup, or in some internet media queue, may we all offer balms for bruises.