The last time I asked, “What’s the worst that could happen?” I woke up to tanks racing past my house.
I’ll never forget the deafening rumbling sound. The events of that Thursday drained the last ounce of optimism from my bloodstream.
From that day, I gave pessimism a full frontal hug. Anything that can go wrong will eventually snowball into a regal clusterfuck.
Everything that happens to us comes down to three things: luck, preparation, or skill. Your optimistic mindset has little to do with it.
The positivity culture has graduated into the cult of optimism. We pray, manifest, or project only positive outcomes regardless of impending doom.
Optimism is a by-product of obsessive individualism—the misguided notion that a positive mindset can change your life for the better.
In reality, optimism is an opium for the powerless. No amount of positive affirmations can tilt the scales in your favour.
Some religions believe your thoughts and proclamations can change your reality. With my little knowledge of history, I can tell you that existence is all about luck—being in the right place at the right time.
Viktor Frankl shared how a positive mindset helped him survive the concentration camp. For every Viktor Frankl, there are 6 million others who hoped for redemption right until some sadistic guard shoved them into the gas chamber and clocked out for lunch.
So yes, being optimistic has little bearing on whether hardship will befall you.
Another reason for the growth of the optimism cult is survivorship bias. Of course, optimism can help you through the worst of times, but pessimism will level your mood through turbulent waters.
No matter how hard you pray, you can’t change the things you can’t control.
Okay, let’s say your prayer can move mountains. Let’s say 6 billion people send prayers upstairs all at once. Who determines which miracles take precedence? Who knows the criteria for fulfilling wishes?
For every answered prayer, someone else’s tears and supplications disintegrated into the ether.
Even beyond the realm of religion, the idea that your brain waves can alter the course of events in your favour is an assertion that tethers on the boundaries of absurdity.
If it works for you, don’t let me stop you.
I just know that when shit kicks off, pessimists will keep everyone grounded in reality. Optimists will go around trying to uplift people with misguided notions that suffering doesn’t last.
Let them do their job, but don’t forget to remind people that things could get much worse since nobody was born with a crystal ball.
They’ll hate you for it, but they’ll appreciate you eventually.
Resist the innate urge to apologise for your pessimistic worldview. People will try to chide you for being a debby-downer.
Throw it back in their face. Ask them if they’ve ever apologised after their positivity led to catastrophe. After all, they’d always find a speck of positive outlook in shitstorms.
Being a pessimist prepares you for life’s curveballs, but it won’t shield you from them. With your negative outlook comes suffering and being insufferable.
Take solace in knowing that the optimists are going through the same with you. The only difference is they pretend to smile through the pain, and you don’t.
In an environment that reinforces the helplessness of obsessive positivity—where everything goes wrong routinely—you get chronic pessimism.
You lower your expectations. You stop having expectations. Your daily interactions carry a heavy tint of sarcasm cloaked in an opaque veil of dark humour.
The realisation is that only by lowering your expectations can you survive the disappointments of daily life. And if a miracle falls in your lap, then the gods be praised.
I subscribe to the pessimistic thought street: if things will go wrong, they will always go wrong.
This kind of thinking gives me a soft landing on a surface padded with grounded expectations. If you are close to the ground, the fall will break your bones, but it won’t kill you.
I get depressed when optimism fails me. All the effort invested in believing that the odds will favour me is met by the crushing feeling of helplessness.
When pessimism fails me, I end up with a smile—because I always saw that one coming. I toast to my sorrows with a jar of lemonade-flavoured tears.
Pessimism eliminates the pressure of making big life decisions. Nothing calms my anxiety more than “it’s going to fail anyway.”
With that devil whispering over my shoulder, I can accept that the outcome of that interview, that disastrous date, that shocking result, is out of my control.
