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When Cockeyed Optimism Fails
Learning (Again) That Disappointment is an Option
There are just some uncomfortable truths about adult life. I have been really, really slow at learning these truths.
As a kid, I was perpetually the bright-eyed helper in the classroom, almost primarily out of a sense of utility. I didn’t grow up in an era of “star of the week” or even “line leader,” and I fully lacked the responsible nature or authoritarian disposition to be the one designated role for some students in my school: Patrol Guard. The patrols, though roundly mocked for being nerdy and dorkish, were assigned with essentially what adult crossing guards do, and kids more or less listened to them.
I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. I just wanted to be helpful. And cheery. A friend of mine even now recently said, when I was volunteering at my community food pantry, “Susan is that kind of person whose motor is just perpetually on. I like that kind of person.” I was so grateful that he added that he liked that kind of person. Sometimes my ebullience can be irritating.
My therapist from years ago reminded me that not all people are wired to be good. She said this in response to my lamentation that I genuinely try to do good things for people, and so rarely find it wholeheartedly reciprocated.
