Hobbs

At the risk of sounding trite, exercises in optimism are often chastised for their naiveté and tone deafness. Existing in the current moment forces us to come to terms with an ever-expanding list of grim realities. After a while, it all becomes a bit nauseating. The void opens, and we once again fall victim to the gaping maw of despair.

Nietzche told us that meaning lay beyond suffering and hardship, and that a life without either was a life devoid of purpose. In his book “Travels with Charley,” John Steinbeck asked, “What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness?”

Is it suffering then that becomes the foundation upon which genuine optimism can be built? Perhaps that is cynicism, but experiencing the sea change of helplessness does indeed color one’s world differently in the aftermath. Creation itself sprung from the black desolation of space. For better or for worse, suffering is inextricably linked to the human condition as it strives for betterment.

A careful balance must be struck then. How do we overcome the cognitive dissonance of these two truths while attempting to heal ourselves, navigate current bleak realities, and protect our loved ones from future therapist bills? How do we carefully step through, around, and over the briars without shedding too much blood?

I can think of no better arena to analyze this than motherhood: the most difficult tight rope to balance of them all. As someone who has suffered more than enough “resilience-building experiences” in her lifetime to understand that, in the interim, suffering doesn’t always lead to meaning and purpose, it can be tempting to incessantly soften the landing of our littles. To ensure that their childhood is utterly devoid of hardship.

Alexander Pope wrote that “hope springs eternal in the human breast” in his “Essay on Man.” But when the eternal spring of hope has no off switch, I begin to wonder if the foundation for optimism begins to erode.

Spoon feeding another human optimism can rob them of another essential ingredient: personal agency. The ability to make decisions on your own, and to reap the consequences — either good or bad.

We were recently on vacation in Florida, where at our hotel, a giant chess board was laid out on the sand. Rooks, three feet tall, standing sentry over the bottomless daiquiris and margaritas. I taught my older son to play chess, and to my delight, my younger son finally seemed to show interest. So as little brother took on big brother, I closely shadowed the younger, squawking out all the different moves he should make.

After some time, my son finally snapped. He told me he didn’t need my help. Caught up in the tone in which such sentiment was delivered, my ego instantly activated. In retrospect, I should have paid closer attention to his body language. But lost in my endless declarations of “you-can-do-its” (he was getting absolutely trounced by his older brother) I missed all the signs that told me he was willing to accept failure in exchange for control.

I, on the other hand, had exchanged genuine optimism for a toxic brew of positivity and, in doing so, robbed him of a moment to feel the full spectrum of real human emotion. To find himself on the suffering side of optimism and start building that foundation.

Optimism is both a philosophy and a word — one that encompasses hope, solution, and confidence in the successful outcome of an undertaking. Good prevailing over evil. That in the end, regardless of the suffering encountered along the way, we will make choices that lead to a brighter future. As a mother, it’s up to me to honor my children’s instincts to trust this intuition.

Of course, we do this gently. In education we often praise teachers who foster an atmosphere where students are willing to take risks, make mistakes, yet have a soft place to land when they do.

As a whole person, it’s up to me to understand this divine duality: suffering and optimism alike, and to allow the former to kindle the latter.