If you want to be truly happy, focus on the positive.
I hear this all the time, and it makes me want to go right up to the person saying it and light their hair on fire. First of all, what does truly happy even mean? Can I be falsely happy? And if so, how do I tell the difference? I imagine being strapped to an emotional lie detector, with some grim-looking guy with a short haircut and thin tie asking me a bunch of annoying questions, like “Have you ever really had a Merry Christmas?” and “Were you secretly pleased when the valedictorian of your graduating class fell off the stage and broke his sternum?”
Rather than dwelling on what’s missing, I’m supposed to think about what’s there. Instead of paying attention to the unpleasant parts of my life, I should be grateful for the good things.
I’ve tried this a couple of times. It doesn’t work.
Just this morning, I burned the index finger on my left hand. I told myself to ignore the pain and think about how great my other nine fingers felt. But I couldn’t do it. The nerve endings I had just scorched and the blister now rapidly forming under the skin refused to yield to my positive thoughts.
“Listen,” they screamed. “That throbbing sting you feel is going to continue for quite some time unless you stick us under some cold water right now.”
“No, no, no!” another voice insisted. “Never put a burn under cold water. That can cause massive cell destruction, infection could set in, and you might lose the entire arm.”
Seeking to quell the debate, I grabbed a book on home remedies. I seemed to recall someone advising the use of honey on a minor burn, but as I flipped through the book’s pages, I got a paper cut on my right thumb. A thin line of blood appeared as a slice of pain began to compete with the blister for my attention. Cold water was all I could think about, and for the next few minutes my other eight fingers didn’t exist, except to turn on the faucet and try to close the cut.
There are stronger examples. If I wake up with a toothache, I have trouble remembering that my other twenty-nine teeth feel fine. The one giving me pain is the only one I think about. This seems normal to me. We’re human beings. We’re not good at being satisfied. We always want things to be better, so we zero in on the thing that’s the least satisfying. We put on a brand new, clean white shirt, and someone spills a drop of barbecue sauce on it. Although most of the shirt is still clean and white, we can’t stop thinking about the drip.
But even when everything is great, we get tired of that pretty fast and go looking for something greater. That’s why we travel to far-away places. We’re sick of our house and our street and our neighbors who all speak the same boring language and put their recycling out on the curb on the fourth Friday of every month like a bunch of mind-controlled zombies. So we leave, in search of a more enjoyable location to spend a couple of weeks. And all goes well for a while. The people have charming accents and interesting customs, and we get to take naps in the afternoon. But by the eighth or ninth day, we start to get tired of trying to read a menu in German or sitting by the swimming pool and pretending we don’t mind being splashed in the eyes by someone else’s children. When we finally run out of clean underwear on day twelve, we’re wishing we were home, and when we find ourselves stuck at the airport for seven hours because of mechanical problems, we’re pretty sure we’ll never fly again. Back home, we’re thrilled to see our house and our street and even our neighbors who understand us when we say to them, “Hey! We’re back from our trip. Is that your car parked in our driveway?”
The point is, it just isn’t natural to be positive all the time. It’s the sure sign of a brain at rest. The trick, I believe, is to appreciate what is, while also wondering what could be.
This post came from several conversations I’ve had with fellow bloggers. They’ve expressed the lingering dissatisfaction of the writer, a trait non-writers see as lack of confidence. But that isn’t what it is at all. It’s an awareness that we can rarely, if ever, take a concept from our mind and put it into words in such a way that readers will absorb those words, translate them back into ideas, and the original concept will form in their minds. As new writers, we think that’s what’s happening. But with enough time and attention, we realize that it almost never does. After a while, we learn to recognize where we’ve fallen short, even without feedback from readers. We also learn how to inch closer to our goal, understanding that we won’t reach it, but that there are things we can do to close the gap. And we can do that only by identifying what’s wrong or missing. If we fall in love with what we’ve written, we miss the chance to improve.
Which leaves us in an odd position. We have to maintain the sheer audacity to believe anyone has the time or interest to sit down and read our words, and balance that confidence with the thought that what we’ve written can always be better. This involves acknowledging both the positive and the negative, and attempting to fix what isn’t working without messing up what is. In the process, we take those minuscule steps from where we are to where we want to be.
Maybe that’s the secret of life, if there is one. Or maybe I’ve failed miserably and you have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. I don’t know.
What I do know is that in order to build strength, we have to first admit weakness, and that seems like optimism to me. I also know that if you tell me to look on the bright side, I’m going to light your hair on fire. But try to remember that even with your head in flames, you can still be truly happy.
All you have to do is focus on how great all ten of your fingers feel.
Carl D'Agostino
August 23, 2011
The 12-step programs that deal with substance abuse have participants that preach this would you rather be right or rather be happy? Well if this jerk is going to put too small a gauge of wiring in you house I will stop that because if I don’t the house will be burned down in an electrical fire and I am not arguing with the electrician – it ain’t gonna happen. I argued. I prevented it. I am right. AND I am very happy.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
As with most other philosophies, the right-or-happy argument can’t apply to every possible situation. Sometimes one depends on the other.
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O. Leonard
August 23, 2011
I still believe the secret of life is what Curly (Jack Palance) tells Mitch Robbins (Billy Crystal) in “City Slickers.” “The secret to life,” he says, “is one thing.” Mitch asks him what one thing that is, and he answers “That’s what you have to find out.” That’s stayed with me ever since I saw that movie. I’ve been trying to find what that one thing is. I haven’t found it.
Writing is exactly like you say it is for writers. I like some of the stuff I write, but when I read it over for the hundredth time, I’m still editing. Still not satisfied with it. And I never seem to get the message I think I’m writing about, across to others that read it. Or so it seems. Just like English class when you’re dissecting a piece of poetry by T.S.Eliot and how different the perspectives are of what he is trying to say. Personally I don’t think T.S. Eliot was all that great, but then I would probably be alone in that assessment.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
It’s another interesting question, O. Both writer and reader have to put in a certain amount of effort in order to make the connection, but where exactly is the meeting point? If I don’t understand a poem, is it because I’m not working hard enough, or is it because the poet didn’t?
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shoreacres
August 24, 2011
Just remember, we dissect things that are dead, vivisection being mostly frowned on except in certain laboratories I prefer not to think about.
If a poem of Eliot’s or anyone else’s is being dissected, maybe somebody killed it before it got to you. 😉
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magsx2
August 23, 2011
Hi,
Just in the last half hour it seemed to be getter colder here, I tried the positive thinking, I kept telling myself that it’s not colder, that we are only a couple weeks away from Spring, that Winter is nearly over, but it didn’t help at all, I had to go and get my thick dressing gown, and I’m onto my second cuppa, and now everything seems right within my little world. I’m also guilty of the “It doesn’t really hurt” line, only to have tears start to form, and thinking a few words that I would never repeat out loud. 🙂
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
Physical pain and serious illness is yet another area in which positive thinking can get you into big trouble, Mags. How many people have ignored the signs of a heart attack or stroke by replacing appropriate action with positive thoughts?
I hope it warms up soon.
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Margie
August 23, 2011
I understand exactly what you are trying to say even though the way you feel is mostly alien to me. Fortunately we will likely never meet, so I don’t need to fear you will light my hair on fire…
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
I wonder which parts seem alien to you, Margie. Have you written about any of this on your blog? I’d love to read what you have to say. Meanwhile, thank you for the comment.
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cooperstownersincanada
August 23, 2011
Brilliant column. I agree with you 100 per cent. I, too, don’t believe that looking at the bright side is a universal remedy for all woes. Good for you for writing it. On a side note (in the “truly happy” vein), one of my pet peeves is when people say, “Well, to be honest with you …” Does that mean that everything they have told me up until that point has been BS?
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
Thanks, Kevin. I think we all have a few of those throw-away phrases we insert into our speech, and we don’t even realize we’re doing it. I’m sure I do.
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Kavya
August 23, 2011
Yet another good post.
I love the cartoons. Do you draw them yourself?
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
I don’t draw the cartoons, Kavya. I download them from an online clip-art service I subscribe to, then add captions and dialogue.
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Kavya
August 31, 2011
I saw your post with a link to the clip art service shortly after I posted this comment (yes. I admit it . I have been stalking you :P).
Good choice of pictures and really funny captions.
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heidit
August 23, 2011
Fantastic post, Charles. Especially the paragraphs about writing. I actually bought a book called “Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America,” by Barbara Ehrenreich. I haven’t read it yet but if I have to, I can always throw it at the head of the next person who tells me to think positively or be happy. It’s just not natural for me to do either unless I have a reason to. I’m a neutral person by nature and there has to be something for me to be happy about to be happy. I just don’t exist in a state of indefinite happiness.
If we were a satisfied people, we wouldn’t have the technology we use today. If people were content cooking their food over a fire, there would be no oven, which I am happy to use.
Once again, I think a lot like you. I try to understand what has gone wrong in something so I can prevent it from happening again, but I’m repeatedly accused of focusing on the negative. Really, I’m just analyzing the situation so I can learn from it, but to everyone else, I’m being negative. The thing is, that I’m more positive about situations that I can learn from, because then I can be positive that I won’t make those mistakes again.
But I wonder how good your fingers felt after a day of typing. That can’t have been good for either the burn or the paper cut.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
Heidi, you’ve alluded to something I’ve been thinking about: We throw around these words — positive and negative — but the more closely we look at them, the fuzzier they get. They aren’t black-and-white terms at all. Changing jobs, moving to another state, or leaving a relationship can all be looked upon as positive or negative decisions, depending on your point of view. In reality, the terms are nearly impossible to define.
Speaking of a reason to be happy, have a great birthday!
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souldipper
August 23, 2011
When I hear, “All ya gotta do…” I run like hell, Charles. Thank goodness you placed that deadly phrase at the end of your article! I would have missed a great article.
I’m an optimist – with a good dollop of realistic perceptions. However…my writing? It is agony for me to read! The older it is, the more painful it is to read it! If I don’t publish each blog when it is still fresh, after at least 10 edits, it won’t get published.
I see advice like, don’t edit while you write. Yah? Tell me not to drink water when I’m dying of thirst.
I could edit my work into a mud puddle without any problem. The only time I know I’m really doing something worthwhile is when I’m cutting, chopping and eliminating.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
Amy, the problem with most advice is that it’s being offered by someone for whom that advice happens to work. Whatever your writing routine is, I wouldn’t mess with it — the results speak for themselves.
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souldipper
August 31, 2011
Man o’ man…did I luck out by coming back here. I needed to hear a bit of encouragement today and here it is. Thanks. It means a lot, Charles, because I sure do respect your abilities. Okay, I’ll keep kicking the sawdust out of this wall.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
August 23, 2011
As a parent, without deflating their egos or sending them to therapy, I tried to be honest with my children about their strengths and weaknesses. I never went for the “you can do it all and be all and do everything well” line. When kids grow up with all-positive expectations of their abilities then hit a major roadblock, they are often thrown for a loop. We all come with things we can and can not do. I happen to think it’s best to know some of that from the get-go. Doesn’t mean you can’t improve, or doesn’t mean you become defeatist about your weaknesses, just a simple dose of reality. Now, look on the bright side……:-)
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2011
I think it’s fortunate that there’s usually a natural connection between things we’re good at and things we enjoy doing. I could spend the rest of my life trying to play the violin, but I’d hate every minute of it — and so would everyone around me. (I speak from experience.)
I like your approach, EOS. I’m sure your kids did, too.
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Melinda
August 23, 2011
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that causes me to always get something good out of the bad. I have a large scar from a pre-melanoma removal on my chest and I used to be subconscious about it. Now I like to say “Yep…that’s from the time I was attacked by a ninja in the grocery store parking lot”. There’s always something good hidden within. 😛
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2011
I don’t think you even need the ninja story, Melinda. A melanoma is serious stuff, and that scar could represent the difference between a difficult illness and a healthy life. (Although I’m sure you figured that out a long time ago.)
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Allan Douglas (@AllanDouglasDgn)
August 23, 2011
I believe you’re thinking too small, Charles. If you burn the index finger of your left hand, instead of thinking about the good fingers, think, “I’m sure glad it’s just a small burn, not gangrene creeping up my arm and a surgeon coming to amputate it at the shoulder.” Put some allo on it and be glad it wasn’t worse.
I know a woman who is so pessimistic and negative that most people avoid her for fear of coming away from a talk in need to psychotherapy. Honestly, if someone walked up and handed het a thousand dollars in cash, she will complain that her tax bill will go up.
I preach positive thinking, but I am not a “cockeyed optimist”. I know that we will not, can not, be joyful and positive all the time. In fact I don’t think we should. As you point out, there are times when we need to be able to realistically assess a situation. For instance, if some wild-eyed Canadian rushes at me with an ignited cigarette lighter while at a party, I’m going to take a giant step backward.
Thanks for sharing, Charles. A pleasure as always!
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2011
There are no wild-eyed Canadians, Allan. That’s what makes them so dangerous. True, I’m an American, but I don’t own a cigarette lighter, and I rarely get invited to parties. So you’re probably safe.
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She's a Maineiac
August 24, 2011
Well, I think your ability as an effective writer is proven, because I get what you’re saying (I think…maybe not…hmm…oh, the doubt is creeping in again!)
Whenever I write something, I initially hate it. Then I cross half of it out and I start to sort of like it. Eventually, I publish it anyway, those doubts always there in the back of my mind that readers will have no clue what I’m trying to say. Writing is always exciting when you actually manage to make a connection, even if they aren’t the intended connections.
Focusing on either the positive or negative too much is never a good thing overall. I try to balance both. They are both fleeting things anyway. When things are good, I go with it, when they’re bad, I go with it. I try to learn something from both situations. Is this too simplistic? Too zen-ish? Maybe. But it works for me. I suppose I am from Maine, where we don’t mince words or dwell on feelings too much.
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2011
I believe you don’t mince words, Darla. But that last part about not dwelling on feelings, you’d have a harder time convincing me about that.
One of my creative writing professors told me, “Good books, good stories, good plays aren’t written — they’re rewritten.” I can still hear him saying it.
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Snoring Dog Studio
August 24, 2011
I’m an optimist. It’s a defense mechanism. I’m probably one disaster away from being a pessimist but I refuse to give in to feelings of doom and despair. I was that way throughout a great deal of my life. It was exhausting trudging through the world wondering when the next brick was going to fly at my head. On the day of my divorce, I said to my ex: I refuse to be unhappy one minute more. So, I whistle through the graveyard. It feels better and, perhaps, the zombies will be changed because of it.
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2011
I’m an optimist, too, SDS. In fact, I’m a hopeless idealist, and given the number of things in my life that should have obliterated that attitude, I have to believe it’s still there for a reason. But that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize problems, or that I think a positive attitude alone will accomplish anything. I’m optimistic because I know that I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to get past the negative stuff that will inevitably come along. I wonder if that’s at least close to how you see things, too.
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Snoring Dog Studio
August 26, 2011
I didn’t realize that, Charles. Perhaps my impression of you was wrong, not that anything you revealed indicated that you were a pessimist. But we are in agreement – abject, blind optimism doesn’t do a thing for a person other than annoy people around him or her. I use my optimism to get past difficult times, to stop myself from taking things personally, to forge ahead even though the task is daunting and people around me are screaming, “Woe!” Optimism, for me, is synonymous with hope – a thing I never want to lose.
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Jessica Sieghart
August 24, 2011
I suppose based on life experiences and thought processes we form our own ways to deal with things. I’m one of those that thinks I should feel what I feel and I don’t expect to be skipping-along-happy all the time. I think it’s okay to be sad, angry, frustrated, wounded or whatever if such a situation presents itself. I don’t think any of those things are a sign of weakness; I think they are a part of being human.
That being said, sometimes I think time does show us that although a situation may appear to be a negative at the beginning of any story, that isn’t always the way it plays out with time. We may have misjudged the situation or let our own fears complicate the reality of what’s happening. I think writers, in general, are exceptionally sensitive to this.
If we weren’t, we wouldn’t find humor in situations that most would perceive as entirely negative. Melinda wouldn’t be able to make lemonade and you wouldn’t be able to spin a burned finger into a thought provoking blog post.
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2011
Maybe time is the key element, Jessica. The ability to see humor in a catastrophe doesn’t kick in right away. We treat the catastrophe for what it is at the moment, along with whatever thoughts and feelings that come along with it. Later, when the danger has passed, we’re free to adjust our perspective and see the whole thing in a new light, and that’s when we can repackage it with humor. It’s clear from both your blog and your weekly column that you’ve mastered this skill.
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An Idealist Thinker
August 24, 2011
How are your fingers now, Charles?
For burns, peel potato skin and leave it on the affected area. It will immediately soothe. If you don’t have the time or the potatoes, apply a layer of toothpaste. These offer only immediate relief. Of course, you will have to go to a doctor later. When my husband spilled boiling soup on his leg at midnight, we peeled all the potatoes in the house. It helped him get through a couple of hours until we could go to a surgeon in the morning. (why were we having soup at midnight..? I will tell you another time.)
My head is spinning a bit after reading your post but maybe I should focus on the fact that the rest of me isn’t, and feel happy? This is the first post from you that had me smiling less and thinking more.
Many things –
– – –
‘To appreciate what is, while also wondering what could be.’ – Now ain’t that walking a tightrope, the one that I have been trying to master?
– – –
I agree with what you say about the human brain being an explorer – always looking for something else, the other, the greater – its a sign of an active brain ‘not at rest’, if I can draw that analogy. But I don’t agree that that’s why we go to ‘far-away places’. We go near or far because we need a change. A change from the usual, the routine. For example, when my son turned 2, I was desperate for him to join a playschool – obviously not because I was ‘sick’ of him 🙂 I was happy for him to be away and was happy when he returned. Both of us would have joyful looks on our faces on seeing each other after a gap. Sometimes to really appreciate something, you have to be away from it, I feel.
– – –
I have always believed that you need to realise your mistakes, the why & how of it before you apologise. That realisation will prevent repetition.
– – –
I won’t say more about the writing bit.. but am a teeny bit curious to know if i was one of the culprit fellow bloggers? 🙂
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2011
Thanks for the advice, AIT. The burn and cut weren’t as serious as I’d described, but I’ll remember the potato remedy. I agree with you about our need for change, and I think we were saying the same thing, just in different ways. And of course you were one of the culprit bloggers — welcome to the club.
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shoreacres
August 24, 2011
Sometimes when I finish one of your pieces I think, “Good gosh, I’m glad I’m not him”. I can get worn out reading a post like this! I suppose I just don’t think about things as much as I should.
I’ve always thought the eternal optimist and eternal pessimist are exactly alike, in the sense that both are avoiding reality. There are positives and negatives in every situation – the trick is enlarging the context sufficiently to see both and deal accordingly.
As for writing – my rule from the beginning has been “write and let go”. I do the very best I can putting a post together, but once the “publish” button’s been hit, I’m on to the next thing. And I really disagree with your statement that “If we fall in love with what we’ve written, we miss the chance to improve.” Or, perhaps I’d rephrase it. If we don’t fall in love with what we’re writing, we’ll never improve the relationship. 😉
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An Idealist Thinker
August 25, 2011
‘Eternal optimist and eternal pessimist are exactly alike, in the sense that both are avoiding reality’ – what a simple yet spot on analogy!
[ p.s. – I pretty much like everything i write (well, mostly), and like the next one even more! ..and it does get better 🙂 ]
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2011
The danger I was referring to happens when we fall in love with our writing prematurely, so that the revision process is inadequate, or even non-existent. The fact that you do your very best in putting a post together is obvious from the results. Your posts have a flow and a structure that makes them seem as though they appeared fully formed and with little effort. I’m sure, however, that those polished pieces got that way because you put them through the necessary steps of changing, rearranging, deleting, and expanding. Some writers don’t see the need for any of that, because they’ve fallen in love with their first draft. (Maybe I was somewhat guilty of that myself, which is why my original statement wasn’t as clear as I’d hoped.)
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Lenore Diane
August 25, 2011
Oh, I am the eternal optimist. Makes me mad sometimes. (smile) I am the person that enters a contest and believes – every. single. time – that I am going to win. I’ve only won two contests in my 42 yrs. Though I don’t know how many contests I’ve entered, I assure you – I’ve lost enough contests to realize I probably won’t win. Still, I enter – I ‘know’ I’ll win. Crazy. Stupid. Me! (smile)
I have my fair share of negativity, too. I mean, I enter all these contest and lose – for crying out loud! *sigh*
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
Lenore, I think that’s exactly why people enter contests and buy lottery tickets — for those few days of freedom to ignore the odds and really believe you’re going to win. The possibility alone is worth the price of the ticket. I also think the real victory is that you keep bouncing back, with your optimism intact.
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rangewriter
August 25, 2011
Oh Lordy, I laughed out loud when I got to the paper cut! As usual, you lead me into a serious discussion by first nearly choking me on my morning coffee!
“We have to maintain the sheer audacity to believe anyone has the time or interest to sit down and read our words, and balance that confidence with the thought that what we’ve written can always be better.” You’ve put your toasted finger on the crux of the matter, here. Balance. It sounds simple, but it isn’t.
When someone takes the time to read what I’ve written, I’m amazed. When they take the time and effort to respond to what I’ve written, I’m dumbfounded. When they see something in what I’ve written that I didn’t know was there, I feel almost validated as a ‘writer.’
I think that word will always make me choke.
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
Linda, you’re a writer in every sense of the word. And even if you never come to believe that, I’m sure your readers will. I hope you’ll always find the time and motivation to write.
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Priya
August 26, 2011
Is it a wonder that in your Tag Cloud, the biggest word is Life?
Darla’s comment on writing is what I could have written. I feel a particular sense of agreement with “Eventually, I publish it anyway.”
Though I enjoyed your post immensely not just because of its now-expected and much appreciated humour, but also because of the deep implications about optimism, pessimism, idealism it has obviously thrown light on, I have something else on my mind when I write this.
It is your sentence —
If we fall in love with what we’ve written, we miss the chance to improve.
and shoreacres’ rephrasing of it —
If we don’t fall in love with what we’re writing, we’ll never improve the relationship.
I am not a debater by choice and would feel very uncomfortable if a debate were to begin hereafter, but I have to say that I completely disagree with the usage of the word “love,” even though I agree with what these two sentences seem to point at. Both are very, very wise outlooks.
First, my interpretation of the sentences:
Just a change of tense changes the meaning so much — “I have written” and “I am writing”. There is a remarkable difference between the two, I’ve noticed.
If I were unsure of what I was writing, I’d never feel comfortable enough to publish it. If I were to only gloat over the accolades I get or pride I feel towards what I have written and published, I’d never notice that I could do better. You talk of the dangers of being too sure about the quality of the written word, Charles, and shoreacres talks of the importance of being sure of the quality of those that she’s writing. How amazing is the difference! How essential it is to both feel “positive” about what you are writing, and be objective about what you’ve written. No?
As for love, it is a tricky emotion, and a deep one. I could not love my writing or my words. I could not have a relationship with them, because they are me. “I love myself” and all of that is a discussion for another time, but the point here is that a written piece is a set of visible thoughts. My thoughts. The writer’s thoughts. And they can either be important enough for the writer to want him/her to publish them, or be private enough stay where they originate. The process of wanting to write and then eventually doing it has no room for love. It’ll take away all the energy!
I could go on, but I must spare you, and myself.
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shoreacres
August 26, 2011
This will be quick and impulsive, the better to avoid any sense of “debate”. 😉
But of course, my words are not “me” – not in the beginning, at any rate. Words are words, to be shuffled and shaped, chosen and discarded, rearranged and reflected upon as they come ever closer to giving life to the inchoate images of the mind. But at the end, when the words have been fit together through MY choices and care – then they indeed have become truly me.
As for falling in love with what I write – or, better, with the writing process? It’s exactly what should happen. Falling in love implies passion, focus, intensity – a conviction that this and this alone is worth the time and energy invested.
But now I am laughing. Maybe what I mean is that we should hope for the experience of falling in love with our words while we shape them, while at the end, we decide not to marry ourselves to them at all!
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Anklebuster
August 26, 2011
I was looking for a fun place to join in. Shoreacres, I’m with you. Having said that, I appreciate Priya’s perspective. My own personal view, which is probably a mash of everything said before, is that by loving what I write, I am encouraged to do better.
I equate everything to chess: if I play a great game of chess, I am encouraged to do better. Two things spark that encouragement: I want to prove that the first game wasn’t a fluke and, I also feel more connected to the philosophy of the game.
Not all games give me this satisification. Nor does all writing. However, fiction is an enjoyable pastime and it is something that I want to do better.
Charles, as always, you leave me thinking. I totally enjoyed your optimism-bashing, as I recognize a bit of that in myself. The eternal optimist dies with the smile of blissful ignorance. The preternatural pessimist lives with the permanent scowl of cynicism. Neither ever stop to see what would happen if they throttled back on their extremist views.
It seems, to me at least, that well-adjusted people have the right mix of hope, dread and enough common sense to get a band-aid, when needed.
Cheers,
Mitch
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
Mitch, I used to love chess, and was pretty good at it. Then I began to study the game, reading books by chess masters, and practicing against the computer. And the more I worked at it, the worse I got. For some reason, I never see that bishop that’s about to come flying clear across the board to take my queen. In some situations, a little paranoia can come in handy.
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Anklebuster
August 30, 2011
Hmmm, sounds like you’re describing a sniper. Not much one can do about long-range shots, except stay indoors and avoid windows…sigh. 🙂
Chess suck like that. Most likely, you were pretty good against the field, then you stepped into the “pros”. I always say that, in chess, someone is always waiting in the wings to kick your king’s butt.
Cheers,
Mitch
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
Priya, when I’m in the process of writing a first draft, I often like what I’m writing. But when I take a fresh look at it, I recognize that much of it (or most of it) isn’t very good at all. Or, I may have written a perfectly nice paragraph that just doesn’t belong in the piece. The bad writing and the incongruous good writing both have to go — even though I may have, at some point, loved them. That’s what I meant. But you’re absolutely right: it’s important to feel positive and be objective. Easier said than done, as we both know.
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Ray Colon
August 26, 2011
Hi Charles,
Oh, the perpetually-happy-person syndrome. I cringe.
I’m an optimist, in that I always can see a possible brighter future, but since we live in the present we have to deal with that stuff too. I can relate to the impulse to light their hair on fire, but I prefer to imagine a good slap to the back of the head. 🙂
About the perfect writing: feeling that I’ve gotten it just right almost never happens, but we post the imperfect or we may never post at all.
I always forget to mention how much I like your cartoons. They are really good.
Ray
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
I agree, Ray: We publish eventually, knowing the writing isn’t perfect, but it’s as good as we can make it. I also agree with shoreacres in that once I’ve published something, I’m on to the next thing.
By the way, I’ve never actually lit anyone’s hair on fire. It’s more of an occasional fantasy.
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Ray Colon
August 28, 2011
Hi Charles, I didn’t think that you had started any fires. There must be something in the air lately with folks explaining themselves when I play along with what they’ve written. 🙂
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Val
August 26, 2011
Coo… I’ve just read your post AND all the comments. And have forgotten what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. Optimism, optimists, ah… yes. I don’t know that I’d want to set their hair on fire (because the pessimist in me would worry that my own hair would be next to theirs) but I know what you mean. I despair of perpetual optimists. And yet, I’m not one nor the other, neither optimist nor pessimist, which actually means (in a looking-glass way) that I am both. In equal measures.
I wonder about being so critical of writing that one can barely publish it. As far as my blog posts are concerned, I’m of the mind that I can only write the way I write and if I don’t let those go out then they never would be published. (Or… never would they be published. See, I just published that. What nonsense I write, but it makes me smile!) Most of my posts (especially the ‘wittering’ tagged ones) are about my imperfections.
I’m not sure that I actually believe people who say they are happy or optimistic all the time. Do 24/7 pollyannas really exist? I mean, unless one were with them all the time how would one know? And folks who think there are 100% full time pessimists… what, they don’t have an ice cream every once in a while and think “wow, that was great!”?
I have relatives (don’t we all?) who are predominantly pessimistic or optimistic. When they foist their personalities on me (and it’s really just that – a personality clash) I just duck.
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
Val, I have no problem with anyone else’s attitude, outlook, philosophy, or temperament. It’s when they try to convert me to their way of thinking that I get irritated. Maybe that’s what you meant by “When they foist their personalities on me…” I guess I should practice my ducking, too.
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life is a bowl of kibble
August 26, 2011
I like your writing style. It reminds me of my daughter’s writings. I also like your Theme. And more importantly I like what you have to say. I look forward to more.
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2011
Thank you for the nice comment, and I look forward to hearing from you again. I hope your daughter knows how you feel about her writing, too.
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murr brewster
August 28, 2011
I’ve annoyed most of my friends over the years by my habit of looking on the bright side, but I think I come by it congenitally: I have a strong aversion to despair. This is helpful when all of my friends slink away. I would think that someone whose hair is on fire, however, could hardly help but look on the bright side.
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bronxboy55
August 28, 2011
A couple of people have commented on the dangers of either extreme, and I agree with them. And you’re right: despair isn’t preferable to a positive outlook. But I think it’s rarely an either-or issue. For example, if I’m going to have an operation, I’d rather have a surgeon who’s aware of all of the things that could go wrong — and have a positive attitude about the possibility of avoiding those things. To some people, though, the very idea of mentioning potential problems is a sign of a negative attitude.
Yes, if your hair were on fire, things would look pretty bright, at least for a little while. It still seems hard to justify, though.
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Damyanti
August 30, 2011
This post came from several conversations I’ve had with fellow bloggers. They’ve expressed the lingering dissatisfaction of the writer, a trait non-writers see as lack of confidence. But that isn’t what it is at all. It’s an awareness that we can rarely, if ever, take a concept from our mind and put it into words in such a way that readers will absorb those words, translate them back into ideas, and the original concept will form in their minds. As new writers, we think that’s what’s happening. But with enough time and attention, we realize that it almost never does. After a while, we learn to recognize where we’ve fallen short, even without feedback from readers. We also learn how to inch closer to our goal, understanding that we won’t reach it, but that there are things we can do to close the gap. And we can do that only by identifying what’s wrong or missing. If we fall in love with what we’ve written, we miss the chance to improve…..
This is a post from inside my head, Charles. I love writing, in the sense that I love the experience of the writing process (most days) but I usually don’t love what I’ve produced (at least after a while).
To me writing has become a striving for perfection, which I know I’ll never achieve, but I try anyway, because in the trying I see myself improve. I have a choice: I can sit all day and whine about how my writing will never accurately portray the dream-trance in my head, or I can go ahead and let my hand loose on the paper and see what emerges.
(Most days) I make the second choice.
I know I’ll die some day a mediocre writer, and even if i were the most brilliant of writers, my work won’t last forever.
But I can do what is in my hands, write— without judging it too much during the first draft, becoming the ruthless editor in subsequent ones. And once the writing is out there, all I can do is what every empty-nester does: let go to a large extent, have faith in the work and passion I’ve put in, and get on with my life the best I can 🙂
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bronxboy55
August 31, 2011
There are writers who love what they’re written, and then there are the rest of us who always feel that nagging sense of disappointment mixed in with feelings of accomplishment. It may be part of our personalities, Damyanti, and something we can’t change. But if we can do what you’ve suggested — keep writing and doing our best — the results will make it worth the effort, and the mental torment we put ourselves through. I have to disagree with one thing you said, though. Your writing is anything but mediocre. I like and admire your work, and it’s obvious that many others do, too.
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comingeast
August 31, 2011
Great post! I find people who suffer from terminal cheerfulness to be boring. The tough times (and crappy posts) are what make good times (and great posts) so much more appreciated.
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2011
I agree. If someone always tells me their life is great, I eventually figure out that they’re not telling me anything. This kind of empty information can even be dangerous, depending on the situation.
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TexasTrailerParkTrash
September 2, 2011
One of my favorite quotes is “I’m an optimist, but I don’t think it helps.”
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2011
And now it’s one of mine, too. Thanks, TTPT.
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Betty Londergan
September 8, 2011
Sorry it took me so long to get to your column — I was in Honduras and having THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE (not really…) but your post was definitely worth the wait! I love when you write about writing because it’s so spot on! I too think writers are simultaneously the most egotistical and the most insecure people in the world. I am often proud and even more often mortified by what I’ve written, and when I worked in advertising, I was famous for starting each review of a finished product with “You know what I wish??” — I just couldnt’ see past the one flaw in the execution, and every time I looked at the piece, that’s what would jump out at me.
Likewise, when I garden, I walk around looking for the yellow leaves, the withered stalk, the unflowering shrub — so I can work on that, but I often wonder if I’m not just overlooking the beauty and looking for the problem. I could even argue that that’s how I parent, but that would be too embarrassing … in any case, despite the fact that I’m a pretty happy person (usually, except for my ferocious temper), I’m incredibly suspicious of people who preach about the one true path to happiness. Everyone has his own path, her own voice, and has to figure out how to negotiate this thicket of thoughts, feelings and experiences in his own best way. I think that’s why the definitive “here’s how you do it” model is so annoying to both of us — in any case: write on, Charles! You always have something of value to say (and the fact that you’re funny is just gravy!!)
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bronxboy55
September 15, 2011
Betty, you could easily take that comment, develop it a little, and you’d have a post of your own. Your gardening example is perfect. In fact, that’s how everything becomes beautiful, functional, and repaired — someone has to first identify the not-so-beautiful, the poorly-designed, or the broken, and think, “That could be improved.” Some would say that person is dwelling on the negative. I think it’s just the opposite.
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Caroline Clemmons
October 14, 2011
What a great post–one of my favorites so far.
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bronxboy55
October 20, 2011
Thank you, Caroline. That’s nice of you to say.
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Whimsical KT
October 17, 2011
I think writing is similar to art. “Art is never finished, only abandoned” -Leonardo da Vinci. I think that if an artist creates something, or a writer writes something, it can only be truly interpreted by the writer or artiest, however it means something different to each person who sees/reads it. Some words are written to be interpreted as some art is made to be interpreted, and other pieces are what they are and were not created for interpretation. Only the creator of the piece knows which is which. That’s been my personal take on art for a long time. I am not a writer THANK GOODNESS for me and EVERYONE! 🙂 But I do understand where you are coming from with your words. With Positive and negative thinking… I think you are pretty optimistic. And for what its worth, I really enjoy reading your blog. Just my $0.02 🙂
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bronxboy55
October 20, 2011
Thank you for your two cents, KT. I appreciate that you took the time to read and comment.
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sri
October 17, 2011
I always felt guilty about wanting to punch the smile off those annoyingly perky positive people – guilty no more!
Joking aside, I really like what you said here – even if it wasn’t what you meant!
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bronxboy55
October 20, 2011
There’s nothing wrong with thinking it. Is there?
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Andee B. (@misai_04)
October 18, 2011
We all reach a point where we are just tired of being happy, we’re humans, but one thing that I really value about being a Filipino is our character to still smile and to turn difficult times into happy ones. One way or another, we always find something to smile or be happy about in any situation. Liked the idea of setting someone’s hair on fire. 😀
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bronxboy55
October 20, 2011
I don’t think it’s possible to be happy all the time. Bad things happen. But you seem to have the right attitude. Thanks!
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aunaqui
October 25, 2011
“The people have charming accents and interesting customs, and we get to take naps in the afternoon.”
Precisely. I believe that, for most grown-up people, the two most sought-after items looked for in a vacation are 1. naps and 2. a change of scenery, people and routine. Also, naps.
I enjoyed this a lot — your take on what optimism is makes a lot more sense than the “Oh, your dog died? Thank God, now it’s out of its misery!” and “Your tire exploded on the interstate? You must be so happy to be alive!” that I’ve always grown up with. (Yes. I’m glad my dog isn’t feeling pain. And I am pleased that all of my appendages remain attached to the core of my body and my organs are still in their proper functioning places — but don’t negate the negative that befell me).
Great as always!
Aun Aqui
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bronxboy55
October 18, 2012
Aun, please forgive my unbelievably late response. I think we share a similar outlook — a mixture of optimism and realism.
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