Are you an optimist or a cynic?
I consider myself to be, wholly and without question, an Optimist—with a Big O.
In The Art of Possibility, Ben and Roz Zander describe a cynic as a passionate person who doesn’t want to be disappointed again.
By this definition, cynics are not altogether hopeless and negative; they are simply wary and cautious based on past experience. Still, I judge cynics and find them tiresome. I reject their gloom and doom outlook. Sometimes I really just want to throttle them. In their presence I turn up my outward optimism to happy headbanger volume. I can tell this makes them a little crazed—they see me as Pollyannish, idealistic, and naïve—and likely wish to strangle me, too.
And here’s the thing: I also possess a deep cynical streak; one that can really overtake my consciousness sometimes.
Every day I campaign ardently to empower myself and those around me, pointing to all the ways we can claim our agency and effect positive change. I advocate for using all of our kindness, empathy, compassion, and connecting communication skills, in every situation—take the high road! Be our Best Selves! And yet at the same time, a darker part of me, my shadow side, silently tells a contemptuous story of the forces we fight against. I paint a sinister picture in my mind of impediments made of ‘the other’ people—the small minded, the pessimistic, the underestimating, unbelieving, rigid, unimaginative, distrustful, conventional, supercilious, and condescending them. They are not like us. They are the problem.
Of course this is not true. It’s just a story I tell—a counterproductive and self-sabotaging story. How fascinating.
Sometimes I tell this unsympathetic story aloud, out of frustration, impatience, and exasperation. Sometimes I actually name people and label them all those negative things I listed. It feels justified and righteous. But then I feel guilty, as if my worse self kidnapped the better me and held my optimism hostage until I vented against my better judgment. I wonder when my words will come back and bite me in the butt? What will I do then?
I suppose I can only claim passion and disappointment. Sometimes I let the latter get the best of me and allow shadow to overtake the light. It happens to the best of us; I can own it. There is no need to disavow the disappointment and disillusionment, the dissatisfaction with what is. If I didn’t care so much—about patient care, public policy, physician burnout, patient-physician relationship, and relationships in general—I would not suffer such vexations. And it’s because I care so much that I fight on, to do my part to make it better. I stay engaged in the important conversations, even if I have to take breaks and change forums at times.
Yes, I, the eternal optimist, harbor an inner, insubordinate cynic. While most of me exclaims, “Humanity is so full of love and potential!” another part of me mutters subversively, “Also people suck.” Some days (some weeks) the dark side wins, but it’s always temporary. The Yin and the Yang, the shadow and the light, the tension of opposite energies—that’s what makes life so interesting, no? We require both for contrast and context, to orient to what is in order to see what could be.
The struggle for balance is real and at times exhausting. And it’s always worth the effort.