So I ordered a sun visor online today. Call it an act of optimism, since Calgary is currently under both a rainfall warning and a wind warning, and I just walked up eleven flights of stairs to my office because the elevators are down due power outages caused by fallen trees.
This visor is a compromise, of course, like most things are. Part of me would rather sport a Korean ajumma-style visor that offers maximum sun protection and can also flip down in front of my face to inspire both awe and fear whenever I venture outdoors. But I’m scared it would draw too much attention—or that I’ll be mistaken for Jobu Tupaki, lol.
I typically call myself a pessimist, but lately I’ve been wondering if that’s even true. I mean, if you look at many of my life choices, they point to an underlying optimism. I enjoy gardening, for example, which is one of the most foolishly optimistic activities you can engage in where I live. The Calgarian gardener’s motto is “maybe next year”—said while watching everything we care for get flattened by hail, eaten by pests, or blighted with disease.
I also write, which means I choose to spend my days, months, and even years on work that has no guarantee of ever becoming what I hope it will. And getting published definitely requires a kind of unyielding optimism (or delusional doggedness, depending on the day)—the belief that someone else might find your writing meaningful and valuable. The continual hope that your words will land.
And choosing to have children: well, that’s my biggest act of optimism of all. Not just in the bigness of placing a bet on the future of humanity (news flash: it’s not looking good), but also in the countless small, everyday decisions you need to make to give your kids what you hope is a decent childhood—and a good enough start in life to help them deal with everything else to come.
Starting this newsletter was also an optimistic act. I was going through a creative dry spell at the time and was scared I’d never be able to write again. I began with no plan, just the seed of an idea. And it has grown, but not into what I’d first envisioned. Nowadays, for me, the optimism around Closet Dispatch is no longer tied to getting subscribers or putting my stories out there, but in the simple fact that I can make something out of nothing if I try hard enough.
Each week I think, “Welp, that’s it. I’ve run out of stuff to say about clothes. It’s all over.” But then I sit down and write something anyway. It’s not always my best work (sorry), but it is giving me a belief in myself that I never had before—or at least a belief in my ability to work a blank page until something appears.
Even though my residency is ending in just a couple of weeks, and I didn’t get nearly as much writing done as I’d anticipated, I’m feeling optimistic for the first time in a long time—and it’s kind of freaking me out.
It’s a cautionary tale, really: if you act optimistically, you might suddenly realize you are not too far gone, and the tasks at hand may be achievable after all. And then what? You’ll actually have to expect more of yourself. A sobering thought.
:) Teresa
What is happening even?? Closet Dispatch is a free, limited-run, weekly newsletter by Teresa Wong.
I find I relate to most of this. This is great, Teresa.
Your posts are always so lovely. I started my newsletter with a similar optimism, and I too love discovering that I do have something to say even when I thought I didn't. (Even if I did, in fact, miss posting this week - ha!).