path·o·log·i·cal: being such to a degree that is extreme, excessive, or markedly abnormal.
I am preoccupied. Since quitting my happy life, I've been singularly obsessed with writing a memoir for my daughter. As the narrator, I've been grappling with the characteristics that define me. One consistent impetus has emerged: optimism.
You could say my optimism is pathological. I blame it on a short memory and an antipathy for "impossible." Being optimistic by default has led to most of my setbacks, but those setbacks have also turned into my greatest achievements. Below are the five major risks taken that have defined my life story:
- At 22, when my girlfriend Laurie was given two years to live by her neurosurgeon, her family was understandably devastated. Despite the evidence, I refused to believe it. Believing instead that what she needed was something to live for, I asked her to marry me. My reward was 10 unforgettable years (eight married) with my soulmate.
Humans are notoriously bad at predicting the future. So if the outcome is unknown, why assume it will be negative? Assuming a positive outcome keeps me fully engaged, having fun, and thus more likely to succeed. I'm not alone -- Psychology Today recently published, "What Happy People Do Differently." The conclusion is that one of life's sharpest paradoxes is that the key to satisfaction is doing things that feel risky, uncomfortable, and occasionally bad.
For me, the key is intention. It's not about the size of the risk, it's about why you take it. Take a big risk to make a lot of money and you may or may not succeed. Take an equally big risk to enrich others and the universe is sure to reward you in some unexpected way.
So I asked myself, if I write about my blind optimism in my memoir, will it lead my daughter to take unreasonably big risks? Will my pathology work for her too? I'm optimistic.
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