The Hubby says to me, “Expect the worst, and you will never be disappointed.”
I can’t seem to do that. I’m an optimist, deep down. An optimist, which seems naive and childish, faced with what’s been going on in the world, in my own family, in my own life. I’m an optimist, in wishing well for those around me and hoping that they wish me well as well. I’m an optimist, in praying that children do not have to pay for the sins of the parent. I’m an optimist because Daniel — helpless and utterly dependent on those around him — needs as much chance for happiness as possible.
Today… well, today I gained a bit of certainty that was a blow to that optimism. Not a horrible one — and, really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, since the spectre of that certainty hung over me for the past few weeks now. I just didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to hope for the best.
I can be such a fool.
The Hubby is not a fool, and he was not surprised. “Expect the worst, and you will never be disappointed.”
I have to remind myself that certainty is always better than ignorance.
I have to remind myself that life is too short to be afraid of looking like a fool.