The Case for Optimism (Even When Everything Sucks)
Recently, in my Psychology Statistics course (I know I’ve mentioned it a few times, but if I have to suffer through chi-squares and p-values, I’m at least going to talk about it), we had to take something called the Life Orientation Test Revised, or LOT-R for short. Sounds fancy, right? It’s not. It’s a ten-question personality quiz that tells you whether you’re a pessimist, a moderate optimist, or a full-blown optimist, the kind of person who enjoys Mondays.
Unsurprisingly, I clocked in as a moderate optimist, leaning toward the high end. Or should we just call me moderately delusional?
Anyway, optimism isn’t just a vibe. There’s something called dispositional optimism, which is more like a personality setting that you develop. You expect good things. And that sunny outlook, it turns out, depends on a buffet of factors: your genes, your childhood, how much therapy you’ve had, whether you were hugged enough, and possibly how many houseplants you’ve managed to keep alive.
But then, enter the 2020s. The golden age of mysterious viruses, geopolitical chaos, floods, inflation, fires, and characters who seem to have crawled out of a Daily Show sketch. Remember when we laughed at that kind of thing in the 2010s? Yeah. And then it happened.
Add in some questionable fashion trends (I draw the line at knee-high socks and wide-legged pants with every outfit — call me a granny, but I refuse), video calls with absurd filters, and the thrill of 6-to-12-hour blackouts. Portugal and Spain, take a bow.
Wait, did someone say “Expect good things”?
What Optimism Is and Isn’t
So let’s back up a second: what is optimism? Because before we go any further, we should agree that I’m not talking about that chirpy, glittery, “everything happens for a reason” brand of positivity that makes you want to walk directly into an abyss.
Real optimism is about direction. It’s a mindset, a hopeful attitude, and a quiet belief that things can get better. Not because this life owes us anything (it doesn’t), but because we’ve decided to look for the possibility of good outcomes, even in less-than-great circumstances.
Now, here’s where things get tricky. Many people think optimism means denying reality or forcing a smile while everything burns around you. But that’s not optimism. That’s what we call toxic positivity. It’s the emotional equivalent of slapping a “Live Laugh Love” sticker on a sinking ship. True optimism doesn't ignore hardship; it just refuses to hand it the mic. It says, “Yes, this is hard. But maybe I’m still okay. Maybe this won’t last forever. Maybe I can do something.”
Psychologists have a term for this kind of thinking: learned optimism. Martin Seligman, the father of positive psychology, coined it to describe the idea that optimism isn’t just something you’re born with. It can be taught, trained and practiced, which is both encouraging and mildly exhausting, because it means we don’t get to blame it all on genetics or Mercury retrograde. We have to work at it, like flossing, or not texting our ex. But hey, it beats the alternative: learned helplessness. And yes, that’s a real thing too, but we’re not going down that rabbit hole today.
"Start Again", I Heard Them Say
I scored as a moderate optimist in the LOT-R test, but let’s be clear: this sunny outlook wasn’t handed to me with a side of sangria and a trust fund. By the age of twelve, I had already witnessed a war and lost my father, two things that tend to fast-track your emotional resume. Since then, life has generously tossed in a few more character-building experiences: some truly bonkers situations in my 20s and 30s, a heartbreak that could’ve qualified as a miniseries, long stretches of financial and existential anxiety, the disorienting feeling of not understanding a word anyone around me was saying, and more lonely Sundays than I’d care to admit.
So no, optimism didn’t come naturally. It came out of necessity. Because at some point, you realise you can either sit in the rubble with your hands over your eyes, or start looking for where the light might get in. After all, even Maestro says that “there is a crack in everything.”
And the science backs this up. Optimism isn’t just about feeling good. Studies have shown that optimists tend to be more resilient, better problem-solvers, and even physically healthier. There’s something about lower cortisol levels and improved immune response, which, in plain terms, means your body likes hope too.
I’ve seen it firsthand. The moments I decided to believe in a way forward, even when I couldn’t quite picture it, were the moments I stumbled into one. Like every time I moved countries, with two suitcases and only a rough sketch of a plan.
That’s How The Light Gets In
Okay, let’s say you’re on board with the idea that optimism isn’t a sticker or a scented candle, but something you can build. Great. But how do you do that when the hits keep coming and your brain is quietly narrating a season of Worst Case Scenario: The Series?
Here’s what’s helped me (and science agrees, so we’re not totally winging it here):
a. Reframe the Narrative — From “Why Me?” to “What Now?”
When life slaps you across the face (emotionally speaking, although sometimes it feels literal), the first instinct is often to spiral. “Why is this happening to me?” “What did I do wrong?” Try swapping those questions for something even slightly more constructive:
What can I learn from this?
What would I tell a friend going through the same thing?
Reframing isn’t pretending things are great. It’s asking if you can at least grow from the mess. Journaling helps (even if your first few pages are just swearing), or talking it out with someone who listens without rushing to fix.
b. Big Chaos, Small Choices
The world is a hot mess, but your tea breaks, your playlists, and your walk around the block? Those are yours. When everything feels out of control, make a list - yes, an actual list - of things you can do today. It could be:
Help an elderly neighbor get groceries
Move your body for 10 minutes
Cook something that doesn’t come from a package
Micro-decisions matter. They help you remember that you’re not helpless. You’re just in a storm.
c. Practice Gratitude (Even When It Feels Forced)
Gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring pain. It just means noticing the flickers of good that live alongside it. Research shows that writing down three things you’re grateful for (daily, weekly, whatever rhythm works) changes your brain over time.
Some days it’s “sunshine” or “my friend texted back.” Other days it’s “I got through the day without crying in public.” It counts.
d. People, Playlists, Places: Choose Wisely
I don’t mean cutting out everyone who dares to express negativity (we’re not building a cult here). I mean consciously gravitating toward the things and people that leave you a little more energized than drained.
The friend who listens and makes you laugh
Music that feels like exhaling
Podcasts that remind you humans are trying their best
Don’t underestimate the optimism drip-feed you get from your environment.
e. Let Yourself Feel First
Crying doesn’t cancel out your progress. Bottling things up under a fake smile is more likely to short-circuit your system than move you forward. Optimism works best after you’ve let the anger, sadness, or frustration pass through.
So go ahead: rage-text (don’t send it), ugly-cry, admit you’re overwhelmed. Then, later, ask: Okay. Now what?
f. Visualize a Way Forward
This isn’t a vision board situation (unless that’s your thing). This is about letting yourself imagine something hopeful: a conversation going well, a problem resolving, a version of you who feels lighter. Try journaling prompts like:
What would a good outcome look like here?
What does “okay” feel like next month?
What do I want to remember about this time later on?
Let your imagination do something kind for once. It’s surprisingly good at it when you give it a chance.
Some Days Will Still Be Awful (And That’s Okay)
Some days will be too heavy to reframe, too raw to “pivot,” too overwhelming to feel anything remotely hopeful. On those days, optimism doesn’t look like a sunbeam. It looks like staying in bed and texting a friend or hugging your partner. It looks like not spiraling after three bad hours, or permitting yourself to rest without fixing anything. Sometimes it looks like calling a therapist. Sometimes it’s just deciding to try again tomorrow.
Optimism, despite the glittery Instagram quotes, is not a straight line. It’s a muscle you build and stretch, forget about, and return to.
So if you're feeling stuck in a particularly sour moment, try this: Choose just one small shift. One better question. One moment of gentleness toward yourself. One playlist. One page of journaling. One walk without your phone. You’ll thank yourself later.
“Optimism, for me, isn’t about ignoring the darkness in the sky. It’s about refusing to live like it’s the ONLY kind of sky.”
