Waking Up Optimistic

I used to be depressed and cynical, then this happened

I am an Eeyore born into a world of Tiggers and Poohs. The condition of the world since my formative years in the 1970s has done nothing to improve my outlook either.

I wore a lot of black as a child. My well-meaning neighbor, Mrs. Goodcheer, told me I should try wearing yellow. Instinctively, I knew she was one of Them and the rest of my life would require wearing a fake smile as I endured Their bonehead ideas.

Thank the gods Michael Moore’s film Roger & Me taught me yellow was the worst possible choice for my skin tone, as I am a Winter. I was ecstatic, to the point where I smiled for several seconds in public.

Yet as the gray, wintry days take hold, I find myself filled with a foreign emotion. I feel … hope? Like Tigger, I bounce like a pogo-stick for no reason at all.

I was excited about two things I would normally dread: a wedding and a baby.

I’m not saying I’m ready to join the Optimist Club or buy a wardrobe of pinks and yellows, but could this old cliche be true?

“You need something to look forward to.”

The Omicron Wedding

I got invited to my niece’s wedding. Normally, I despise weddings but she’s my kin so I checked the “yes” box and sent a gift (an Instant Pot, if you must know).

The ceremony would take place outdoors because the chapel was free. Good Lord almighty — it’s mid-February and another polar vortex could descend! I know the drill: the reception will offer warming cocktails I can’t drink, cake I can’t eat, and people slathered in germs.

My brother-in-law Seymour, an ordained priest (online) was appointed to officiate. He’s spiritual not religious, but his main qualifier is an impressive gray head of hair and beard. Seymour doesn’t always officiate weddings but when he does, he looks like a professorial Methuselah.

Then the ceremony moved online because we now inhabit planet Zoom. I decided not to go, then realized I still wanted some action — so I said:

“What the hell, I’m taking a winter road trip!”

A few days after I made this decision, I woke up feeling giddy and refreshed. I would drive back to Tucson and bask in sunshine and old friendships.

You Can Go Home Again

I lived in the desert for 20 years, and I was depressed every winter. My Vitamin D levels were low, even though I’m white as Caspar the Friendly Ghost and should have been soaking up D like an albino gecko.

I remember the blue skies that stretched for miles, and my blue moods that lasted from November till March. But as I began to anticipate my trip, I grew less blue and more rosy.

When I get to the Arizona, I thought, I’ll see friends. In the last two and a half years living in my new state of Arkansa, Covid’s relentless tide has made bonding with others nearly impossible. The idea of a road trip to see old friends fills me with joy. The reality may be that I am chased across the Texas panhandle by a white cargo van with one headlight.

I shall bring several black outfits and take my pepper spray and pocket knife just in case.

The New Year’s Baby

I would usually choose a plump, ripe avocado over a baby. Ever since I started wearing black, I’ve preferred baking mud pies to dressing up dolls.

This proclivity has nothing to do with seasonal depression. It is just old-fashioned logic.

I babysat a couple of times before I figured out I could deliver newspapers instead. The idea of arising at 5 am and hauling my sled up hills came as a huge relief as there were zero babies in the snow.

People have said to me, in public:

“Oh, that’s right — you hate children.”

But now my friend has just become a first-time father, and I’m genuinely excited to see the baby —Isaac — even if I’m masked and six feet away.

They are exactly the kind of people who should have kids: stable, kind, smart, and tall.

I’m much more excited about Isaac’s birth than the arrival of my two nieces, which is a testament to the fact that I no longer have seasonal depression — or maybe because I remember when my friend was wondering if he would never find Ms. Right.

He found her.

Without the blues, I’m not mulling over the world this kid will inherit. My Eeyore senses are still intact and I’m well aware global warming will make Covid years look like an episode of Friends.

I shall bring three tie-dyed onesies and listen with empathy to stories of sleep deprivation.

Covid Eventually Stops

I still cringe at the sight of yellow shirts and respond to babies as if I’m a robot.

I still prefer funerals to weddings yet — Barack Obama and Jesse Jackson were not wrong. Keeping hope alive is everything, and it can come from the most unlikely sources.

Ultimately, I’ll never know if my new attitude is because I am free of SAD (seasonal affective disorder), nearly through menopause, or growing wiser. In the age of Covid we are all struggling to make life normal as we learn to let go of old expectations.

We miss the face-to-face, so I’m happy when I think about seeing old friends in person. Workplaces are a never-ending slog on good days, so I’m thrilled to be unchained from my computer for a while. Everything costs more and government is falling apart at the seams, but I’ve found some cheap lodging and don’t have to pay taxes for three months!

Old friends and new life are giving me hope, and it doesn’t hurt that my Vitamin D is now normal.

Or as Eeyore observed:

“The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.”