Displaying a cloying and incoherent positivity.
Once, while in a conversation with some impending school chums, a woman told me in utter seriousness that, “… life isn’t measured by the amount of breaths you take. It’s measured by the number of moments that take your breath away.”
She said this without a touch of irony – she just sat there radiating with shallow, dopey optimism like a Thomas Kinkade painting.
“So, death then?” I joked, hoping to change the mood.
Half the table laughed. The woman smacked her teeth and told me I was gross. And I learned who my friends were going to be.
I’m not saying good things don’t happen. They do. Every day. All around the world. People exhibit acts of pure love, kindness, and selfless altruism. People are beautiful and good and warm and glorious to one another… probably with the same frequency that others shoot, stab, or strangle one another.
Good things are… well… good.
Our planet is a remarkable little pearl, stuffed to the gills with the awesome, the beautiful and majestic.
I get just as choked up at images of galaxies and nebulae as the next guy… maybe even moreso…
The world is not a cold, dead place. And in the face of hardship, sure – hope’s an essential tonic.
But for the love of Jeff, that doesn’t justify some of the bullshit people say when trying to be inspirational.
In fact, could there be anything less inspiring than someone trying to inspire you?
The half-knowing looks. The huckstery, broad smiles and honeyhallowed voices, and the awful, awful catchphrases.
Life is far too complicated… more rich, remarkable, nuanced, and complex a thing to be summed up in such a bland little chirp of philosophy.
And thank god for that.