That's what the name of the page sounds like, right? A cynical optimist?
Eh, maybe. Maybe it doesn't make any sense to tell people that you expect reality and are always pleased to find out that you're wrong. Maybe I'm a fool to laugh at funerals and play music that no one can hear.
Prove me wrong. No seriously, do it. I'd like to think I've got enough of a training in logical deduction after four years of college that I'd be able to sit back and objectively say, "I have no right to laugh at the things I do, to giggle when the ketchup bottle makes fart noises in public, or to expect that people will always surprise me." If anyone can provide an argument good enough to change my mind, I will, and say I was wrong the entire time.
On the other hand, let's shift the burden of proof. Suppose I tell you why I'm a cynical optimist instead of a rose-colored-glasses skeptic.
Skepticism has its place in our society. If people aren't asking questions, challenging conventions, or willing to throw out that they think that something is wrong, then we're in trouble. I will never dispute this, but I probably won't end up filling the role of the hardcore skeptic. Here's why:
There's a concept in sociology called "social loafing." Given a certain size population, any number of people with jobs to do are going to say "Someone else is capable of doing this, I don't want to." There's a direct relationship between the size of the population and the number of social loafers, i.e. the larger the group, the more lazy asses you have. I, proudly, am one of those lazy asses when it comes to the world of being a true skeptic.
Yes, you can try to prove to me that I'm not sitting in a freezing basement two days before my sister gets married and flexing my creative muscle. Yes, it might make you a dick. Do I want to be that dick? Only some of the time. I want to ask questions, to seek out new life (in the form of thought), to boldly go where probably several chill dudes have gone before. Or to quietly listen.
Philosophy, my chosen crutch, is something that I think has changed me for the better. It taught me to listen. Not to hear words, or give comfort. It taught me to think as I received the input, to stretch out past my physical limits and process on a higher level. Or a lower one. Something like that.
Listening to the world, to the voices in your head (within reason), to your growling stomach, to the birds, the sound of the pine forest, a blasting good rock song, or to a friend in need - all of these things are needed. We all want them - nature, friendship, a damn good rock show once in a while. What happens to them if no one asks where they've gone?
So this is my cynicism - the acceptance that some of these things change without me, or with me, or to spite me. To paraphrase Douglas Adams, I'm the most insignificant thing in the universe in the big scheme of things.
To the optimism, then. It doesn't matter that I'm small. It doesn't matter that I'm mostly uneducated, or inarticulate, or actually really uncoordinated and funny looking. I find that happiness can be a choice, a process, or a goal. That you can be happy given the worst situation in the smallest ways. Stuck in a snow drift? Good! You can listen to the radio for a while. Call AAA, of course, but get a chance to listen to something good on NPR or the Current. Got dumped? Ah, that's a tough one. How do you get back to happy after something's over? There are a few ways, steps, whatever, but I find the best was this: just do it.
These are still at odds, however. A true cynic and a true optimist are oxymoronic in most ways. The Tao teaches that nature is balance. Keeping these two halves of myself together allows me to deal with everything that comes up. Two parts, working together, assorted bad metaphors and similes to follow.
Call me a catch-22, or something that wasn't a fantastic novel. Call me a Yeti, it's happened before. But the day I stop believing that it's going to turn out with a happy ending, the day that I no longer ask why something is, or just give up in general - that's the day I stop being who I told myself I am.
Who knows? That could be fun too.
