It's Me, the Best Life Lady Again

For at least a decade, my students have entered an annual oratorical contest sponsored by the Optimist Club. I'm too old to compete, but never too old to write. Here's my response to this year's prompt:

How optimism has guided me through trying times. If you’re in my class, it’s not so difficult to see that I’m an optimist. On the first day of school, I had you craft inventions to help you thrive in the year ahead. Our study of Persepolis shined a spotlight on Marji’s resilient expressions of freedom despite widespread oppression across Iran. For dystopian lit–a famously negative genre–I challenged you to disrupt modern-day dysfunction like the protagonists you are. We’ve embarked on a quest for positive thinking in this annual speech contest for which there is a winner in every one of us. Even for our Macbeth unit, a tragic play about corruption, greed, and guilt, you’ll unearth possibilities for healing when most people have already lost all hope in humanity. Finally, at the end of the year, you’ll host our annual Best Life Fair together. It’s an epic event where you’ll all teach visitors how they can achieve wellness in all dimensions. Beautiful. Until I consider that I’m trying to sell sunshine to around 100 sophomores during the most pessimistic stage in human development. Trying times, indeed.

Trust me–I can relate. Want to take a minute to scroll through the news feed on our phones? No, don’t. Not only is it against the rules, but you’ve heard the statistics on the addictive devices that may as well be implanted in our brains. And who needs reminders at school that the world is at war, AI is taking over, trolls perpetuate hate, and the ones at the top are the most divided of all? This is all in addition to the fact that life is, and will continue to be, uniquely challenging for every one of you.

When I was your age, I was not impressed. It was the 90s, and I was grossed out by politics and popularity. If people weren’t stuck up, they were probably stuck in the past. Powerful men were getting away with doing bad things. My all-girls high school was swallowed up by an all-boys one where Colonel Lefavre’s demerit pass was thicker than a copy of War and Peace. No one asked me if I was an optimist when I was sixteen, but I’m sure I would have said no. I was sprinting to keep up with an older brother five years and a GPA point ahead of me. Sprinting is hard, though, when you’re carrying a combination of worry, anger, and disappointment in people like a lead blanket.

Thirty-six years later, however, I stand before you as an optimist–the Best Life lady. What gives me so much hope? All of you sitting here. For an age so commonly associated with angst, your energy is impressive. Sure, you’ve all stepped up to write essays and analyze stories, but you also step up for much more. You’ve said “yes” to challenges–sometimes in this room and sometimes out. I hear about robotics competitions, Archers’ TV episodes, Scholastic Arts awards, and weekend tournaments. You’re running restaurant service for culinary, repairing cars in automotive, memorizing medical terminology. You’re coding, solving crimes, and exploring the human psyche. You’re disrupting dystopia on issues that need serious disruption. If you’re not orating on optimism, you’re opening our eyes to the meaning of freedom. And between these moments, you’re turning to each other to either laugh or roll your eyes. But then you stand back up again to breathe, plant your feet, and proclaim “red leather, yellow leather” while you “put it on the shelf."

Genuine optimism was far from my sophomore outlook on life, but I found my way. Some days I hid, wishing life would pass me by. But most days, I said “yes” to play practice and to art where I eventually found my people. I stopped running the never-ending race with my brother, but I didn’t take off my sneakers. With each small success, I focused less on what I couldn’t control and more on what I could. With each song, brush stroke, and lap around the track, I was less disappointed in everyone around me, and happier with myself. 

Now, here we are, about one month from launching the Best Life Project. You’ll think back on sophomore year–its winding and twisting road–and you’ll decide what the world can learn from you. You know and can do so much. From one corner of ACC to the next, you are already building a more hopeful world. Among you, there are already engineers, artists, and activists, builders and innovators, teachers, leaders. But you’ll accomplish so much more between now and then. In the meantime, I don’t wish your cynicism and criticism away because, without it, I’d lose hope in the change we need. 

In late May, when I look around on fair day at your vision for our best lives, I’ll know: This is what optimism looks like.