Good news: I’m not optimistic

Being positive and ignoring realities will never solve a problem.

Recently, someone told me they “really need my optimism.”

It caught me off guard. I’m not an optimist.

I’m not optimistic about the future of Illinois. For that matter, I’m not optimistic about the future of America. That’s because optimism is an unrelenting feeling that everything is going to turn out well.

I don’t think things will naturally get better. Being positive and ignoring realities will never solve a problem.

Instead, I believe we need to have a radically honest view of reality.

Which is why I am hopeful. I believe positive change is possible.

Hope takes action. Hope takes courage. Hope takes energy.

This may seem subtle, but it’s not.

Both of my parents died decades before reaching retirement. Neither met the love of my life, Anna. Neither held their grandchildren.

Despite that stark, genetic double whammy, I hope I will be at my children’s weddings. I hope I will see them become adults.

I don’t hold some blind belief that everything will be OK. Rather, because I understand the reality of the situation, I am taking active steps.

Every day I come to work, I pack my suit in a backpack and run the 3 miles. I ride my bicycle home.

I am very cautious and aware of what I eat, every day.

I don’t smoke. I rarely drink.

Am I optimistic I will live until I’m 90? Of course not.

But I am hopeful I will live a long life and see those weddings. I’m working on it every day.

Between you and me, it’s really hard.

I hate running. Even on beautiful days, I do not enjoy it. But it’s even worse when it’s minus 10 and icy.

I’ve never enjoyed a salad in my life. I really love chocolate.

It’s hard, yet in this difficult journey I find hope.

I should mention, the danger is not in optimism.

In fact, Nobel Prize-winning economist Daniel Kahneman wrote in his breakthrough book, “Thinking Fast and Slow,” “If you were allowed one wish for your child, seriously consider wishing him or her optimism. Optimists are normally cheerful and happy, and therefore popular; they are resilient in adapting to failures and hardships, their chances of clinical depression are reduced, their immune system is stronger, they take better care of their health, they feel healthier than others and are in fact likely to live longer.”

The real danger lies in the opposite: despair. Despair is an enticing drug. It’s that nagging voice that says, “not only is it not fair, but it will never get better.”

It’s a product of our news media highlighting the worst of our culture. It’s created by social media unceasingly telling us everyone is living a better life than us and that we are always losing. It comes from feeling you’ve lost power over the outcomes of your life.

Despair is 7 million able-bodied adult males who are currently unemployed and no longer looking for work.

Despair is half of Illinoisians saying they would “leave our state if they could,” which implies they can’t fix it and they can’t get out. We just learned another 104,000 did find their way out in 2022.

Despair is the mother who receives a job offer, only to find out she will lose money if she gets off public assistance.

My Catholic faith has taught me despair is a sin because it removes the possibility of redemption.

The great part of the American experiment is it has been built out of hundreds of years of hope.

If you came to America, if you sacrificed, if you worked hard, you could live a better life than your parents. Our parents and grandparents fought and died for that hope.

That history gives me hope for the future of our state and our nation.

And our path forward is going to take a lot of work. It will take a lot of courage, sacrifice and action.

And I can promise you we can build a better state and nation for our kids and our grandkids.

How do I know? Because I’m not optimistic. I’ve got something better: I have hope.

Happy New Year! May God bless you all and inspire your hope.

Matt