Ask most people who know me, and they’ll probably tell you I’m one pessimistic mother-fucker. Mostly, near as I can tell, this is ’cause I have opinions on things, and ’cause most folks aren’t willing to accept that “being critical of something” and “not liking something” aren’t the same thing.
It’s also ’cause I’d rather watch something that’s poorly made, but ambitious than technically accomplished, but soulless. I like to see flaws. I like to see people trying, stretching themselves, aiming higher than they usually would. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it: every story is a mission statement; every climax is a world-view.
But then, I’m me. I would think things like that.
Truth is, like most pessimists, I’m actually fairly optimistic. I like to believe the world can change, even if it doesn’t. I like to believe that I can change it, even if it’s just a little at a time; blog post by blog post, story by story, argument by argument. I like to think the things I want to achieve in life are achievable, even if they’re slightly unrealistic.
And, most of the time, experience proves me right on that front. Maybe not as fast as I’d like, and maybe the changes aren’t as drastic, but there are days when I kick back and think, yep, the world, it’s fucked, but maybe it’s a little less fucked than it was yesterday.
It’s just that there are as many days when, shit, the world just makes me want to weep.
Some days, the thing that makes me want to weep is me. I’ve tried something and failed. I wanted to do better, and instead I did worse. I gave up on something, got afraid of something, generally failed to live up the standards I want to live up too.
And that’s okay, in the long run. It gives me the opportunity to do better tomorrow.