I am by nature a fairly optimistic creature. People don't believe that because I am also by nature a hole-puncher, and all they see is how I poke holes in their wonderful plans.
But in all actuality, my hole punching is a true sign of optimism. I mean, really, the guy who invented the parachute? He was supremely confident in the plane's ability to get off the ground in the first place. That, my friends, takes optimism. He saw a problem, solved it, and moved on. He didn't say, "Hey, flying's dangerous and you shouldn't do it."
My approach to life drives The Husband insane. This isn't a unique reaction, as it also drives The Sister insane and The Co-Workers insane and, well, just about everybody. Except me. In the end, people do grudgingly say, "Well, hey, you were right, and that made all the difference."
I believe, truly, to the depth of my soul, that any problem has a solution. And when my confidence falters, I chant my mantra: I graduated Magna Cum Laude, and I can fold a fitted sheet. I can do anything."
That fitted sheet business is something to be rightly proud of, if I do say so myself. It took me years to figure it out. I kept trying and failing. Finally, I hit upon the solution: I would carefully unpack a new, still-in-the-pack fitted sheet, and see how the factory did it.
It was amazingly, head-bangingly simple. Some years ago, people asked me my method, and I took some pix. I'm sharing my system below. You can tell from the loud, cyanotic cabbage roses that these pix are very old. I can assure you: my bedroom comforter looks far different now -- and, er, the room is messier.
So what is it that powers you through bleak moments? Am I completely alone in relying on pathetic little triumphs to serve as a means to say, "Oh, yeah, I can SO take that mountain!"
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