I wish I was an optimistic person. We all know that girl that walks into the office with a shot of wheatgrass in her hand and wishes everyone a good morning and means it. She sees Mondays as the birth of a new week, filled with endless possibilities and Taylor Swift songs.
I am not that girl.
I wouldn’t go as far as calling myself a pessimist, instead I consider myself a die-hard realist with the hopes of becoming a happy realist. I’m the one that walks into the office 12 minutes late holding a cup of coffee that doesn’t seem to have enough caffeine. I crack a half-smile to my coworkers in place of a greeting. It’s the best I can do. I sit down at my desk and take in the instant barrage of noises: children screaming, babies crying, instruments humming, the compressor bellowing and making my whole desk vibrate. And then there are the phones. First call: “Um hello, yes, I called on Friday and left a message and no one has called me back yet!” It’s 9:10 a..m. “Please hold.” I need another sip of coffee.
After a few hours my icy exterior starts to melt and I’m able to become my regular sarcastic self. Yes, I rather be sitting on the beach reading a good book but in reality, I work in a laid back office with a pretty great group of girls and I get paid for it. I am fortunate and that is real.
“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.” – William Arthur Ward