Schrödinger’s Happiness
I am 100% a pessimist. The second I get a shred of hope about something, I can talk myself into believing the worst will happen. I point out all the times that it has (ignoring the times that it hasn’t) and allow myself to feel miserable twice. The first bout of misery is assuming the worst. The second bout of misery is when I need to actually deal with the worst. And if the worst doesn’t happen, I chalk it up to a good day that I was only miserable once.
But I tried to be different when it came to Linus.
When the operation began, I had no information. For me, he was essentially Schrödinger’s cat—alive and dead at the same time. The doctor clearly knew which one was true, but I didn’t. Without any other facts skewing the results (because there were no facts), there was a 50% chance that everything was okay and a 50% chance that everything was terrible. Both were equally possible, so I opted (doing better during some minutes than others) to believe that everything was good because it was my choice at the moment.
I guess it’s always my choice. But in this case, it really felt like my choice. And I was going to choose to believe that Linus would be home that night.
Even as we learned facts from the doctor during surgery, each time the equation reset. Yes, things were going sideways, but at this moment, it was equally possible that things would be okay or that things would not be okay. And I should keep choosing okay.
It gets harder once you have facts, but I kept saying to myself, “Choose okay.” It was like that recurring phrase in Wonder—”choose kind.” You can do anything, all possibilities being equal, so why not choose the kind option rather than the jerk option?
It was hard to put this mentality into practice. I found myself tossing it aside with each setback we encountered. And ultimately, I went through a lot of thought as to whether choosing hope was actually the better option when we were driving back to the animal hospital to pick him up for burial. Because everything, in the end, was not okay. The pessimist would have been correct.
Yet despite that, I keep trying to apply it as we navigate the days after without him and COVID-19 and the terribleness that is 2020. It’s sort of like breathing exercises where you have to keep bringing your focus back to the breath when your mind wanders. I have no information about the future, so all possibilities are equally likely. I’m choosing right now that everything will be okay. Even though my heart knows that the other possibility also exists, even if I’m not choosing it.
7 comments
I think you can be pessimistic and still hopeful. It’s realistic to be aware of the worst case, while still hoping for the best. I, too, was hoping that Linus would be just fine, even after you updated with the complications. Sometimes it feels like the universe pays attention to your determination for a good outcome.
I think it’s possible to choose hope without being Pollyannish. I think doing so can even help us to shape our reactions to the future. Maybe everything won’t be the okay that we want. Maybe we will have to find what is ok about something that feels profoundly not ok, so that we can keep living, keep trying to repair what we can. It’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
I’m so sorry this has happened. I have followed you (under a different name) since the twins were just little. I remember when you got Linus, and I loved hearing stories about him.
2020 is just one big crap shoot. There is no other way to put it. I love that you were trying to be optimistic. I love that you are still able to find hope. It shows how strong and resilient you are. Linus would be so proud.
Sending lots and lots of love.
Okay, you’ve sparked my Microblog Monday post with this! I’m a great believer in the merits of hope – of choosing to base my thoughts and actions and temperament on the idea that things will be okay. It’s not blind, head-in-the-sand hope. It’s a sensible survival choice. I’m glad you felt hope for Linus, even though I’m so sad that it was not okay in the end.
It’s just a terrible, terrible situation. I’m thinking a lot about the Schrodinger piece of this, and it just feels crappy because there’s nothing to be done to aim the outcome at the one you wanted it to be. “It is what it is” is so lame sometimes. Does the frame of mind you choose to be in during the not-knowing time matter? Not for the outcome, but maybe for the process. But when it is terrible, all you can feel is the terrible.
Ok, here’s my pessimism coming out…when my dad was dying in the hospital we knew he was dying. Doctors did not give us hope. Then a longtime family friend said she had hope, thought we should be hopeful…then we felt like assholes for not being positive. Started to almost believe he would survive (some parameters were slightly improving, so this spurred us on even though doctors still were not positive). He ended up of course dying. I have to tell you I think I ultimately felt shittier having gone on that roller coaster. I had already accepted he would die, and thinking for a short time he might survive after all made it worse. I also really abhor any suggestion that we somehow get a worse outcome by not hoping for the best.
I agree with others…I think you can have hope and be realistic at the same time. That logically, you know there are multiple outcomes, but you can hope for the best one. Otherwise everything is terrible all of the time, whether or not the terrible thing actually happens.