For years, I looked through the glass darkly. It wasn't just half-empty, the glass was cracked and the water tasted funny. I couldn't even take a compliment without explaining why it should have been an insult. I took self-deprecating to amazing new levels. Ditto for self-doubt.

I was always teased, growing up. I was never pretty enough, cool enough, normal enough. I was too smart, too Jewish, too klutzy, too dorky. I liked school and did well, I liked my parents and got along with them, I liked services and enjoyed leading. I didn't follow sports, I wasn't at all athletic, I didn't wear the cool clothes because I could never figure out what was cool.

And then I went to college, and that was the beginning of a transformation. Nobody knew me there, nobody knew I'd been uncool all my life. And strangely enough, some of them thought that I was very cool. I found a corner of the sky in a group of incredible people who encouraged me to do anything, try everything, fear nothing. They told me I could sing, and they were the soundtrack for some of the best times I ever had. And within my crowd -- and it was a crowd -- there were people who didn't sing, but they did other things: they skated and published and produced and directed and acted. These were friends who didn't care about the minutiae that passed for "majorly important" in high school. They looked past the surface of me, and they liked what they saw. We laughed 'til all hours of the night, we shared our stories and our dreams and our hopes and our worries, we bonded in the truest and purest sense. We were friends, and in fact we are friends.

We became a mutual admiration society. And somehow, surrounded by my self-proclaimed cheerleaders, the seeds were planted...I learned to accept a compliment with a gracious, "Thank you." I began to believe that maybe all the people who saw good things in me weren't hallucinating. I found myself hoping for the best, instead of hoping for the worst so that at least my inner critic would have been justified.

Then I graduated and moved to a big city, full of lights and sounds and people, where I felt dark, silent, and alone. But a friend moved in and wouldn't let me wallow, and she made me take time to laugh. And cook. And I started working, and I did pretty well, and I studied and took some exams, and I did pretty well, and it all kept going and then a year had gone by and lo and behold, I was doing pretty well.

There were challenges, but the strangest thing happened...I started to think, "Maybe this will work out exactly the way I want." And then I realized that I was finding silver linings whenever things didn't work out the way I wanted. People would ask, "Aren't you nervous?" I'd answer, "A little, sure, but what's the worst that could happen? Nothing so bad. Nothing I can't handle." One day at work, I was told, "You have such a great attitude about everything!" I was stunned, until I thought about it and realized that yes, in fact, I had become an optimist.

It was just a short mental leap to realize that I'd gradually gained confidence in myself and my accomplishments. I haven't done anything that will garner lasting fame. But gosh, I'm proud of what I have done. Moved to my own place, passed a bunch of exams, found a community, made friends. And lived to tell the tale.

I made a New Year's resolution to be happier, to accept my life and enjoy it the way it is, instead of regretting what it isn't. It's the first resolution I've ever kept for 7 months and counting.

Half-full? Half-empty? Who cares? As long as there's anything in the glass, let's raise it and have a toast.

Cheers.


19 july 2001