Beauty in Adversity

It takes me a long time to process things. I don’t know if something will have a lasting impact until I realize I’ve told the story many, many times.

This one was way, way back in high school. It seemed like a simple enough task. It was just a book report. I really enjoyed the book, but the biggest lesson of the assignment was my concern about failing.

We were assigned Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men.” As I read it, I realized I really enjoyed it. I always thought the point of a book report was to be critical of what we were reading. I was looking for flaws — and struggling. I decided I was going to write about what I liked, not what I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure it was OK to be critical and flattering. I was concerned I might get a bad grade if all I did was write about what I liked. To my surprise, the teacher, Mr. Shields, thought my report was just fine.

Every now and then I think of that decision. Why is it so much easier to pick out and emphasize the negative? Why is it more natural to see the blemishes than the dominant beauty?

Maybe it’s just me. It’s not something to be proud of, and kind of makes me appear negative and grumpy. It could also be what I believed we were tasked with: think critically about something and then talk or write about it. Or it could be societal.

When we talk negatively about something, we may be hiding behind a belief that we’re better — or a fear that we’re not. We can comfort ourselves by saying, “Look at the way that person dresses,” “That car is ugly,” or even “Who needs a house that big?” We protect ourselves by condemning other things rather than appreciating and respecting them.

It also exempts us from taking responsibility for what we may believe are our shortcomings. We may believe we would have reached our goals, been happier, or more wealthy if not for the people or circumstances we think kept us from achieving our potential.

It’s easier to project the cause of the perceived failure on someone or something else than to be content with where we are and what we have. It’s even harder and takes much more wisdom and strength to properly assign it to things we’ve done, or not done.

I know people who have a much more positive inner monologue. I’ve grown to respect them and their strength and confidence much more as I’ve aged. The optimist isn’t afraid of being judged for expressing contentment.

Talking favorably about something can make you vulnerable. “I really like this meatloaf,” can draw responses like “That’s gross. What’s wrong with you?”

Don’t get me wrong: Judgment and critical thinking are important to our survival. “This food smells bad,” can save us from some terrible experiences. But it’s not strong or smart to be predominately negative.

It’s often unfair and uninformed to make blanket statements about how bad something is. It’s the lazy man’s response to parrot what we’ve heard without further consideration.

“Government stinks.” “My taxes are too high.” “Healthcare is terrible.”Conversations often stop if someone asks, “What makes you say that?” “Is your tax rate higher than it was in the past?” or “What’s your solution?” Generally, if I can’t answer those questions, I won’t make those negative comments.

I respect those who believe and say, “I disagree, and would propose this solution.” Or “It may not be great, but here’s how I believe it could be better.” Or, perhaps more accurately, “I appreciate their effort. I’m not sure I could do it better.”

There’s a passage in “The Indifferent Stars Above,” where one of the Donner party notices the beauty surrounding them despite being precariously close to starving or freezing to death.

Analysis of other life-threatening catastrophes has shown an increased survival rate for those who can still feel appreciation in seemingly hopeless circumstances. Positivity and humor are two of the nine traits listed to keep a person calm in life-threatening situations.

To the best of my recollection, I’ve never experienced a truly life-threatening situation. I will admit I don’t think I’d notice the beauty of a sunrise after witnessing the slow, grisly death of my family members.

Moving forward, I hope to be more accepting and appreciative. In addition to making my days more enjoyable, it may just save my life.

Mark Michel is a retired commercial airline pilot and a Key Pen Parks commissioner. He lives in Lakebay.