Woe, Is Not Me

Woe. If it is not yesterday's blunders or tomorrow's uncertainies, then it is our constant hunger for acceptance and approval. Not just with others, but with ourselves. They (whoever "they" are) say that the most harmful words are the words we say to ourselves. It's a fact. Who knows you better than you? No one can condemn you more than you can, and, conversely, you cannot bring yourself up as high you wish. We gather and collect woe over time and store it within ourselves, not paying attention to how much space we actually have to put it. Woe, like dirty laundry in the bedroom, begins to clutter and find its place deep within. Time passes; you forget the woe. Then, all of a sudden and without notice, we feel down. "What could that possibly be? Ugh, not this again." It reaches the surface again like the stench of the clothes hidden under beds for far too long. Do some laundry. That horrid odor in our gym shorts and the treacherous woe in our lives will not just dissappear; it needs cleansing. That cleansing can invlove almost anything. Maybe there are people who we need to apologize to, or maybe there are people who we need to forgive. Maybe it is time to tell the truth. Once we "clean out" that woe, we realize that we have so much room for happiness! Self-acceptance and approval becomes easier when we make space for it. Wallowing in self-pity is not a valid option. All the time wasted on harming ourselves and bringing ourselves down takes from the time we could be spending bringing ourselves up.

They (the same people from above) also say that the best way to feel better about yourself is to do something for someone else. Altruism is more personal than philanthropy. Give money if you can; give time if you can not. Either way, the selflessness involved in giving is so potent that you feel as though you have made a difference.

Personally, the best way to block out woe is to smile. Never will I forget the first time I went to Puerto Rico with my family. Bored and tired, I found myself sitting down outside a chapel. I wanted to go home, my feet hurt. Suddenly, however, as if someone decided to send me some sunshine, a noun walked by. Our eyes caught each others, and she just smiled. I'll never forget that smile. The way that Nick Carraway describes Jay Gatsby's smile applies here. Her smile caused me to smile. It is not a slippery slope; it is a water-slide! After that pleasant encounter, I began to smile at everyone. I hope my smiles have caused at least one other person to smile.

The point is that negative energy can cloud us from our happiness. We say "woe, is me" and other self-deprecating phrases that forbid us from learning from our past and experiences. Empiricism requires us to forgive ourselves.

Forgive yourself. You deserve it.
Say to yourself: "Woe, is NOT me."

=D

Optimism is Realism

Hey! I am Daniel, an eighteen year old high school senior from Orlando with a brain that is bursting at the synapses with ideas. If my brain was a shirt, It would be a graphic tee, color print, with visual imagery that appeals to happiness. That being said, I am an optimist, and, by extension, a realist. If realism can be described as the tendency to view or represent things as they really are, and optimism is a disposition or tendency to look on the more favorable side of events or conditions and to expect the most favorable outcome, then they are synonymous.

Think.

We have all had experiences where our confidence was absent; we have all had experiences where we did not think we were "good enough." Often times, these situations end up failing in meeting our standards or expectations. We fall short. We lose. We miss. We fail. Without realizing it, we set ourselves up for failure by doubting our ability to succeed. We get it into our head that we are not good enough, and this negative perception of ourselves causes us to squander our potential because our confidence retracts like tiger claws, disallowing us to perform well enough to be satisfied.

It is truly a skill to be able to self-affirm yourself.

I remember the first time that I took a class online. At first, I had apprehensions and doubts that I could, being the colloquial person that I am, succeed in a solitary learning environment, a place where my teacher had a voice, but no face. I thought to myself, "how could I possibly get an A? How can I do my best so far out of my comfort zone?" And it is out of my comfort zone. In class, I generally earn good grades, even in honors and college level coursework, but I am considered the "class clown." Thoughts and connections and analogies quickly flood my head, and I usually call out answers, call out questions, and call out random, abstract thoughts that, in the words of Bilbo Baggins, seem quite "queer." Without a classroom, a teacher, and classmates, I am lacking a stage, a director, and an audience. I was alone. My attitude was pessimistic; my grade was not meeting my goal. Something had to change. After five stages of anger and avoiding my true problem, I knew what needed to be done. I began to believe I could get an A; I began to believe I was "good enough." My grade improved in a positive way. I began to look forward to independent thinking and succeeding in my uncomfortable, challenging environment. I passed the class with an A! It took optimism and perseverance, but the negativity dissappeared. I guess, to be cliche, I had it in me all along.

Whoever you are that is reading my first blog entry right now, you have it in you, too. The key is optimism. It IS completely realistic to think positive thoughts and expect positive outcomes. It is also realistic to fail in achieving your goals, but pessimism only lowers your chance to succeed. It's not even spiritual; it's pragmatic. My first message in my soon-to-be series of blogs would be that optimism truly can produce realistic outcomes. In my opinion, optimism and realism are hidden synonyms, misunderstood friends. They are the couple that you would never expect to get married, but somehow make it work.

Stay positive, friends.

Love and dreams come true,
Daniel E. Ruiz