One of the great lies I’ve told myself is that cynicism is an intellectual ascent. I bought into the brand of jadedness and dissolution as virtue. I wore these tired and trending vestments as an excellent consumer should.
Some of these old rags still hang in my closet. I habitually reach for their warmth when I fear the incoming cold front of the unknown. I haven’t discarded cynicism wholesale, but I’m working on it.
The greatest encouragement I received recently communicated progress. I’m still embracing reality, but cynicism is being replaced by judgement-free-matter-of-factness rooted in hope.
The glass is half empty. But I need to stretch my legs—and that’s a good excuse as any to go fill it.