The Starving Artist: Chapter 51: The Optimistic Skeptic

My Papa B is a cynic. He taught me to see past the words to what people are really saying. To suspect the worst from people, then be thankful whenever that wasn’t the case. He’d reinforce that doing things yourself was the only way to get them done, never expect a free ride and eventually looks fade so you better have a fall back plan. He taught me to question everything, which is probably why I believe in ghosts and they scare the bee-gee-bus outta me.

My Hubby on the other hand, worries about my naivety. He worries that I will be taken in by smooth moves and a steady gaze. That the kind words of a stranger trying to sell me a bill of goods will outweigh all my common sense. He sees me as an innocent Pinocchio, being whisked away to donkey island, which is fun until you realize the error of your ways. And my ears are big enough thank you very much.

As for me…Just call me, the optimistic skeptic. It’s my hope that by expecting the best from everyone that they will realize their opportunity and aim a little bit higher. Hopefully encouraging kindness and achieving a new personal best. That leading by example and sharing that support with a genuine hope for everyone to win, we can start winning together. Wow, that sounds like a lot to ask a smooth talking stranger, huckster or fiend. But being an optimistic skeptic means it’s not a shocker when those strangers fall short of the ideal dream world outcome I’d hoped for. It’s the best of the light and the dark. Luke and Vader. Dee and Dum. But seriously, how cute is it my Hubby thinks I could ever be blinded by a kind word and a glistening set of washboard abs? I mean really.

The Starving Artist: Chapter 51: The Optimistic Skeptic

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