Can Pessimists be Good People?
Bojack
Horseman was yet another one of those shows that I prematurely judged in my
afraid-of-change, like-my-comfort-zone sort of way.
It’s a cartoon about a horse (man) who was a
sitcom star in the 90s for a terrible show that made a ridiculous amount of
money. Now he lives a wealthy, depressed life with little meaning or escape
despite his lack of responsibilities.
First time I saw it, I thought, “This is idiotic.”
Second time I saw it, I thought, “This is pretty
funny.”
Third time I saw it, I thought, “This is genius!”
And so it goes with me. I’m at least aware of it
now and try to give things a chance despite my gut-impulse of negativity.
People ask me why I attempt to force myself to finishing reading books I don’t
like, talk to guys I don’t like, and watch all of T.V. shows I sneer at, and
it’s because I have an instantaneous and irrational distaste for everything
new. When I moved to New York City, I told myself to give it two years for this
very reason. If I stayed away from everything that made a bad first impression
with me, I wouldn’t have found half the stuff I loved. Truth is, I spent the
last few years without little pleasures in life because I didn’t expose myself
to novelty enough.
In the first season finale, Bojack asks his
unreciprocated love interest if she thought he was a good person deep down. She
responded with, “I don’t think I believe in deep down. I kind of think that all
you are is the things that you do.”
In a pretty ironic way, the thing I dislike about
myself is my negativity. I’m illogically pessimistic, my emotions prepping
themselves for the most mediocre scenario even when conscious thinking tells me
otherwise. I’m pretty smart when it comes to reading situations, and I can
predict reactions and results fairly well. Doesn’t mean I can control them
exactly, but I’ll find myself—like in this moment—believing that I have no
capacity to feel love again while logically recognizing that it’s more likely
I’m still healing from my first real failure.
On the surface, I think people these days see me
as kind person, possibly a doormat. My actions tend to serve others. The nice
thing about getting little pleasure out of life is it makes selfishness a
futile endeavor. Deep down I know
that I’m a good person. I recognize an inherent, ingrained, almost ridiculous
sense of loyalty that other people in my life struggle to even rationalize:
“I don’t want to take the part time job to then
suddenly turn around and quit if I get a full time.”
“Well, what are the odds you’re ever going to see
them again?”
“No, I don’t want to screw them over.”
“Oh. Right. Fair enough.”
I don’t have to force myself to worry about others
or take a lot of thought to feel guilt and remorse. I did spend a great deal of
my life developing interpersonal intelligence—recognizing when I’m being a shit
head—but I have a deep maternal instinct satisfied through teaching and
caregiving.
On the other side, I’m an angry sonofabitch.
Possibly due to constant hunger. Possibly due to the red hair, but mostly
because of some sort of automatic territorialism that conflicts with my sense
of solidarity. I want everyone to be happy, but I do not want some smaller mutt
acting like he’s the king of the hill. Metaphorically speaking. An actual dog
could get away with it.
Upon some self-reflection, I also realized a
pretty obvious source of my anxiety: I’m afraid of being ganged up on. I don’t
think that’s abnormal, but the amount I obsess over it is. I don’t mind when
someone hates me, (Well, I don’t spend a lot of time distraught over it
anyway.) but I get unnerved when I can’t read a room, such as when filled with
strangers. You can control a situation when you understand pre-existing
feelings, avoid getting alone with two people who hate you at one time, and
avoid bringing up subject that everyone disagrees with you on. But when you
know nothing, tides can turn easily.
Am I a good person? Deep down, I genuinely care
about people. On the surface, I focus my actions to ease the lives of those
around me.
But somewhere in between I’m snippy, judgmental,
and need to be right.
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