Confessions of a Secret Optimist

Shameful confession: I’m an optimist. No, worse. I’m a secret optimist. Maybe it’s a side effect of a steady diet of Walt Disney, John Hughes films, and Sweet Valley High tweenage romance books during the 1980’s. Or maybe it’s a side effect of my clearly undiagnosed mental illness – I’m not just depressed, I’m delusional.

I’ve been on a diet since 1986. I’ve gained and lost and gained and lost the same 10 pounds 500 times. Which means I’ve lost and gained 500 pounds in my lifetime. With a track record like that, I’m not sure why Bob Harper and Jillian Michaels haven’t recruited me for a very special Biggest Loser expose. With no real track record of any lasting success, the only explanation for my ongoing battle of my bulge is my stupid secret optimism. Every app I’ve downloaded (I’m talking to you, MyFitnessPal – and your rotten friends MapMyWalk and Jawbone fitness tracker); every nickel I’ve spent on protein shakes and vitamin concoctions; and countless gym memberships and personal training packages are nothing more than proof that I optimistically, blindly believe that one day, I will be a size 8. Frankly, I have a better chance of being struck by lightning, but dare to dream, right?

Of course, there is no greater testimony to my optimism than the infamous frog blog. Between hundreds of bad dates with bald frogs, fat frogs, faux frogs, potentially gay frogs, and the amount of psychotherapy required to maintain any semblance of self-esteem after being dumped; told to “unfriend food”; and lowering my standards so much that I considered a two-time convicted and registered sex offender as a potential mate led me to the brink of bankruptcy. (Not my finest hour, FYI.) You can read more tales of a desperate single gal here if you’re not caught up on all the gory details.

After kissing so very many frogs, I finally hit pay dirt. The last frog I kissed turned into a prince and I married him. And after the fairy tale wedding and the honeymoon is over, nearly three years later, I want to tell you something. Marriage is hard. There are nights when I fantasize about smothering Randy with a pillow just to quiet the snoring so I can get a peaceful night’s sleep. He never imagined that his happily ever after would involve a woman incapable of putting the toothpaste cap on securely and who always leaves her dirty shirts inside out in the laundry basket. I never expected to be married to the human version of the Energizer Bunny. This man literally pops out of bed each morning like a piece of toast, ready to start the day. I require significantly more sleep and caffeine to face the day.

After nearly three years of marriage, I’ll admit it. I can’t stand Randy’s driving. It’s terrifying and it makes me car sick. And he would gladly tell you that he might prefer a more domestically inclined gal – or at least one who can boil water without burning it. He hates the way I make coffee and load the dishwasher. Meanwhile, I’ve given up on having a dining room table that is used for, you know, dining. It’s become a makeshift desk for Randy – even though he has a perfectly good home office downstairs. He wonders why I put so much effort into looking decent for the office and then revert to Cookie Monster lounge wear the minute I return home.

And after nearly three years of marriage, I’ll gladly tell you this. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my life. I love my husband who, although he snores and is a terrible driver, allows me to be 100%, authentically me and loves me anyway. I don’t have to pretend to like football or shitty music or dumb TV shows to impress him. He loves me just the way I am, which probably means he’s a secret fucking optimist too, God bless him.

Is there a point buried somewhere in all this? As we say in our best Fargo accents, “You betcha!” When I think about giving up, giving in, and giving it all I’ve got – I’m struck by how this adage applies in nearly every situation. Consider marriage. I’m giving up on the idea of a perfect fairytale romance – because that’s not how real life works. I’m giving in to the reality that neither one of us is a real joy to live with 24X7 and there will be amazingly wonderful days and some shitty ones. I am giving all I’ve got to making sure that we live happily ever after.