It’s a Funny Time to Be a Tragic Optimist

by David Gallaher

Lisa Kudrow once told a story about getting fired from Frasier. This was before Phoebe Buffay, before Ursula. She had the job and then suddenly she didn’t. Her friend Richard Kind, a veteran actor, called her after he heard the news. He said, “I don’t know how you even get up in the morning. How do you get out of bed, get dressed, walk out the door and show your face?”

And she laughed. Doubled down. And became the soul of a group of FRIENDS.

But still... Kind's question sticks with me because most mornings it feels like he could be asking it of all of us. Open the news and the world is burning. Scandals. Censorship. Layoffs. People losing their homes, their jobs, their safety. Leaders bickering while the ground shifts under our feet. Even LinkedIn, the place where we’re supposed to show the highlight reel of our careers, can feel like bad lyrics from a My Chemical Romance song. Optimism does not come easy in a world like this. Some days it feels like a bad joke.

But if cynicism is the alternative, I’ll take the bad joke. Cynicism might feel sharp, but it rots you from the inside. It convinces you that nothing can change. It makes you bitter, not better. If optimism is clumsy, if it is naïve, if it sometimes feels like fumbling in the dark, that is fine. Because optimism, even badly practiced, builds. Cynicism only tears down.

When I say optimism, I don’t mean the toxic kind that pretends everything is fine. I don’t mean the slogans plastered on mugs and calendars that tell you to smile through the pain. That isn’t optimism. That’s denial. Real optimism is cracked, scarred, imperfect. It stares at the rubble and still believes something can be built from it.

Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor, called it tragic optimism. The belief that even in the face of suffering there is still meaning and still hope. He never said it was easy. He said we could face tragedy and still choose to move toward the light. That is what I mean when I talk about being a bad optimist. Not blind. Not blithe. Just stubborn enough to keep looking for good when everything screams that it is gone.

The leaders I have trusted most are the ones who told the truth about how bad things were and still pushed forward. They didn’t sugarcoat reality. They didn’t collapse either. They admitted fear while still practicing faith. They made space for both honesty and hope, and people followed them because of it. That is leadership. Not pretending everything is fine. Not wallowing in despair. Walking the thin line in between.

Hope is not naïve. It is defiance. To hope in hard times is to refuse to let cruelty have the last word. Human history is not only blood and suffering. It is also sacrifice, kindness, and courage. What we choose to emphasize matters. If we only see the worst, we will collapse. If we remember the moments when people showed up for one another, we will keep going.

Optimism does not always look heroic. Sometimes it is small and awkward. A smile you didn’t think you had in you. A door held open for a stranger. A wave to a neighbor. A thank you note. These things are not grand, but they are what hold the fabric of community together. Without them, it all comes apart.

Uncertainty is thick in the air right now. That is why despair feels so tempting. But uncertainty is not only threat. It is possibility. Change is uncomfortable, but it is also the birthplace of growth. If you shift your mindset from “this is the end” to “this could be the beginning of something new,” you give yourself room to breathe. You give yourself a chance to reinvent.

There is plenty outside of our control. But there are always things we can reach for. How we respond. How we care for our bodies and our relationships. The routines that keep us steady. The choice to turn off the news when it becomes too much. The decision to show up for one another. These are small things, but small things pile up. They become resilience.

Optimism also lives in the present. When we drag ourselves backward to what used to be or spiral into fear about what might come, we freeze. Optimism says breathe now. Notice now. Do one small good thing now. That is enough.

None of us can do this alone. Optimism becomes stronger when it is shared. Ask for help. Offer help. Vulnerability is not weakness. It is how we remind each other that none of us are carrying this by ourselves.

So no, it is not a funny time to be an tragic optimist. It is the best time to be one. Even if you are clumsy at it. Even if you stumble. Even if your hope looks awkward and imperfect. Optimism in easy seasons is cheap. Optimism in impossible times is priceless.

So be a bad optimist. Get up. Get dressed. Show your face. Not because you believe today will be easy, but because you trust that tomorrow might be worth it.

That belief is survival. That belief is oxygen.

That belief is the seed of every better world we will ever build.

In Case You Missed It

This week, I talked a lot about KPIs and their role in accountability, reducing burn rates, why it is vital to let others help you, and how we can work together to make things work. Some heavier topics, but with a dash of optimism. Hopefully.

Three Good Things

• I feel I can't talk about optimism without mentioning the tremendous work Kenn White and his team at Daybreak Game Company LLC have done with their newest chapter of their free-to-play DC Universe Online game. Players must battle sorrow, death, and corruption as it threatens to consume Mogo, the living planet.

• Everytime I hear this song, I think of the Oscar Wilde quote, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars". Maybe not what the Strumpellas had planned. But still...

• If, by chance, you find yourself in Lynchburg, Virgina on Sunday, October 26th... Allistar Barrett and I are hosting a Stranger Things / Dungeons & Dragons style Halloween party event at the Academy Center of the Arts, you should come. Tickets are $5 and available here.

That's about it this week. I'm a column or two behind, so tomorrow expect two? Maybe? No promises. As always, thank you for being here.

Keep me in trouble,

David