{"id":32291,"date":"2021-07-22T12:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-07-22T16:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/?p=32291"},"modified":"2021-07-22T09:19:14","modified_gmt":"2021-07-22T13:19:14","slug":"confessions-of-an-optimistic-pessimist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/opinion\/my-voice\/2021\/07\/22\/confessions-of-an-optimistic-pessimist\/","title":{"rendered":"Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Earlier this year, I wrote a piece for the Sinclair Clarion titled, \u201cReflections and Resolutions of an Optimistic Pessimist.\u201d<\/a> Here, I explored my goals and aspirations for 2021, such as being more courageous or fearless. Now, seven months have passed since publication, and I would like to share my progress and findings. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Foremost, I feel that I have rediscovered the power of writing and poetry. Within the months preceding 2021, I was met with change. Change, to me, has always been quite terrifying. This, however, was something that I had always expected, perhaps even longer for. Yet, what truly took me aback was how sudden said change occurred and with such great force. In my heart, I knew change was necessary and good, like a bandaid being ripped off, but I didn’t know how to respond. There was a rock churning in my stomach, so to say, and I began to realize its presence. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shortly, I purchased my current phone, which meant that I would not only have to lovingly bid farewell to my previous phone, KGBiri, but I could finally download TikTok. The app became a staple, and soon, I happened upon a user, John S. Blake or “Black Fluid Poet.” I deeply enjoyed their content as well as their radiance and energy. I began to voraciously listen to their podcast on spotify as I began my morning routine, drew, or did chores. There was a particular episode that I listened to on a difficult evening, dubbed “Coincidence.” Blake divulges “the collective,” love, and “how Saul Williams, Malcolm Jamal Warner, and $200 gave a little girl hope.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Listening to John S. Blake made me realize something: I’ve been through this before, and so I wrote a poem about it in a sketchbook adorned with stickers:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I recognize this pain,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This festering, aching ball of sadness,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

sitting in the pit of my stomach. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I recall the warm tears fall down my cheeks as I confided in my mother.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cried, ‘Mom, I am scared of growing up.’<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have always been mortified of oblivion. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of the unknown. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Change, to me, presents itself as<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A formidable tidal wave<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That shall soon, like thunder, collide with Earth. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since I drew my first breath, <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was trusted into the sea,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Consumed by the wave. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have lived innumerable days<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Adrift and lost,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kicking and screaming and thrashing,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ensnared by the wave.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Never knowing up from down,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I longed for someone to anchor me. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

With adulthood came the death of all joy, the adolescent lamented,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the things that made life enjoyable. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is the loss of innocence. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is the fear of mortality encroaching upon the barren spaces where childhood games and laughter resided. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is inescapable and inevitable misery. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But then, my mother said to me,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘There will be so many good things. You’ll see.’<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And she was right. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, I couldn’t have comprehended all the colors after the wave.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My young mind couldn’t have fathomed all<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The beauty and pain,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The pleasure and torment,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The euphoria and the agony.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking back, <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can’t help but think, ‘Just watch. Wait. You’ll see.’<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In many ways, I am still that child, <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Afraid to turn towards the wave and to the storm. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But, it’s a profoundly beautiful thing, really,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

To relinquish yourself,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your mind and body,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your entire being,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

To the will of the universe,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And soon you’ll find yourself floating <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead of fighting the current.”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Through poetry, I found solace and catharsis. Likewise, I discovered truths about myself as well as an innate strength and resilience. There came a time in late March or early April where I struggled. I felt deeply uninspired and confused. Yet another change was bestowed upon me, and it was overwhelming. For days, whether it be in the morning or late at night, I would write poems. One poem, dubbed “Confession #2,” was inspired by “Green Eyes,” a song by Erykah Badu. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

“That familiar, festering<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aching pain is a flame within my heart<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once more. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mind cannot put out the thought of you.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Flickering, dying embers illuminate my vibrant green eyes,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alert with anxiety.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tinged by insecurity and envy. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cannot have you,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the alluring breeze whispers,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

calling for the debris to be carried away all too quickly.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet, I lunged forward in pursuit,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A desperate plea.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

An unmistakable cry. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My fingertips were just within your reach,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I stand alone, empty-handed, and defeated. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Green eyes are aflame and ripe. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How naive and selfish.”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In response to this change, I remembered that this, too, shall pass, and perhaps this shall serve as a catalyst for much-needed growth. Once more, it has, admittedly, in unexpected ways. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

While writing this, I feel that I have inadvertently achieved some of my resolutions, even if I felt otherwise at the time. I know that I still have much improvement to make, as well as so much to learn and experience. Within the months since I wrote “Reflections and Resolutions of an Optimistic Pessimist,” my life has changed in many ways, and as daunting as it may be, I am excited for what has yet to come. I have resounding faith in those that both love and support me, and I believe that I’m learning to share that trust in me. Always, I’ll write. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor Pendleton<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Contributing Writer<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Earlier this year, I wrote a piece for the Sinclair Clarion titled, \u201cReflections and Resolutions of an Optimistic Pessimist.\u201d Here, I explored my goals and aspirations for 2021, such as being more courageous or fearless. Now, seven months have passed since publication, and I would like to share my progress and findings.  Foremost, I feel […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":10416,"featured_media":32301,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[2217,3524],"tags":[4407,430,3861],"class_list":["post-32291","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-my-voice","category-my-voice-2","tag-myvoice","tag-poetry","tag-taylor-pendleton"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"cc_featured_image_caption":{"caption_text":false,"source_text":false,"source_url":false},"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5s3vR-8oP","jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/Screen-Shot-2021-07-22-at-9.17.38-AM.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32291","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/10416"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=32291"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32291\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":32302,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32291\/revisions\/32302"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/32301"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=32291"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=32291"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sinclairclarion.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=32291"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}