Pessimist moi?

Jenny (who’s a confirmed optimist) thinks I’m a pessimist because I seem to pay more attention to bad news than good news, and I tend to conjure up doomy scenarios.
 
I don’t think I’m a pessimist at all. If I pay more attention to bad news it’s because firstly it’s more dramatic and secondly I want to know what caused the bad news – the train crash or the botched operation or whatever.
 
If I think for example that the Prime Minister isn’t up to the job, that doesn’t strike me as pessimism but just a random opinion.
 
I don’t routinely think everything around me is going to end badly. I can just as well believe something will end well. Like a house purchase or an airline flight (I’ve never been afraid of flying).
 
But it’s hard not to be pessimistic when what’s happening around the world is so dreadful. I have to search hard for genuinely positive news.
 
In any case what others would call pessimistic, I just think of as pointing out reality. Should I refrain from mentioning something because it makes me look gloomy?

All too much

It's all too much. All too much.
The world's going to pot.
Britain's going to pot.
The planet's going to pot.
Armies fighting each other.
Religions fighting each other.
Governments fighting each other.
Refugees by the million.
The rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer.
Prejudice of every kind against other human beings.
The British government demolishing every public service in sight.
Oceans full of plastic.
It's depressing and alarming and shocking.
I just want to run away and hide.
Shut it all out.
Live in a little isolated bubble in the middle of nowhere.
With just a cat to keep me company.
And Jenny of course.
We'll tell each other stories
of beautiful, unspoilt places.
We'll sleep and dream and smell the flowers.
We'll watch the sunrises and sunsets.
We'll listen to the birdsong.
No one will know where we are.
No one can bring us news we don't want to hear.
No one can spoil our solitude.
Just imagine that.

An awful likeness

One of the worst things you can say to most people is either "You're turning into your mother" or "You're turning into your father." Given that we're all acutely aware of our parents' failings, the idea that we might be reproducing them sends a shiver down our spine.

Even if we're thinking more of our parents' virtues, we still don't want to be told that we're merely a carbon copy of a parent, we want to have our own identity and take our own route through life.

I certainly don't like to be told that I take after my father, who in my opinion had a stack of unpleasant traits I spent most of my time trying consciously to avoid. Self-righteous bullying, among other things.

It helps that he hasn't been around for 24 years. Once a parent is gone, you're no longer exposed to the character flaws you disliked, and you're less likely to copy them. And when nobody can see the two of you together any more, they're less prone to see resemblances. I'm especially fortunate since Jenny never actually met my father and knows nothing about him except what I choose to reveal. So it's extremely rare for her to utter that dread phrase "You're turning into your father."

But it says something about our underlying view of our parents that if we're told we're morphing into one of them, our reaction is invariably one of shock and horror. My God, you can't be serious? You think I'm like my mother? This is terrible! Even if we're aware of all their good points, we never say "I'm like my mother? That's fantastic. How lovely of you to say so!" No, we always assume the worst, that the other person can see some vile, hideous trait that makes us thoroughly unattractive.

But as far as I'm concerned, I'm not like my father in any way at all. Absolutely, positively not. And you can't say any different as you've never met him. So there.