Perennial Pessimist

I've come to realize I'm a day-to-day optimist and a long-term pessimist.

Every morning I enjoy the sun in the windows, look forward to chatting with friends, relish a good meal, and am pleased-as-punch to see my cucumber seeds sprouting strong green leaves in the dirt.

When I take a look at the long haul, however, a bit of apocalytpic foreshadowing darkens my mood. Lastnight on PBS' "Frontline" global warming and overpopulation were linked to land deprivation, thievery, tribal strife, war, rape, and starvation. Nothing new, but the connections were made all too clear and gloomy. Taking this information to heart, I ask myself questions such as, "Do I want to have a child who will be another burden on this already strained planet," and "Do I want to have a child who will face who-knows-what trials, fears, and catastrophies in a world rapidly shutting down?"

I sometimes find myself imagining how I will take care of myself and those I love if the inevitable water shortage, energy crisis, and capitalistic implosion occurs sooner rather than later. And then, when I move away from selfish concerns, I realize these issues have already distaerously impacted the poor of the world. (The poor always first experience the consequences of the wealthy's messes and, unjustly, the wealthy have the resources to buffer themselves from these messes.)

Though optimism better suits my temperment, I am begining to embrace the sobering realist within me. I think McCain is going to win the election. I think the desert region I live in needs to adopt a better water conservation system before the drought we're in becomes permanent. I think I need to start bicycling to my job, plant native seeds, and work towards communalism.

Perhaps the direction I am headed in is not so much pessimism but, rather, as the state of society currently stands, radicalism.