Positivity.

I don’t wonder about the power of “positive” thinking. I know well that taking optimistic approaches to problem solving yields measurably different outcome trends to taking pessimistic ones. I do, however, sigh at the overuse and misuse of the term “positive” in lieu of the gallimaufry of wonderful lexis with which our language is blessed. I’ll write a rant about that another time.

But I do wonder sometimes if the subconscious thought processes – though perhaps not beyond our control but at least beyond our free cognitive agency; have equally measurable impact on the outcomes of our choices and approaches. It fills me with hope – albeit in a glass half full sort of way; for despite my own outward sardonic melancholy and apprehensiveness, I think the source code of my programming fundamentally believes in the light at the end of the tunnel.

And that if it’s a train, then so much the better; for the train had to have come from a railway station somewhere out in the daylight. Maybe even sunshine. Perhaps rain, but they have rain shelters on the platforms.

Contrast to my father, (who despite, it must be said – plentiful – occasions of joy and spiritual fortitude) always seemed to harbour a faint, yet consistently bleak outlook on life. An old friend once told me of an experiment where depressive and cheerful people were observed walking past a £10 note planted in the street for opportune discovery. Those cheerful were more likely to notice it. Those not so cheerful, generally didn’t. But that statistical anomaly has never accounted for what I’ve long suspected may also be at work deeper in the fabric of the Universe.

In a phenomenon that I’ve neither seen nor heard of before or since; a two-litre bottle of carbonated water once spontaneously exploded on a shelf, behind him. Whilst he was sat on the toilet. We all heard his characteristic shriek of terror, followed by a plangent wail of despair… …but ignored it; for by this chapter in the in the family saga we’d all become quite accustomed to ghoulish laments emanating from various corners of the house, frequently the downstairs loo.

Might the perennial optimist have embraced the opportunity to enjoy an effervescent mineral water geyser-bidet experience? …rather than devoting an hour writing to Tesco in stentorian tones, with threats of shares being sold and boycotts offending product lines? “…should be re-named ‘Finest Natural Spring Hydro-Grenade’…”

I hope that I always possess, and most importantly, serve to bless my seven year old son with the curiosity and fearlessness to explore all avenues of perspective and inquiry. If only in the name of thorough discovery.