Optimism isn’t given. It’s earned.
I never want to take my eyes off those who exude their truth.
I know some feel imbalanced, seeking a center when the chaos they read about—or when they confront an injustice—aims to tear them asunder.
One of my favorite episodes of Scrubs is when LaVerne, a Bible-believing nurse, is confronted by Dr. Cox, the show’s curmudgeon who thrives on mirroring what people have to see.
His character reflects truths the doctors he works with are too afraid to confront.
Sometimes, he laments how they cope—like the main character’s penchant for daydreaming when reality feels too grave to overcome. An emotional strategy for a doctor who struggles to manage loss and grief in a hospital that often focuses on the end of someone’s journey.
Dr. Cox exists to communicate what his colleagues need from their friends, families, and partners. He exposes himself to vulnerability—whether he admits it or not (a running theme in the show’s nine seasons)—to take on their strengths to endure the eclipsing personal pain he carries when faced with life-or-death scenarios.
Throughout the episode, Dr. Cox pushes LaVerne to admit that a caring God would never allow New Orleans (the aftermath of Katrina’s displacement of 1.5 million people), drug addiction, cancer, HIV, and other plagues to be part of God’s will.
Logically, if these conditions exist, God can’t.
“There is no rhyme or reason to anything. Why can’t you just get that?” Dr. Cox asks.
LaVerne pushes back. She cuts him off before a subsequent rant.
“Look, if that’s the way you choose the world, so be it. But you dare take this away from me. I’ve been coming here for twenty-four years watching children die and watching people suffer… if I didn’t believe there is a bigger plan behind all of this, I wouldn’t be able to show up.”
“I’m sorry,” he says remorsefully.
You can visibly see that he understands her will to serve is guided by faith. The bonds that pain brings, LaVerne teaches him, can be loosened if you believe in something greater than yourself.
I am not led by faith in a higher being. That’s unimportant.
But if God existed, they continue to fill my life with powerful and inescapable beings I want to embrace.
For years, I succumbed to arrogance about my grief.
Losing a best friend, mother, and father, and the handful of broken friendships I took responsibility for laid an uneasy toil on my being. I felt these painful moments were afflicted on me to bear alone.
I’ve outgrown these cumbersome tendencies.
What these lessons and setbacks taught me is that service to others comes from different motivations.
I can’t shrug off the responsibilities pressing on my shoulders. But like a weightlifter building muscle, the heaviness of the moment is strengthening my capacity to take on more.
Within my growth, I am taking on more—not to undo the distressful moments I’ve felt, but to turn the energy once fueled by erosive guilt into love and commitment to others, without compromising my center or pursuit of immeasurable happiness.
Like Dr. Cox, I sometimes argue there is a way to handle the dangers of being human, especially when unexpected, harmful interruptions outside our control try to deny us joy.
I approach these obstacles differently than my counterparts.
Instead of fitting my peers into how I would handle an adversarial situation, I embrace their standards of living and understanding under trying circumstances and take them on as my own.
I no longer feel like the man rolling a boulder up the hill, only to watch it tumble back down.
Now, I feel like someone who slingshot that rock into the stratosphere—whacking the universe’s puppet masters square in the face.
Maybe it was a simple text from my friend Wyatt that brought me joy today.
He said he liked my writing.
As someone who questions every letter I put on a page, I was moved to write more because of his encouragement.
Wyatt is a brilliant writer, growing into his voice. Fearless with words. He looks to the past to understand how to meet this moment. He’s using language to reconcile the struggle many of us feel right now—to find balance.
He found love. He’s surrounded by loyal friends.
And he’s using the foundation he’s built to carve out a story that, I believe, will touch a lot of people. Maybe even move them into their center.
Maybe it was a conversation with a student at my nonprofit, Community Groundwork, that reminded me—as long as humanity grabs what feels out of control and says, “I control my destiny,” we’ll be in good hands.
And when those who seek to subjugate others—or spend their time dismantling the personalities they deem “less than”—come for us, we’ll say what Andrea said:
Students Got This.
Andrea is 23 years old. She’s a student at Cal Poly Pomona. In her own words, she is educating herself to make a difference.
Maybe it’s when I think about my friend Michael Blake. He’s running for mayor of New York.
He’s avoiding political gimmicks. His grassroots campaign is up against candidates who mislead the public to shift power away from the people.
He believes differently.
He’s surrounded by good people who believe truth can lead the voiceless to see they can run for office. They can engage locally. They can lead—if they choose.
Candidates are imperfect. They’re human, like those reading this blog.
But watching Michael learn from setbacks, trust his team, and fight to rise above a political moment that equates leadership with lies—that’s commendable.
Maybe it’s because of my work.
I enjoy speaking to reporters every day, listening to the stories they are pursuing—the tales they unlock for us to enjoy, to motivate us to think before we act.
Maybe it’s my clients who are trying to carve a path for themselves to alter a reality they see needs changing.
All I know is, when I am at my center—where I can stand still and pay attention to the good people around me, and take in their kindness, devotion, and love to flip adversity into opportunity—I am beseeched with an open heart to thrive under arduous conditions.
To mold my existence into something I deemed extraordinary.
Optimism isn’t given. It’s earned.