I was spurred to write a post this morning by two op-eds in the New York Times, one by Roxane Gay and the other by Michelle Goldberg. After doing so, I decided not to post it. The crux of their world is misery, everything is horrible and they want everyone to wallow in misery just like them. In response, I wrote what I would call a “Pollyanna Post,” that the world is filled with joy, love and happiness.
After claiming that students turn to her for assurance that everything will be okay, a claim I find utterly full of shit since who would ever turn to someone as utterly miserable as Gay for anything, Gay writes:
I don’t traffic in hope. Realism is more my ministry than is unbridled optimism.
I traffic in realism as well, and I refuse to accept the premise that a future of wallowing in constant misery is the best we can do. I’m no Pollyanna. There are many problems in the world, as there always have been and always will be. But if the best we can do is aspire to a life of crying sad tears over the awfulness of everything, these passionately progressive purveyors of perpetual misery can shove it.
They seek misery everywhere and find it. If it’s not there, they create it. They find a problem in everything, a reason to be offended or outraged. Is that what you want to spend your days doing, turning over rocks in search of outrage?
I decided to trash my Pollyanna Post. Life will have problems and disappointments, and that’s how it goes for all of us. But it will also have times of joy and happiness. Let the harpies obsess over their beloved misery. I live for the good times. Fuck them and their miserable world. If misery is the best they can do, I want nothing of it. No more needs to be said.