Don’t stumble over that ugly old rock of criticism and pessimism. Don’t ignore it and try to go around it. Climb on top of it and make it not a stumbling block, but a stepping stone. Glean anything valuable from it and disregard the rest. Don’t you dare let it dampen your day in any way.
When I think of criticism, the picture of a woman springs to mind. This is not someone I’ve ever seen. She exists purely in my imagination. Maybe it’s a memory from the children’s classic, Hansel and Gretel. Anyway, this poor woman is skinny, long-nosed and bitter-tongued, and she always has one bony finger pointed in my direction, telling me all the virtues and skills that I lack. Criticism. She sort of makes me want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.
Children thrive on encouragement; it is like vitamins to a child’s emotional growth. I confess that beneath my facade of a slightly-more-than-middle-aged-woman, there beats the heart of a child. The road of life has its share of potholes, unexpected turns, and rocky places, but nothing smooths out the way in front of me more than encouragement. Each individual is unique and talented in some way or in many ways; everyone has a characteristic that is praise-worthy. Encouragement is like a polishing cloth on silver–it really brings out the shine.
I’m convinced that a pessimistic person is one that has met discouragement once too often. An optimistic outlook turns its back on pessimism, and embraces the possible. It all boils down to, Don’t give up, keep going. You are a winner. Believe it!
I’ve printed this poem, The Optimistic Frog before. I’m not sure who wrote it. I didn’t, but I wish I had. And, if the poor old frog didn’t give up when faced with an impossible situation and a pessimistic bowl-mate, why should we?
Two frogs fell into a deep cream bowl; One was an optimistic soul
But the other took a gloomy view: “We shall drown without further ado.”
So, with a last, despairing cry, he flung up his legs and he said good-bye.
Quoth the other frog with a merry grin, “I can’t get out, but I won’t give in.
I’ll just swim ’round till my strength is spent, then I will die the more content.”
Bravely he swam till it would seem his struggles began to churn the cream.
On the top of the butter at last he stopped, and out of the bowl he gaily hopped.
What of the moral? ‘Tis easily found: If you can’t get out, keep swimming around.
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