Glittering Blackness

I don't put much planning into my posts. I typically have a topic in mind and start writing. What you read is stream of consciousness, loosely edited. So, I need to mention up front that the rest of this post may turn into one of those cliche pieces on racism and prejudice. And by "cliche," I absolutely am not suggesting that either of these issues is banal or should be taken lightly, but in a melting pot like America, you just read a lot of stories centered around the hardships experienced by immigrants. After a while every immigrant story just seems like a variation on the theme. And every immigrant has one of those stories.

Having grown up in a city with one of the most significant populations of Indians in the country, I have been very lucky in my life to have never experienced prejudice on the basis of my skin color or ethnicity (in America -- France is another story). As a second-generation, I identify with America and feel like a tourist in India. I love India, but I do not always feel like I belong there.

My dad has always hated Kmart. And until recently, I had no clue as to why. Over lunch last Sunday, my parents were talking about their early days in this country. They started out in Iowa and ended up in California by the early 80's (I cannot explain how grateful I am for their move Westward). Shortly after moving to California, my parents were walking to their car in a Kmart parking lot. Suddenly, a pack of men on bikes came out of nowhere. As they rode past my parents, they pelted them with rotten eggs while yelling at my mom Go away! I hate that red dot on your forehead!

Only after hearing this story did the hardships my parents have overcome so that my brother and I can live this life of opportunity become real to me. Their strength was most admirable. That they took the experience as just that, one situation, and did not let it deter them from continuing to make their new life in a new country. It did not make them forget the reasons they had come to America in the first place. It did not keep them from embracing all the good that the country had to offer. Most importantly, they did not dwell on the experience (or any of the other negative experiences I'm sure they've kept from me). They pushed past it. In fact, only now, over twenty years later, did it come up in conversation. And that too, in passing.

This week's cover article in Time magazine is on the science of optimism. It explains how the human brain is hardwired to be irrationally optimistic, for obvious evolutionary reasons (our hunter gatherer ancestors who were not optimistic about life would have stopped even trying to survive, and thus died out). Though the author is a bit critical of our human nature to believe we are "above average" or that undesirable life events that find others will not find us, to me, her most important point is that sometimes, optimism can change reality. She writes, "Expectations become self-fulfilling by altering our performance and actions, which ultimately affects what happens in the future." Those who approach life with a "half-full" attitude eventually get to that full glass. They subconsciously tailor their lifestyles and behaviors to become the reality for which they had hoped. Optimism makes life worth living.

It is largely thanks to my parents' optimism amidst the tribulations that they are so well-assimilated in American society today. The hope for a new life in America, the expectation of a land of opportunity, made it a reality.

It would be irrational to believe that life will always go the way you expect. It would be irrational to think that things can never go wrong. But most importantly, it would be irrational to say that optimism is naive. Because, most of the time, that's all you've got. And sometimes, it's the only sure-fire path to your destination.