It’s Valentine’s Day and I leave work, where my husband has sent me some cheerful pink roses.
I walk through the streets of New York, pausing to look up at the Empire State Building, lit up in a pinkish purple.
I look around and see women carrying flowers, couples holding hands.
I think about how I saw more happy V-Day statuses this year than hateful. Have my bitter friends lost their energy or are people just a little happier this year?
I make my way to Argo Tea, where I order an iced blueberry white tea and sit down to write. I hopefully ponder my future writing prospects.
I think about my weekend plans: improv, a wedding, and a bonus day off on Monday.
Suddenly it hits me: Oh yeah, this is what optimism feels like. I have to admit it’s been eluding me lately. But in this moment, I finally feel hopeful, positive, optimistic. Let’s try to keep that going.