I am rather optimistic. So as I flipped through my favorite weekly, I stopped to take a closer look at a sketch entitled The Optimism of Breakfast by Maira Kalman. The image included breakfast for one with the requisite coffee, jelly donut, and table setting. The caption read: “In the optimism of the morning, it is wise to get going, to be confident, expansive, exuberant. If you find yourself at the cup and saucer coffee shop – or any coffee shop – with a jelly doughnut and a cup of coffee, staring out the window at the parade of passerby, you could do worse. A whole lot worse.”
I found myself agreeing completely and imagining myself older, retired self happily visiting my favorite coffee shop in the city, a Cheers of sorts where everyone would know my name, and the server would know that I prefer the simplicity of a plain glazed to a jelly donut. I let my imagination complete this ideal life, daring to imagine retirement. While, relishing in the idea of retiring at thirty-five and the beauty of this idyllic life, I realized that nowhere in my fantasy did I have a love to share the breakfast of my life. I wish I could say I realized this painfully, or mournfully or regrettably, however, the realization elicited something equal to the nonchalance of a mental shrug. I was perfectly fine with the idea of singularly enjoying my glazed donut. Where was my desire for a life companion? When did my optimistic mind decide that I would be single? More importantly, when did future Leesa become okay with it?
Read her finding here.
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