Home Is Two Places
THINGS ARE worse than many of us are admitting. I’m a brassbound optimist by habit-I’m an optimist in the same way that I am righthanded, and will always be. It’s simpler to be an optimist and it’s a sensible defense against the uncertainties and abysses which otherwise confront us prematurely-we can die a dozen deaths and then usually we find that the outcome is not one we predicted, neither so “bad” nor “good,” but one we hadn’t taken into consideration at all. In an election, though, for instance, where it’s only a question of #1 or #2, I confidently assume that whoever seems to be the better fellow is going to win. When sometimes he doesn’t, I begin to feel quite sure that perhaps the other man, now in a position of responsibility, will shift around to views much closer to my own. If this doesn’t occur either, then I fall back on my fuzzy but rooted belief that people of opposed opinions at least do share the quality of good-heartedness, of wanting good things to happen, and so events finally will work out for the best.
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