On optimism.

My mother is a modern day Leibniz.

She is convinced we live in the best of all possible worlds and that everything happens for a reason.

For every struggle in my life - and there have been quite a few nadirs in the past couple of years - she has a rationalization. Most often it involves an implausible scenario in which I "meet someone" -- a not too veiled code for a potential mate. And potential grandkids.

None of it is really all that helpful emotionally or even functionally. I usually just grimace and call her Dr. Pangloss behind her back -- which is to say to my father.

And it is not that she is delusional. She just strongly believes in the power of positive thinking.

At one point she even mentioned The Secret as a valuable fount of worldly wisdom. Unironically.

It was too much for my inner cynic. I vowed to be an unrelenting pessimist to the bitter and terrible end.

Yesterday, a friend was on the phone for hours attempting to resolve a ticketing fiasco with her airline. The situation looked bleak. Her reservation was probably going to be cancelled. She looked exhausted from sheer bureaucracy.

Despite my oath, I couldn't help myself.

Unsolicited and unprovoked, I put my hand on her shoulder and reassuringly (and unironically) suggested:

"Things always work out in the end."