29. November 2016 by swissfitchick
While stuck in my late thirties for the moment and having been through absurdities of life in more different shapes than I care to admit, I contemplate the question: are cynics the counterpart of pessimists? In a world full of love disasters next to hopeless romantics, whiners next to determined ambition and grumpy old men next to innocent toddlers – does being cynical and sarcastic equal being realistic? Or are we, the ones who try to get in line with reality of the situation, being smirked by the optimists, but if so, are these ideologists the counterpart of naive dreamers?
I myself live of the ridicule and ironic of life’s happenings, I started to be cynical at high school and dripping sarcasm is my home base. Cynicism is – as per Wikipedia’s definition – `a general lack of faith or hope in the human species or people motivated by ambition, desire, greed, gratification, materialism, goals, and opinions. ‘ I wouldn’t go that far – because, without a shadow of a doubt, I am more than clear on what I may or may not expect from life. After all, I am shamlessly enjoying lifes pleasures to the extreme without an ounce of frustration, guilt or bitterness. I’d rather call it skepticism if not prudence – based on the fact that life played a couple of tests with me which not all were easy to pass. `Luce, you know that one day the prince on the white horse will turn up to rescue you. ‘ A) I rode horses in my childhood, been there, done that. My toes are dead for good, so thanks for nothing. B) I don’t need to be rescued. I am perfectly fine. I might need some pillow talk (sexual innuendo right there) or a coequal argument partner. But please don’t save me. C) ‚But he said….’ Honey. Words may be ignored. Watch the action instead, and if there is none, run. Run fast.
While I found myself having my first experience as a bridesmaid at a wedding in Vancouver this summer, I couldn’t help but feel completely out of line in the midst of a crowd of oceancolour-dressed, flawlessly manicured and not drunk girls, who gave me the perfect insight into what it means to be a romantic, and an ideologist. Everything was amazing. Everyone was SO excited. We all were so overwhelmed (especially me, an alien to that system there). I immediately was made aware of my innate aversion to squeaky voices that say cheesy things. I forced myself to drink more in an attempt to surpress the urge and ask: Can we stop the screaming and crying for a second, have a drink and make some inappropriate jokes? I also have cheese and crackers to give to those who join in.
No worries. I didn’t. In my overly articulated, exceedingly verbal life, I embrace the few instants when it is perfectly appropriate if not preferable to shut the fuck up. Even as the biggest sarcastic female in my circle of friends (and yes, I beat some of the men – having said that – I can’t help but love men with a good portion of sarcasm – and I feel very, very awkward with romantic men) I am very well aware that we need the romantics. We need the dreamers amongst us. Just like they need the realists. They take us flying, we keep them grounded. Apart from that – where would I find my food for cynical jokes if not from the pink side of life?
Let’s be real. I am an enthusiast and a dreamer and my ability to feel is distinctive to a level where I can no longer handle it without faking it. My way to handle the assault on my senses which life likes to play with, I found that sarcasm and cynicism – not to be confused with pessismism – are my way to hide the cheese in me. I am Swiss after all. Pun intended.