Originally published in The Orlando Sentinel, Sept. 29, 2017.

How awful was Hurricane Irma? The answer depends on more than the debris in your yard. It also depends on the debris in your head. Was the power off “for only three days,” or was it “unfathomable that Duke Energy made us wait when I could see where the wire went down”?

People who choose to be happy don’t know they’ve made a choice – nor do people who choose to be unhappy. Rather than say they have a glass that’s half-empty or half-full, an honest response from most would be: “I have a glass?”

My 92-year-old mother recently moved out of the house she shared with my now-deceased father for 64 years. She has an apartment in an extended-care facility, attended two funerals in one week recently, and is planning her last-ever high-school reunion — her 75-year one. A biologically happy person, she brushes off the funerals, assumes “my house” will be better utilized by a young family, and is excited about the “75-year” part of the reunion rather than depressed about the “last-ever” part.

Life events arrive with a thousand tiny details. During Hurricane Irma, most Central Floridians dealt with debris, downed trees, a lack of power, a loss of Internet and a feeling of helplessness in a big world where nature can slap you down like a flyswatter. But they also discovered how much their neighbors cared as they concentrated on family and friends. Why did some people focus on their losses while others counted their blessings?

A German word, schadenfreude, has no English counterpart and means “happiness at the misfortune of others.” It can be an evil emotion, but for many optimistic people, my mother included, the “misfortune of others” is the counterweight that boosts their own happiness. They don’t want other people to suffer, but when they inevitably do, my mother counts her blessings.

At the funeral of a high-school friend, my mother may be sad to lose someone who has walked a long way on her path of life, but part of her also thinks: “It’s not me yet. I’m still here.” On the heels of that I’m-not-yet-dead schadenfreude thought, she’s happy. And when her time does eventually come, I think she’ll say: “Well, I’m glad dying is over with – one less thing to worry about.”

Can habitually negative nellies retrain themselves? I don’t know. Will positive thinking help us live longer? I don’t know that either.

But optimism – even in the face of great tragedy – serves us better than bitterness and regret. Optimists don’t ignore life’s ugly turns; in fact, they’re often the people you see in the trenches offering aid. Their ability to see past tragedy is a survival tool that empowers them.

Give it a try.

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