The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails. William Arthur Ward
The idealist sees the wind as an integral part of existence. And the curmudgeon simply blames the ills of the world on the wind.
Optimism is about hope and rests in the individual’s belief that a good outcome is more likely than a terrible one. Idealism is about ideas that create a vision of the world as it should, or could be, if we uphold our beliefs that the best in humanity is worth striving for. The realists see the world as it is and acts in accordance with what is most likely possible. Realism does not play into the notion that one can hope for better outcomes in the face of actuality. Curmudgeonism (if there’s such a word) is about the bleakest outcome even in the face of enormous possibility.
This is not, however a philosophical discussion of the rightness or wrongness of these states of being. It’s about what I fear is my journey from shiny idealist to something akin to a curmudgeon. (Although technically speaking a curmudgeon is a crusty, ill-tempered old man and the word termagant is more often used to describe a cranky old woman.)
I have always been something of an idealist, and not necessarily a blind optimist. I have elements of the pessimist and definitely characteristics of the realist. Many years as a teacher has ensured that. But I don’t think I’ve ever embodied curmudgeonliness but perhaps the world is bewildering enough to sharpen my anger/complaining/disbelief/cantankerousness/ irascibility traits. I think I’m almost losing my belief in the goodness of people. The world seems to be at odds with the idealist. It is getting harder to uphold the noble-mindedness of ‘we are all in this together’.
So why the journey from one state to the next? Helpful husband suggests it’s a natural progression when you get old. He’s had a fair old go at grumpiness on the odd occasion and has spent a lifetime telling me that I expect too much of people! In fairness I think he has tried to toughen me up to help me deal with hurt and disappointment when people don’t live up to my ideals. The world can be very hard on idealists, there is a lot of disillusionment. So why now has the meanness stung so deeply? (It can’t surely just be age). I have a couple of theories.
One: the perceived increase in crime and general rage. I say perceived increase in crime because the crime rates have changed over the past 20 years or so. Homicide rates have declined as have armed robbery events, but aggravated assaults have increased particularly in the 10–17-year age group. Sexual assaults across the country have also seen an escalation with 2 in 5 homicides being the result of domestic violence. (Australian Bureau of Statistics (2023), Recorded Crime - Victims, ABS Website, accessed 2 September 2024.) Knife violence in major cities, particularly the tragic loss of life in April this year, the murder of a Sydney paramedic and numerous other heinous and senseless crimes involving knives further contribute to a sense of our decline as a species. The solution to the problems seemingly beyond us as a community to find. Tougher penalties and punishments are not always the answer. The curmudgeon I’m in danger of becoming says yes to stronger measures. The idealist keeps holding on to more proactive interventions and better education to reduce the impact of mental illness, social isolation and lack of achievement. Hence reducing the rage in our community. The realist says humans are violent, times are tough, people come out swinging when they are disenfranchised.
Add to this, wars in Gaza and the Ukraine, the silencing of Afghani women, the rise of right-wing fanaticism and the revolting sexism and narcissism of the American political scene. Hard to keep the flag of idealism flying.
But crime is only one theory as to why I’m crankier.
Two: I wondered if my recent retirement from the classroom has had something to do with it? Some might think not dealing with teenagers would have been a blessed relief. I see it differently. No matter the complexities of schools and teenage behaviour working with young people is generally very good for one’s sense of optimism and idealism. Every day, as a teacher, you are surrounded by the raw hope and potential for great things. Most kids don’t approach life with a sense of doom (no matter what they might say or do). They embody the anticipation and promise of extraordinary possibilities. They are the unwrapped package that carries the hope for a better world. I miss that. Now I’m allegedly in cranky land I see too many kids skiving around the town when they should be in the classroom. All that wasted opportunity makes me want to wind down the window and shout ‘get back to school’. Husband discourages such actions.
Three: Maybe we naturally have to take on the role of curmudgeon. Perhaps it is the nature of things. Afterall what young people want to see the post 50-year-olds and older gleefully embracing their freedom in the last hurray. What teenager wants to see old people finding joy in the rapid change of their society? Who wants the sage like acceptance of economic downturns, road rage, social violence and the rest? They don’t. They want us to be old and cranky so they can say I won’t be like that when I get old. They want the balance to be implicit…young hopeful…old cantankerous.
So, have I completed the journey? I don’t think so. Sorry to disappoint. But I’ve lived too many years at the idealist end of the spectrum. I like the idea of potentiality. I want to feel that something wonderful is just within reach even when times are tough. Even when people do unthinkable things I feel their must be a shard of hope that we can right the ship. I’m not saying I won’t roll my eyes and sigh deeply and do the teacher face of perpetual bewilderment but I’m not ready to fully embrace the role of shrew and harridan. I may never be ready. Too much to do, many changes to embrace, so many words to write and people to meet and places to see.
Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.
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