I’ve always loved Jim Collins’ book Good to Great. There is a story in it that has stayed with me. Admiral James Stockdale spent more than seven years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam. When asked which prisoners had failed to make it home, Stockdale reportedly replied: “The optimists.”
As the story is often told, these were the men who kept saying, “We’ll be out by Christmas.” Christmas came and went. Then they told themselves, “We’ll be out by Easter.” Easter came and went too. According to the account, some became overwhelmed by despair.
It’s a powerful story, although it should be treated as Stockdale’s recollection rather than as proof that optimistic people were less likely to survive. I don’t think optimism was the problem. I think attachment was, not hope itself, but hope attached too tightly to a particular date, outcome or version of the future.
They didn’t simply believe that life could get better. They attached that belief to a particular date, a particular outcome and a particular version of the future. When reality refused to follow their hopes it began to collapse.
There are different kinds of optimism. Blind optimism says, “Everything will work out exactly the way I want it to.” It ignores reality, tries to control the uncontrollable and clings to a future that exists only in the imagination. Every time life refuses to cooperate, your heart breaks a little.
Grounded optimism sounds very different. It says, “I don’t know when this will end. I don’t know exactly how this will unfold. I may not get the outcome I hoped for. But I trust that I will find a way to meet what comes.” Grounded optimism does not deny reality. It faces reality squarely while refusing to let reality extinguish hope. It doesn’t demand certainty before choosing courage or insist that life follows a particular timeline. It says, “I cannot control what happens next, but I can choose how I show up.”
That feels close to the heart of Stoic philosophy. Focus your energy on what is within your control. Release what is not. Meet life as it is, without surrendering your capacity to respond with courage, creativity and humanity. Something many of us are being asked to do right now.
Whether you’re building a business, raising children, navigating grief, loving someone or pursuing an impossible dream, life rarely unfolds according to your preferred timeline.
Disappointment, anger, sadness and frustration are unavoidable, but suffering can deepen when your peace depends on controlling something you were never able to control in the first place
Some people become miserable long term when a relationship fails. Or when their business struggles due to economic forces. Or when the adventure falls through because of cancelled flights.
When hope is attached to a specific, uncontrollable thing, every setback begins to feel like evidence that hope was foolish. But when hope is attached to who we choose to be, rather than what we need to happen, it becomes much harder to extinguish.
As an eternal optimist, I have enormous hope for humanity. I have hope for the way we treat one another and for the kind of future we might create together. But I’m also learning that if I attach my happiness to the behaviour of other people, I will spend much of my life disappointed. I cannot control whether other people choose kindness, but I can choose kindness. I cannot control whether the world becomes more courageous, but I can practise courage. I cannot guarantee that everything will turn out the way I imagine, but I can remain curious, loving and awake as it unfolds.
The strongest form of optimism is believing that even when things don’t work out, we will find a way to show up curiously, courageously and kindly.