I had a nightmare the other night.

I went to a restaurant that was so crowded that they set us up in the kitchen. Only half the patrons were wearing masks. And the scariest part? My mask kept disappearing.

It’s funny how quickly the initially strange and asinine become commonplace. Almost six months into this pandemic and the idea of leaving home without a mask, hugging a friend, or shaking a hand seems completely alien.

When I was living in Chile, I didn’t really speak much Spanish. I remember telling a story to some American friends about the Seattle ferry system and the time I accidentally ended up stranded on Vashon Island. After we all had a laugh, I felt confused: how did I get off that island and back home? How on earth was I able to communicate my predicament and figure out the next steps when I didn’t even know the word ‘ferry’ in Spanish?

Oh right…they speak English in Seattle. I had grown so accustomed to living in a world where I could barely communicate that I forgot what it was like to exist in an English-speaking world.

It feels like that these days, like I’m bumbling along in a world that doesn’t make perfect sense to me. There’s so much that I don’t understand: the science of COVID and its indiscriminate nature, the deepening political divisions in a time we should be coming together, the senselessness of violence and hatred.

But while living in a confusing Spanish-speaking world was novel, this world of divide and hurt and risk is scary. Chile had rules and order, even if I didn’t understand them. I could learn the language and the culture, but every time I learn something in this new world, it seems like the rules have already changed.

Despite a carefully crafted shroud of cynicism that I wear in the form of glib sarcasm, I’m truly an optimist at heart. I so desperately want to see the good in people and I always, always assume best intentions, even among those I heartily disagree with. My belief in people has always been positive and unwavering.

These times, though, of social uprising and a politicized pandemic, are testing that belief. I don’t know if I truly believe that the vast majority of people care deeply for their neighbors and countrymen. How can I, when by all accounts, a nationwide testing strategy was abandoned when it looked like there could be a political advantage to doing nothing? Or when family blocks family on Facebook over political views?

Needless to say, I’m having a time right now. Not the best time. I’m back to commuting to work and I listen to the radio on the way in. Here are my top worst stories:

• The economy has shriveled.
• We may be too far gone to fix on the pandemic front.
• There are exactly zero good options on getting back into schools.
• Washington has paused all of our reopening and even scaled back.
• Our fascist-in-chief floated delaying the election because of the myth of voter fraud.
• Federal troops are withdrawing from Portland…and are being sent into other cities.

It’s just a shitty time to be an optimist.

The other day, I posted this on Facebook:

I was honestly surprised when I started getting comments. People are back to enjoying nature. They’re spending time with their loves. They’re getting in shape and starting businesses and buying homes.

Life, in all its beauty, is still going on.

And that made me think: what do I have to celebrate? So I started to list it and was quickly reminded of what it is that makes me an optimist: even in the darkest days, there’s so much light to hang onto.

A healthy, growing, happy baby who is nearing eight months old. His smile lights up even the hardest days. You try being upset with that tiny face smiling up at you.

Celebrating five amazing years of marriage with the guy who still makes me belly laugh, listens to me and gives feedback as I work out plot points, and who always gets me a glass of ice water.

Speaking and standing up for myself, my role, and my value at work – and staying gainfully employed throughout this whole thing.

My amazing husband graduated from his Master’s degree program and is starting as a real-life teacher in September.

I found a skincare routine that leaves me glowing and I’ve totally given up foundation and powder. Add to that a fancy haircut and color, and some new clothes and I am feeling myself (even if I desperately wish I could start getting back into the gym.)

My family is, so far, safe and unharmed from the virus.

And I FINISHED THE SECOND DRAFT OF MY NOVEL.

So I guess that leaves me here, in month eight of the weirdest year on record. The world is burning, and while there are days where I’m tempted to give up, I’ll don this shroud of optimism and cling to those things that leave me happy. Because you know what? There’s still a lot of fucking good out there.