Now we arrive at the Everest of optimistic declarations, the truly audacious summit of the Optimist’s Creed: “To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.” One might be forgiven for reading this and immediately concluding that the authors were either enlightened beings, or perhaps, simply hadn’t checked the news lately. Because, let’s be brutally honest, being “too large for worry” sounds less like a human possibility and more like a highly evolved celestial being’s vacation plans. And “too happy to permit the presence of trouble”? My dear friends, trouble often appears quite uninvited, regardless of one’s emotional state, usually bringing its own dreadful canapés.
Now, before we collectively sigh at the sheer, glorious impossibility of such a state, let’s acknowledge that this tenant isn’t a literal instruction for emotional lobotomy. It’s not suggesting we become devoid of the very human experiences that often, ironically, make us capable of empathy and growth. To never worry, never feel anger, never experience fear—that would make us less human, not more. Such a state would likely resemble a very expensive, extremely calm, but ultimately rather uninteresting piece of furniture.
It’s a grand, almost poetic, challenge to cultivate such profound internal resilience, such an expansive sense of self, and such a deeply ingrained core of optimism, that the inevitable trials and tribulations of life merely brush against you, rather than burrowing into your very being.
What this tenant actually dares us to do is to transcend our visceral reactions. It’s a profound call to agency over our internal landscapes, even when the external world is doing its absolute best to ignite a dumpster fire in our souls. “Too large for worry” doesn’t mean worry never knocks; it means your internal architecture is built on such a scale that worry, when it arrives, finds itself merely a small, buzzing fly in a grand cathedral. You acknowledge its presence, perhaps swat at it, but it doesn’t consume the entire space. It’s about cultivating perspective, about recognizing that most anxieties are, in the grand scheme of things, rather puny.
“Too noble for anger” isn’t about passive acceptance of injustice. It’s about channeling righteous indignation into constructive action, rather than allowing it to fester into corrosive resentment. It’s the difference between a controlled burn that clears brush and a wild conflagration that destroys everything in its path. True nobility, in this sense, isn’t the absence of passion, but the disciplined direction of it.
And “too strong for fear”? Ah, fear, that ancient, reptilian part of our brain that often takes over the control panel. This isn’t about being fearless; it’s about being courageous in the face of fear. It means acknowledging the tremor in your hands or the knot in your stomach, and then, with a profound act of will, choosing to proceed anyway. Strength here is not an absence of vulnerability, but the unwavering commitment to move forward despite it. It’s the inner grit that knows fear is a signal, not a stop sign.
Finally, “too happy to permit the presence of trouble.” This is perhaps the most deliciously optimistic, and subtly self-deprecating, line. It knows that trouble will appear. But it suggests a happiness so robust, so deeply rooted, that trouble, upon arrival, finds no purchase. It’s like pouring water on a hot pan – it sizzles, steams, and then evaporates, leaving the pan (your core happiness) relatively unharmed. It’s about finding such profound internal contentment that external disruptions are processed, managed, and then released, rather than allowed to take root and propagate. It acknowledges the trouble, deals with it, and then dismisses it from its metaphorical living room.
Ultimately, this tenant isn’t a demand for a superhuman, emotionless state. It’s a grand, almost poetic, challenge to cultivate such profound internal resilience, such an expansive sense of self, and such a deeply ingrained core of optimism, that the inevitable trials and tribulations of life merely brush against you, rather than burrowing into your very being. It’s about striving for an emotional mastery that allows you to engage with the world’s chaos, learn from its lessons, and still return to a state of equilibrium. And honestly, isn’t that a far more interesting aspiration than simply avoiding all uncomfortable feelings?
What single emotion do you find most challenging to be “too large” or “too strong” for in your own journey?
Justin Lockridge 
Leave a comment