Tragic Optimism in Heated Times
a practice of defiance and drawing the line(s)
Notes from the Inflection Point explores ways to process and express climate-related emotions like love and fear together. With a voice dedicated to seeing things afresh, again, and with agency, we offer readers reflections most Thursdays.
This past week, “u/LemonyFresh108” shared these inquiries in a r/CollapseSupport post called “writing this made me feel a little better, so I thought I'd share it”:
What is it that I want to express? The despair, the hopelessness, the longing? Despondent and paralytic heavy, indecisive, directionlessness as a result of seeing everything through the lens of ecological despair? […]
What the fuck is wrong with us that we don't feel the weight of despair and grief that the death cult so casually doles out to the most vulnerable and helpless among us?
While I’m not sure which country this author writes from, I’ve thought a lot about the US idea of a “manifest destiny” the past few months.
This 19th century concept was a swirl of selectively applied Judeo Christian morality and American exceptionalism. Andrew Jackson, a president often name-checked today, used the idea for “extending the area of freedom” further into the west.
Even at the time, this meant the genocide of some populations, enslavement of others, erasure and subjugation of yet others. But now, in our shared planetary predicament, it’s clear whatever destined “freedoms” we manifest will only ever be temporary. There are limits to growth.
Still, things are not yet over. Knowing a conclusion is coming doesn’t mean we should stop writing and including a broader cast of collaborators and characters (like bonsai trees).
While legendary climate activist David Suzuki recently stated “it’s too late” for adaptation—specifically naming this accelerationist US administration—he also aspires toward a peaceful revolution in the near future.
I’m not giving up on the immediate years, but the focus on politics, economics, and law are all destined to fail […] They’re designed to guide humans, but we’ve left out the foundation of our existence, which is nature, clean air, pure water, rich soil, food, and sunlight. […] when we construct legal, economic and political systems, they have to be built around protecting those very things, but they’re not.
Whether hunkering down or peacefully readying ourselves for what’s ahead, I don’t think hope is the operative sentiment.
I offer something else.
Tragic Optimism
Choice lies between positivity and pessimism. Presence helps us notice it.
Dedication to the present moment is why I tend to side-eye calls for “hope.” Hope lives out there, somewhere not-yet-here. Hope tends to stay in the abstract realm, unless paired with the material difficulties of living in today’s world. Compartmentalized positivity is not positivity, it’s disassociation.
Meanwhile, understanding even a fraction of what this globe is experiencing is enough to make anyone pessimistic. That’s what leads to doomscrolling and a whole lot of inaction. There must be a middle way.
Recalling the rain of ash that fell on him as he labored in a concentration camp, one might forgive Viktor Frankl’s struggle to “just be positive.” Instead, in Man’s Search for Meaning, he wrote of “tragic optimism.”
This perspective claims the benefits of positive thinking because it maintains agency while acknowledging material constraints. By being more present with what is materially happening, one has a greater palette of responses.
Consider how the people of Los Angeles responded to January's ember storms—not with abstract hope, but with a clear eye on the present moment. The aid and rapid response networks that persist in this great, imperfect, stolen, militarized home of ours embody what tragic optimism looks like in practice.
Not engaging with the difficulties of life means we lose opportunities to grow, learn, bump up against our weirdnesses. Navigating this arc—regardless if its a scale of 1 or 8 billion—defines our character and constitution.
In a lecture on Rilke, philosopher Thomas Merton invited reflection:
how am I going to make my life, which is a struggle, a coherent struggle, instead of an incoherent struggle? And this is extremely important. […] It is most important not just to have a bunch of answers up here [taps head] but to struggle. Life is a struggle. To struggle in such a way such that the struggle is not totally wasted.
Lou and I started this because we’re not sure what to do. But we both agree: the act of writing is powerful. Even the Redditor acknowledged writing as a coping mechanism, a means to vent and process.
Pen, paper, and word processor pixels allow me to articulate, externalize, examine and imagine my emotional reactions and affective responses. It is a matter of small-scale narrative change.
More: it can be a matter of defiance.
On Defiance and Reversals
A reminder that we can still have agency, even within a structure with a clear conclusion.
When we practice agency within constrained systems (like games), we build the muscle memory for agency within material ones.
Games are training wheels, technologies of engagement and abstraction. Game rules and systems are not unlike governance, not unlike the rules of biomes—this affects this, affects this, for this reason, and to this effect.
Play is a discipline of returning to an arbitrary set of rules (whether a game or cooking with a recipe or dance choreography) because we want to commune and do. I believe play can be a foundation for organizing playdates of all ages that turn into mutual aid networks, school board campaigns, and neighborhood resilience hubs. Or, on a scale no less important, deepening friendship with others and oneself.
Journaling games—a genre I’ve written about previously in relation to climate grief—offer a beautiful hybrid of constraint and narrative freedom.
Sam Leigh’s journaling game Death of the Author provides structure to respond to situations you didn’t choose. Played with a tarot deck and word processor or, my preference, fountain pen and paper, the game is divided into a set-up and then five “chapters” that move from prologue to resolution. Each chapter is played in three scenes. These are three cards drawn, each orientation representing a different prompt.
Throughout, characters negotiate agency against seemingly overwhelming authorial control. Players experience the tension between conditioning and choice. And this is where defiance and reversals come in, of which every player has exactly one use per chapter.
Reversals: you choose to flip the tarot card to receive the other prompt.
Defiance: Leigh has underlined details of each prompt. To defy rote responses, replace the underlined bits with whatever you want.
Enough structure to constrain and enough agency to defy can build confidence for real-world habit-changing. And there’s no shame in needing practice. Tragic optimism isn’t easy.
In a recent black and brown interfaith meeting wherein we named why we were organizing for an economic justice event, I said,
Well, plus one to everything everyone has said so far. I guess I’ll just name the biggest thing that hasn’t been said yet: our planet. I’m honestly scared of what’s happening.
I might as well have said I wanted to kick crosses and burn cans. Oof how that landed. Is climate change not affecting black and brown people first, with strong correlation to issues of economic injustice? At the same time, yeah, okay. Let’s just call it a real life “reversal” and move on.
Compassion and presence are tools I’m trying to hone. A refrain like LemonyFresh108’s that asks us what’s wrong with us can belong alongside the answer, “nothing.” It takes discipline and defiance that, I confess, I don’t always have. It helps to meditate, write, and practice with tools that invite creative agency.
Individual narrative change becomes collective power when we share our stories and take time to receive those of others. July’s Creative Coalition is for anyone who wants to write and share together. Seeing how others respond to the same prompts with creativity and innovation shows how we can still find curiosity and wonder in the simplest of things. If you’ve read this far, I’d love to meet you!
That said, Death of the Author ($10) was designed to be played alone. If you do, you might take breaks outside—breathing in this hot air, feeling the sun or summer night reprieve, remembering what connects the written words on your page and the wider world is your embodied doing.
Creative Coalition: July 13, 20, 27 4-5:30 PT
Defy the script via Death of the Author in a mindful, exploratory container.
Over three Sundays in July, the Creative Coalition will center Sam Leigh’s Death of the Author, interfacing with who gets to control the narrative and how meaning is made.
No “gaming” or meditation experience is required. You do not need to buy anything in advance but it’s always nice to support cool creators like Sam.
Three 90-minute sessions combining meditation, writing, and sharing (encouraged, not required). Every session closes with a debrief, reflecting on what came up during practice.
6 spots only.
Base Rate: $45
Readers may use code: “Hive50” for 50% off.
If you’re curious but cash-strapped, email for a “pay what you can, even if it’s $0” link.
▶️ Sign up here!
But before that…
Draw the Line(s): July 10, 10-11:15 PT
A playful, creative gathering to draw lines together and reflect on the experience.
I’m excited to be supporting
for this free event. Hanna writes , a publication for humans who think in spirals and constellations, not straight lines.As a late-discovered AuDHDer (ADHD + autistic), deep thinker, and someone who believes we are all whole and resourceful, she offers practices that help others connect with themselves and their communities with curiosity and compassion.
All ages welcome! Just bring any kind of pen (I’ll be bringing my fountain pens) and any kind of paper.
Agenda:
Intro (5 mins)
Meditation (10-15 mins) 👈 That’s me! Beginner-friendly. Just the tiniest bit of woo because, especially these days, I like to close with lovingkindness.
Demonstration (10 mins)
3 rounds of drawing, reflecting, and (optional) sharing (45 mins).
🖋️ Sign up here!
Bio
Logan Juliano, PhD (they/them) is a queer, transracial adoptee, lecturer at UCLA, and everyperson at Light Hive, a newsletter that explores how dharma-inspired mindfulness can help navigate identity and crisis. They hold a PhD in Performance Studies and today they are grateful for all their dharma teachers along the way.