What, Me Worry?

At my core, I am an optimist.

In a month, I will be thirty-six years old. In two months, I will be a father. Sometime this summer, Rachel and I have to decide if we will remain in Korea for a third year, move to another country where she teaches ESL and I play stay-at-home dad, or return to the U.S. It's a lot to consider in a short span of time.

Maybe we'll stay in Korea and watch as the Republicans steal another election and the United States begins continues to disintegrate under the heel of corporate political influence. Maybe the Democrats will win and, emboldened by a perception of weakness in America, terrorists will strike again and again within our borders. Maybe a third-party candidate will rise from the stink of Nader's failure to... ha-ha, just kidding.

At my core, I am an optimist. I have read too much science fiction to be anything else. Asimov's Foundation and the 30,000 year sweep of psychohistory, Roddenberry's Federation of Planets, Heinlein's long-lived residents of Tertius led by Lazarus Long: these are the shining examples of mankind's destiny where the only problems are The Mule, the Trouble with Tribbles, and finding Time Enough for Love.

The smudge on my rose-colored glasses can be found in other science-fiction: 1984 and Fahrenheit 451 are the two best known examples of Dystopian futures. There are thousands more in short story and novel forms. All carry a central message: man will destroy himself. For all the invasions from Mars, killer comets, solar events, for every galactic calamity to befall the Earth, there is always a character who sells out the human race on some scale, large or small, for personal and usual temporary gain.

I say again: at my core, I am an optimist. But, I am disappointed in people. I see the potential in our human race. I see the wonder-filled futures our greatest minds have imagined. And I see us pissing it all away... just in time for my boy to grow up in a world that has failed.