For a decade, books were a constant companion in my life, a perpetual project on the go. Then, a strange stillness settled in – for the first time in ten years, I found myself without a book in progress. This wasn’t a comfortable void, and it was quickly filled, but it did highlight a long-standing relationship with one particular read: “Learned Optimism” by Martin Seligman. Non-fiction can be a slow burn for me, and this book was no exception. Picked up, put down, revisited over years – almost a decade, in fact. Yet, a persistent optimism, ironically, kept me coming back, and finally, it’s done. Just in time too, as recent work stresses have been, shall we say, intense. Perhaps Seligman was onto something when he noted accounting amongst professions where a touch of pessimism is actually beneficial. It certainly resonates.
But let’s be clear, “never give up” isn’t the overarching message here. “Learned Optimism” isn’t about blind positivity. It acknowledges the necessary role of pessimism, advocating instead for a flexible approach. As the book eloquently puts it:
Optimism’s benefits are not unbounded. Pessimism has a role to play both in society at large and in our own lives; we must have the courage to endure pessimism when its perspective is valuable. What we want is not blind optimism but flexible optimism – optimism with its eyes open. We must be able to use pessimism’s keen sense of reality when we need it, but without having to dwell in its dark shadows.
Those “dark shadows” of pessimism? I know them intimately. For years, that’s where I resided, and it was a near-fatal residence. But here’s a crucial takeaway, something “Learned Optimism” emphasizes: nothing is permanent. Even the deepest despair is temporary. Suicide, conversely, is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Pessimism is my default setting, my ingrained operating system. Yet, I stand here as living proof that optimism can be learned. The principles outlined in this book? They work. My journey to optimism predates this book, a path walked for ten to fifteen years with varying success. But Seligman’s work beautifully consolidates and reinforces everything I’ve come to believe. Change demands effort, consistent practice, but unlike fleeting diets, learned optimism, once embraced, is remarkably sustainable. Think of it as an optimism “muscle.” Regular use strengthens it, muscle memory kicks in, and positivity becomes an ingrained habit.
This isn’t about painting a falsely idyllic picture of life, devoid of hardship. Life will inevitably throw curveballs. It’s about being better equipped to handle those inevitable adversities. “Learned Optimism” teaches you to navigate life’s inevitable pain without succumbing to optional suffering. It’s not about suppressing negative emotions – anger, sadness, they’re all part of the human experience. It’s about refusing to wallow, to let them spiral into debilitating depression. Progress, not perfection, is the aim.
This isn’t theoretical for me; it’s deeply personal. Two decades ago, “severely depressed” would have been an accurate, though perhaps undiagnosed, descriptor. Reality was distorted, joy nonexistent. Rage and despair were the only emotions readily available. I was functioning, but detached, a mere automaton. Concern from friends, their tearful pleas and unexpected words of support, were met with my utter incomprehension. What were these “silly ninnies” so upset about? It took the persistent concern of one to finally push me back to my old therapist. Relaying my state with chilling detachment, I saw genuine fear etched on his face – fear for me. Mentioning the lapse in medication due to financial constraints and lack of insurance sparked immediate action. A flurry of calls, and suddenly, a six-month supply of medication appeared, free of charge. Connections were made, and a new therapist in my new town was arranged. Confusion gave way to a flicker of something unfamiliar: gratitude. Someone cared. That nascent emotion, fleeting as it was, pierced through the wall I had erected.
But I’m jumping ahead. Before that breakthrough, life was an unending, bleak “now,” devoid of hope for improvement.
Each morning began with a crushing thought: “Still here.” A grim acknowledgment that the nightly cocktail of alcohol and sleeping pills had failed its secret mission. Driving became a daily prayer for a fatal accident, a desperate yearning for oblivion without the perceived courage for self-harm. I knew the cold taste of a gun barrel. (Those brushes with the abyss were interrupted by unexpected interventions, but those are stories for another, perhaps more spiritual, conversation). The point is, depression was my reality, but it no longer defines me. Medication was instrumental in the initial climb back to level ground, providing a foothold to begin rebuilding. Now, over eleven years medication-free, I rely on learned techniques, many of which are illuminated in “Learned Optimism.”
Shaking off pessimism is a gradual ascent, each step becoming incrementally easier. A decade ago, in August 2014, I took the depression test included in the book. A score of 46 out of 60 placed me squarely in the “severely depressed” range, even after I had started my journey towards recovery. The thought of my potential score during my rock bottom in 2003 is chilling.
I haven’t retaken the test, nor do I intend to. But I’m confident the score would be drastically different now, a testament to the power of learned optimism. The most impactful lesson for me? The impermanence of everything. “This too shall pass.” It always has. For years, this has been my mantra, and I’m still often surprised by my knee-jerk reaction to adversity: seeking the positive, finding gratitude. A complete 180 from my former self. It might not be instantaneous, but I get there quickly. To quote Winston Churchill:
It boils down to changing the internal dialogue, interrupting negativity. Simple in concept, undeniably challenging in practice. Once, during a particularly harsh self-criticism session, my roommate bluntly stated, “If you ever spoke to me like that, I’d kick your ass.” That stuck. Now, such self-directed negativity feels like fighting words. I’ve always been my harshest critic, a trait even childhood friends noticed and called out. Humorously self-deprecating, I thought. They saw self-destruction. Pessimism is insidious, so deeply ingrained that the pessimist often argues against its very identification.
Now, I unintentionally find myself playing Pollyanna’s “glad game,” making lemonade from life’s lemons. It was my survival strategy through 2020. Lemonade fatigue was real, and moments of frustration were inevitable, but I refused to stay mired in problems. Action, problem-solving, moving forward – that became the pattern. Challenges might resurface, triggering fresh frustration, but it was addressed in the present, not compounded by yesterday’s burdens. A stark contrast to stewing in misery, a shift made possible by embracing optimism. External realities remain unchanged, but my internal approach, my way of navigating them, is profoundly different, and infinitely preferable.
Sometimes, the most effective tool is simply telling that internal “Freddy the mind-fucker” to, well, fuck off.
And often, he obliges, at least temporarily. He’ll return, days or weeks later, but increasingly, the banishment is effective. And when it’s not, there’s a whole arsenal of other techniques at my disposal, many learned from the “Learned Optimism Book.”
Another key realization, echoed in Seligman’s work, is the relative rarity of true clinical depression stemming from a permanent chemical imbalance. Medication was my initial lifeline, providing crucial support to gain footing. But sustainable well-being came from adopting a new way of living, a new mindset. Medication didn’t erase life’s challenges, but it created the space to begin addressing them, to eventually navigate life on its terms, medication-free. Often, what feels like depression is simply the body’s сигнal for basic needs: movement, nourishment. A short walk, a healthy snack – surprisingly often, that’s enough to overcome the initial inertia. Not a miraculous cure, but a subtle mood lift, a step in the right direction, leading to the next, and the next.
But enough about me, let’s circle back to the book itself. “Learned Optimism” is structured in three parts. The first section delves into the problem of pessimism, its prevalence and impact. The second explores Seligman’s research and the scientific basis of learned optimism, detailing the tests and findings that underpin his approach. The third, and most crucial, section offers solutions, practical strategies for cultivating optimism. What stands out is Seligman’s scientific humility. He openly discusses research setbacks, acknowledging what doesn’t work alongside what does. He embodies the true spirit of a scientist: driven by the pursuit of truth, accepting the findings, not manipulating data to fit preconceived notions – a refreshing rarity in today’s landscape.
The final chapter resonated deeply, exploring the modern “depression epidemic” and the historical shift from relative rarity to widespread prevalence. Ironically, Seligman points to the modern hyper-focus on self as a contributing factor. (My lengthy, self-centric review perhaps inadvertently illustrates this point. Old habits die hard, I’m still a work in progress.) Coupled with this inward focus is the weakening of societal bonds, the diminished commitment to larger collective entities like nation, family, and faith. The rise of individualism and the decline of community, intertwined trends accelerating since the 1950s, are, according to Seligman, contributing to our current mental health crisis. It’s a song I’ve been singing for 15 years, and “Learned Optimism,” written in the late 80s, anticipated these trends. I’m left wondering Seligman’s perspective on the internet, smartphones, and social media’s amplified role in this problem. (Personally, disconnecting from Goodreads and social media altogether crosses my mind for mental well-being reasons, but it also serves as part of my writing outlet, so for now, I remain. Thankfully, I’ve resisted the smartphone siren call, for now.)
Ultimately, if you’re willing to invest effort in reshaping your approach to life, “Learned Optimism” provides a powerful roadmap. A committed pessimist might dismiss its principles outright, but I challenge anyone to genuinely engage with the book’s suggestions and not experience positive change. Give “Learned Optimism” a shot and witness the transformation.
