I know a woman who calls herself a bright-sider.  Okay, technically, I don’t know her.  We’re “friends on Facebook”, but she’s the sister-in-law of a person whom I do know and who is my friend.  That connection suffices for the category of “acquaintance” these days, and I’m claiming it.

This woman —  let’s call her “Karen” — tries to see the positive aspect of daily life.  “Karen” (okay, her name really is Karen) posts encouraging quotes and comments, and calls on others to do so.  I want to meet her, and we arranged to do so once, but one or the other of us got sick.  But Karen seems to live a true bright-sider life, from what I can see, and so I have drawn her into my attempts to do likewise.

When life overwhelms me, I call upon Karen in the virtual world or in my heart.  “I need a BRIGHT-SIDER!” I’ll shout, in a comment posted on Facebook.  I tag her.  She invariably responds.  If I can’t reach someone in the “real world” — by phone, in person, by text, by any of the thousand ways we reach each  other these days — somehow seeing Karen’s often instantaneous response to my call for encouragement cheers me.  When I’m in a hopeful mood, I do the same thing:  “BRIGHT-SIDERS UNITE!”  I’ll post, along with mention of what has prompted me to smile in that moment.  I tag Karen, and in a few minutes, I’ll see her validation of my positive attitude.

I’m not sure I would go so far as to say that I’ve always been a “bright-sider”.  But I’m stubborn.  As with many stubborn folks, I often let go of situations long after others would find it prudent to do so.  This tendency applies to everything:  Clothing, cats, relationships, jobs, ideas.  I’ll try anything to succeed — or at least, anything that occurs to me, that I’m not afraid of trying, or the fear of which I can conquer.

I once tried a case in front of a bankruptcy judge who opened the hearing by saying, “Ms. Corley, I don’t like your client, I don’t like your boss, I don’t like your law firm, and I don’t know you, but I daresay, I won’t like you either.”  I promptly moved to disqualify her, which motion she denied.  I asked for a stay to go seek a writ to prevent her from presiding over the case, and she denied that too.  I pointed out that her comment showed bias, and she said, “What comment?”  She turned to her court reporter and said, “Did you hear a comment?”  He shook his head.   The only other people in the room were myself, my client, and my opposing counsel and his client.  I had no recourse but to proceed.

At one point in the hearing, I asked a witness about medication he took which could impair his memory.  The other side objected and the Court sustained the objection.  I asked to be heard and stated my case.  She let me ask what medication he took and when he answered, she said, “I’ve taken that medication and it didn’t impair my memory.”  She ordered the testimony stricken.  I stood in front of the bench and felt the fury rise.  I said to her, as calmly as I could, that the witness was slightly built, where as she was rather hefty, and perhaps the medication didn’t impact her ability to recall because her body absorbed it more easily.  She glared at me, silent but clearly angry.  Then I asked leave to question the witness further and to leave the testimony in the record.  No sound filled the courtroom for a full two minutes.  (Stay silent for two minutes; it’s a long time.)

Finally, she leaned back in her chair and said, “Okay, that could happen.  You may proceed.”

I think even my opposing counsel released a long-held breath.

So believe me when I tell you, I’m not afraid to beat a horse just in case it isn’t really dead.  And I’m not afraid to confront a dark cloud and command it to show its silver lining.

Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend and had an asthma attack in the restaurant.  That asthma attack lasted most of the day. I struggled to move through each moment. I used my inhaler as often as I dared.  I slowed my heart rate, meditated, did some yoga stretches. I could not overcome the sensation of drowning.

Before I went to sleep, I posted a comment on Facebook about trying to see the bright side of having an all-day asthma attack.  I didn’t hear from Karen, but my friend Stacey in St. Louis said, “At least you’re still breathing!”  Well, good point, Stacey.

At least I’m still breathing.  And still — this morning, with the pounding in my chest finally abated — looking for the bright side.