Gannon Knight Perspective

     As a child, I had an aversion to balloons. I wouldn’t call it a “fear” or a “dislike” – those words are too strong. I certainly wasn’t against or afraid of the happy, airborne orbs – after all, to a kid, nothing’s more fun than a rousing game of “keep-it-up.”
     I was just wary of the inflatable playthings. I never trusted them. Why? Because, even in my 7-year-old mind, I had a full understanding that balloons never ended well.
     Balloons would pop. Or, they’d bust free from the ribbon tied so tightly to my wrist and take off into a cloudless sky, where I’d watch them slowly disappear as my eyes filled with tears from both my loss and from staring into the sun.
     Perhaps the most agonizing balloon death, though, was when they’d slowly deflate until nothing was left but a saggy lump of shriveled latex in the corner.
     At that point, they don’t really float – they just sort of sadly half-suspend themselves in the air, dejectedly awaiting their eternal fate in the landfill.
     What were once cheerful decorations gradually became bleak reminders that Brandon’s or Lizzy’s or Katie’s birthday party occurred a full five days ago, and now it’s back to the grind of diagramming sentences and practicing long division.
     Yeah. I never trusted balloons.
     I hesitate to celebrate anything too quickly these days. Inevitably, a fun Saturday night out is followed by a

stressful Sunday chock-full of last-minute studying – or, let’s be honest, a painful Sunday with an agenda of drinking Gatorade and watching reruns of “What Not to Wear.”
     Similarly, collapsing into the world’s most perfect nap is all-too-easily interrupted by a barking dog, screeching car or a fire alarm.
     That’s just the way things work – it’s life’s peculiar way of maintaining equilibrium in the world. Studying piles up. Hangovers happen. And – though I love ‘em – those crazy mutts have a way of opening their yaps during my designated napping time between classes.
     This leads to the most earth-shaking question of all: why do we even bother? If every good event is seemingly followed by a second-rate one, what’s the point?
     In short – why do we spend all this time blowing up balloons if we know they’ll just deflate, anyway?
Well, I’ve hereby reached it: the mysterious boundary that divides the optimists and pessimists of the world.
     I’ve done a good amount of dancing along that line – I do have to give in to the cynical journo stereotype from time to time, after all – but at the end of the day, I’ll opt to spend my time on the optimists’ side, and not just because the company is more amicable.
     When it comes down to it, I’ve found I really do believe that things only get better as time goes on.
     Pessimism may keep us grounded, but optimism moves us forward. And that’s an insight worth celebrating with a whole bundle of balloons.