A personal reflection…
I’ve heard it more than once: “Dre, you’re being negative.”
Whenever those words land, I feel a jolt of recognition—because on the surface, I can sound that way. I’m a curious cocktail of stoic realism and sudden bursts of enthusiasm. The mix is honest, but the first note people can sometimes detect is often the sober one.
It isn’t always the first thing people notice, but I’m often the voice of reason in the room. I raise the risks not to dampen anyone’s enthusiasm, but to tackle the negatives early, so that once we do get off the ground we can fully enjoy moving forward.
People also know me for my boundless enthusiasm whenever I believe something is right. I’m full of contradictions—and I won’t apologise for it.
Yet if you dig beneath the façade, you’ll discover I’m an incorrigible optimist—just not the Instagram-filtered kind. My optimism lives in the quiet conviction that people, together, can move mountains.
The Perception Gap
We live in a highlight‑reel culture. Scroll any feed and you’ll watch an endless parade of perfect mornings, perfect workflows, perfect success stories. Against that backdrop, mentioning a risk or a trade‑off can sound like treason.
But realism isn’t cynicism; it’s context. When I point out the potholes, I’m not saying stop the journey—I’m saying steer around them so we get there in one piece.
How I Voice Realities Without Sounding Entirely Defeatist
- Lead with intent. Start by stating why you’re raising the concern: to protect momentum, not to stall it.
- Pair every risk with a route. When you flag a pothole, sketch at least one practical way to avoid or repair it.
- Invite builds, not defensiveness. Turn concerns into open prompts—“What would it take to…”—so others can co‑create solutions.
- Mind tone and timing. Raise issues when the team can act on them, not in the heat of tension; keep your voice calm, not resigned.
- End on the shared goal. Re‑anchor everyone on the mountain you’re still climbing together.
Practised this way, realism reads as care—not negativity.
Stoicism vs. Toxic Positivity
Stoicism is often painted gray and gloomy, yet its core is calm agency: focus on what you control, release what you don’t.
Toxic positivity, on the other hand, tries to plaster a grin over every crack until the whole structure buckles. If you say “Everything’s fine” enough, it just mght be.
Real progress needs both momentum and ballast. My “downbeat” moments supply the ballast—the questions that keep big dreams from capsizing.
Highlighting the negative isn’t about being down on the mission—or on anyone in the room. It’s an act of collective foresight. Every overlooked pothole becomes a crater later. I’d rather we spot it while we can still swerve than hit it at full speed when the stakes are higher.
The Steady Middle
I believe in a steady middle—a neutral gear we can slip into between exhilarating sprints. It’s the space where we:
- Breathe and recalibrate.
- Convert adrenaline into strategy.
- Separate genuine signals from shiny distractions.
That middle doesn’t dull ambition; it sharpens it. It reminds us why we’re all‑in, and when necessary, gives us permission to be not in so we can rest and return stronger.
Betting on Us
My brand of optimism isn’t a solo act. It’s a bet on collective capability:
Individually, we can nudge the needle. Together, we can pick up the whole dashboard.
I’ve watched cross‑functional teams ship the seemingly impossible on impossible timelines. We’ve all seen communities rally after disasters and rebuild better. These things stoke my faith far more than any motivational poster ever could.
Invitation
So, if I sound negative when I ask, “What could go wrong?”, know that I’m already picturing exactly how we’ll make it go right—together.
Let’s be all in on honest assessments and daring ambitions. Let’s reject the pressure to be eternally “up” and embrace the full arc of the work: the troughs of doubt, the plateaus of planning, and the summits where we plant the flag.
Here’s to the steady middle—and to moving mountains, one realistic step at a time.
Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear where you find your steady middle.
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