We have this light in our house. It’s a built-in fixture, and it doesn’t work. The wiring’s bad. You can take it apart and jiggle the bulb and get it to turn on for a few minutes, but as soon as anyone closes a door or breathes too hard or the atmospheric pressure changes, the thing turns off and can’t be switched on again.

There’s another lamp about ten feet away, so we technically never need the broken one for much of anything.

And yet.

I flip the switch every single time I walk past. Even though I know nothing’s going to happen. Sometimes I’ll stand there, flipping the switch on and off and on and off uselessly. (“You practicing your Morse code?” Dane will ask.)

Possibly this indicates a minor mental failure on my part. Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results? Not a good strategy.

But I prefer to think of it as a streak of optimism, a sign that—while I do worry about every single thing ever—ultimately, I think things will work. Lights will light. All will be well. Somehow.

Or maybe I think I’m parenting the light fixture, and if I just help it practice, eventually it will learn appropriate social skills? Maybe?

Or maybe not, and we can all just agree that it’s totally not crazy that I can’t leave the light switch alone. (Because maybe this will be the time it turns on! It could happen! You never know! Except you probably know. But see, that’s what makes it optimism! … Right?)