There’s a sickeningly positive song by Take That I’m obsessed with. It’s called “The Garden.”

Among my friends, among my larger social circles, in our country … sickeningly positive songs like this have a half-life of three days.

Why? Because they’re sickeningly positive. And life isn’t like that.

But it doesn’t matter to me. Sometimes, I’ll hear “The Garden” sneak onto a radio show or on someone’s car stereo. I want to tell them to stop talking. “Let’s pause time for a second,” I think. “I want to absorb this. I want it to absorb me.”

That’s not how it happens, though. He, she keeps talking. The music is muted. A lame joke is finished. A bitter rant continues. Whining about God-knows-what ensues.

Why do we cling to the negative as if it’s more comfortable than all the possible positives? Why are we so afraid to fall in love with the inspiration of a simple song?

If my friends, if the world only knew all the songs that rock me to sleep every night…

I will always thirst for the sickeningly positive. Because someday, those songs won’t be about the possible, they’ll be about the real.

And I won’t waste my time listening to your gross vindictiveness and cynicism.