Irresponsible Optimism
Why candor and telling the truth might be the kindest thing we can do.
I was in a conversation recently with a woman who had just done the thing we all talk about and few actually do:
She bet on herself.
She’d started her own business not too long ago, and it showed. In how relaxed she was talking about uncertainty and how little she needed to prove. The road wasn’t perfect and she didn’t pretend it was. In fact, she shared the hard parts easily. But even then, you could tell she was loving every minute of it.
That kind of confidence always catches my attention. The kind that comes from choosing something hard and staying with it. I’m infatuated by it. So I leaned in.
Early in the conversation, we were talking about being unfiltered early and often. About how the most powerful connections usually don’t come from being impressive and buttoned up… they come from being honest sooner than feels comfortable, or from saying the thing before it’s perfectly phrased. From not waiting until it’s “safe.”
And then she said something that quite literally made me freeze up.
“I really respect irresponsible optimism.”
I never heard those two words put together before. Unraveling how they go together felt hard to do. I felt it in my body before I could explain why. I tightened up, felt the friction. And to be honest, it made me uncomfortable.
So instead of doing what I usually do (nodding along, filing it away, assuming or acting like I understood) I paused and asked her to explain.
What do you mean by that? Irresponsible optimism?
She lit up.
And I don’t think it was because she had a rehearsed answer, but because it’s not often people ask or give to clarify instead of projecting their own meaning onto our words.
She said: It’s about candor. Having the integrity to shoot someone straight.
Believing that people (especially those you love and care about) deserve the truth, and not a softened version designed to keep everyone comfortable and happy.
She shared that to her, irresponsible optimism wasn’t about delusion or blind positivity. It wasn’t about ignoring risk or pretending things would magically work out.
Then she referenced Brené Brown: to be clear is to be kind.
So often we treat kindness as restraint. We don’t push or say too much at the expense of protecting feelings. Even when someone is explicitly asking for honesty.
Here’s an example we talked about in real time:
Let’s say I send you a pitch deck and ask for your feedback, don’t tell me it’s great if it’s not. Don’t comment on the colors and skip the fact that the story doesn’t land.
Tell me where it’s confusing.
Tell me where it’s too wordy.
Tell me what’s going to get me passed over for capital.
That’s why I asked.
Anything else might feel nice in the moment, but it doesn’t help me move forward. And worse, it subtly communicates that you don’t think I can handle the truth.
The same pattern shows up in our personal lives. We ask friends for advice and they circle the point. Because they don’t want to hurt us.
But what’s missed here is what we’re asking for. What we’re really asking for isn’t reassurance. It’s perspective.
Irresponsible optimism, as she described it, is trusting that honesty (when delivered with care) strengthens relationships rather than hurts them.
Integrity matters here. Because this isn’t about being harsh or critical or “just being honest.” It’s about telling the truth with someone, not at them.
Using your voice well also means knowing when it’s not yours to use.
It’s about discernment. Knowing when to use your voice, and when not to… for their sake.
If you haven’t walked in their shoes
or taken the risk they’re taking
or you’re not actually a SME in what they’re asking for advice on.
Be careful how you show up.
These moments aren’t an invitation to offer candid feedback freely. Not every opinion is helpful and not every moment calls for truth-telling.
Maybe that’s why the phrase initially unsettled me.
Because irresponsible optimism asks something of us. It asks us to risk discomfort and to trust that the relationship can handle more truth than politeness.
It’s easier to stay vague.
It’s easier to be agreeable.
It’s easier to be liked.
But the people who have most changed my thinking, my work, my direction weren’t the ones who nodded and agreed along. They were the ones who were clear alongside me.
As I continued to unpack the conversation, I realized: irresponsible optimism isn’t irresponsible at all.
It might just feel that way in a culture that’s grown far too comfortable confusing kindness with avoidance.
Thanks for sitting with me. Cheers!
Meg