There were a lot of late nights.
Not the glamorous kind you see in movies. The real kind. The kind where the day started with a calendar full of meetings, a thousand little fires to put out, and a sense that maybe you're already behind before the first cup of coffee. The kind where, after the house goes quiet and the hockey gear is drying in the garage, you finally sit down with a Peach Monster and my laptop, hoping something honest will come out of you.
That’s when I wrote most of The Optimist’s Way.
I didn’t have a writing retreat or some perfect setup. I had the couch. My dogs, Gus and Odin, usually snoring nearby. And the belief that, no matter how loud the world gets, people still crave something real.
This book didn’t come from a place of certainty. It came from sitting in the unknown. It came from the tension between what’s broken and what could still be healed. It came from a tired mind and a full heart. From doubt in one chair and hope stubbornly holding the other.
Throughout my life, I’ve been told I’m "too optimistic."
I used to laugh that off. But somewhere along the way, it started to hit deeper. That kind of feedback can feel like a dismissal, like optimism is childish or naive. But the older I get, the more I’ve come to understand that optimism isn't the easy route. It's not an escape from reality—it's a choice to stay with it.
"Realistic optimism means facing the truth of today without losing sight of what could still be possible tomorrow."
That’s the foundation this book stands on. I coined the term realistic optimism not to defend myself, but to name something I believe is essential in a world like ours.
It’s not about pretending things are fine. It’s about standing in the mess and believing that even here, even now, there is room to grow. Room to breathe. Room to begin again.
I've seen what happens when people don’t give up. I've led teams through chaos and witnessed how they rise, how they adapt, how they care for one another. That’s where my optimism comes from. Not theory. History.
"You can begin again in the middle. Not when everything’s perfect, but when you decide you’re ready to try one more time."
The Optimist’s Way is filled with those kinds of reminders. Not big promises or easy answers, but pages that sit with you in the dark and say, "You're not alone."
It’s divided into reflections—on hope, connection, creativity, resilience, and purpose. Each section closes with a song I wrote for that chapter. Just scan the QR code and let the music meet you where the words leave off. Because sometimes, a melody says what a sentence can't.
"Hope grows when we feel seen. It deepens when someone says, 'I’ve been there too.'"
We live in a world that’s overwhelmed with noise, division, and distraction. I wrote this book for people like me—people who want to believe in something better, even when it’s hard. People who are still showing up. Still trying. Still holding a little light in their hands.
And if you're out there trying to stay hopeful? You're not alone in that either.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for believing.
And if you need a little hope today, you can borrow mine.
— Mike
I've got a secret link for my blog readers, the book can be purchased today on Amazon.. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F5NLFG9D