"I'm sort of a pessimist about tomorrow and an optimist about the day after tomorrow"
About this Quote
A good journalist learns to distrust the next headline while still believing the story can bend. Eric Sevareid’s line lands because it captures that twitchy, two-speed mindset: tomorrow is where institutions fail in real time, where rushed decisions get made, where the public panics and politicians posture. The day after tomorrow is where consequences clarify, where the noise thins, where repair work becomes possible.
Sevareid, a mid-century broadcast journalist who reported through the Depression, World War II, and the early Cold War, isn’t selling cheerful resilience. He’s outlining a professional posture. Pessimism about “tomorrow” reads as an allergy to wishful thinking and a recognition of how quickly events can sour. Optimism about “the day after tomorrow” is not naive faith; it’s a bet on human adaptability, on the slow competence of systems once the adrenaline fades. The time shift is the trick: he avoids the easy binary of cynic versus idealist by placing them on adjacent days.
The subtext is almost a coping mechanism for anyone paid to stare at catastrophe. If you live in the present tense long enough, you either become numb or you cultivate a longer horizon. Sevareid chooses the latter, but with a journalist’s caveat: not “eventually,” not “someday,” just 48 hours out. It’s a compact philosophy of incremental hope, grounded in the messy reality that progress rarely arrives on schedule, but it does sometimes arrive once the immediate damage is counted.
Sevareid, a mid-century broadcast journalist who reported through the Depression, World War II, and the early Cold War, isn’t selling cheerful resilience. He’s outlining a professional posture. Pessimism about “tomorrow” reads as an allergy to wishful thinking and a recognition of how quickly events can sour. Optimism about “the day after tomorrow” is not naive faith; it’s a bet on human adaptability, on the slow competence of systems once the adrenaline fades. The time shift is the trick: he avoids the easy binary of cynic versus idealist by placing them on adjacent days.
The subtext is almost a coping mechanism for anyone paid to stare at catastrophe. If you live in the present tense long enough, you either become numb or you cultivate a longer horizon. Sevareid chooses the latter, but with a journalist’s caveat: not “eventually,” not “someday,” just 48 hours out. It’s a compact philosophy of incremental hope, grounded in the messy reality that progress rarely arrives on schedule, but it does sometimes arrive once the immediate damage is counted.
Quote Details
| Topic | Optimism |
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