We all know that a skeptical (or even cynical) outlook has come to dominate public life.

And I get it. After all, powerful people have repeatedly violated the public trust. (I’ll let you make your own list.)

But enough with the cynicism already.

Now don’t get me wrong. I respect healthy skepticism. (“Question Authority” is more than a bumper sticker, it’s who I am.) And sometimes even a cynic can give us a breath of fresh air.

But we pay too high a price when we let mistrust become so dominant … when we lose confidence in other people and in institutions of all kinds … when we start to limit what we believe is possible for humanity.

That kind of atmosphere puts a damper on creativity, imagination, and achievement. There’s little breathing room left for passions, hopes, and dreams (which get picked apart, dismissed, ridiculed).

We can choose a different path if we pay attention to the best of our past — what our history tells us about what we’re made of, who we are as a people.

Surprisingly, the very events often used to prove social decline can instead be seen as our proudest moments: times when our democratic institutions prevailed, a free press exposed official lies, and ordinary people’s voices were heard.

What options would open to us if we chose to tell those stories? How might that choice sustain the vitality of public life … and of our own lives?

(By the way, we could spend a lot of time arguing about which accounts are most “true” or “real.” I look at it another way: Which are most useful in creating the world we want?)

Many folks who want to make the world a better place assume they’ll get there by exposing what’s wrong and forcing other people to change.

Actually, I think that’s the most limiting belief people hold in the “change the world” arena. (And it’s a big reason our work can feel so hard.)

Here’s a different way to come at it …

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