I am not the most graceful creature on earth. That would be a sparrow, flitting between trees. A panther. A swan. A horse. A butterfly, a wolf, even an elephant in its slow majesty. With so many variations in elegance, the common denominator I discern from this list is not speed, agility or beauty. It’s simply that a graceful animal looks where it’s going.

These creatures don’t stare at their paws in the middle of a chase. They hold their heads high, eyes on the horizon.

And as such, they see their obstacles before they hit them.

The real work in overcoming obstacles is not the part where you overcome them. The trouble is you’ve gotta see them coming. I struggle with this not because I’m nearsighted, but because I’m too focused on where I’m standing to see where I’m headed.

Now, I’m not a feline hunter on the Serengeti. My initial instinct is to count the freckles on my arm rather than face the task before me. But to live in such a self-consumed world is to lock myself in a bubble of “what if,” never brave enough to peek ahead and see, “oh, that’s what.” The best salvation from such a fate? Optimism.

Optimism is not idealism. It is a powerful combination of ambition, hope and joy, and I am a better person for having learned to smile. In fact, I like to think optimism is my superpower. It can squelch squabbles, soothe worries and foster hope. And of course, it doesn’t hurt to strike the iconic pose.

Upon straightening up, it becomes clear that the number of obstacles before me is surprisingly low, not because I see no challenges to conquer, but because until I decided look to out into the real world, I was my greatest inhibition.

Once I stop chasing my own tail, I am able join the pack. Call it cheesy, but teamwork works. A group of people with open minds and can-do attitudes will overcome hardship more efficiently and pleasantly than will a group of grumbling know-it-alls. This high achievement leads to high spirits, and the cycle continues.

In some cases, however, the obstacles don’t lay way for success as much as they make me a bit better at accepting failure. In fact, I practically train in the art of failing. As a member of my school’s improv troupe, I stand in front of audiences with no idea what’s to happen next except that it is my job to entertain. The entire show is one big mess waiting to happen, but it never does. See, we have a saying: “It’s OK to stink.”

Funny though it sounds, the audience likes to see us fail — because we acknowledge it and twist that flop into something magical. A drop in character transforms into a Shakespearean aside; call someone by the wrong name, and it’s a plot twist involving evil twins and amnesia. Out of failure comes inspiration, and out of inspiration, brilliance.

If that’s not optimism, I don’t know what is.

Our improv team has an incredible coach. She has taught us how to be strong performers, and not to force humor, but to let a character just live, because life is funny. But most importantly, she has taught us the platinum rule of improv: Yes, and.

We agree with what is given to us, a beautiful gift of an idea, and add on a thought of our own, inspiring one another, until it builds and builds and bursts into a scene of hilarity and wit.

Whether she knows it or not, she is teaching us the most valuable life lesson we will ever learn: to be optimistic, to trust and accept one another and offer our own strengths as a source of support for our teammates in a time of deer-in-the-headlights stage fright. And now it’s time for us to return the favor.

She was recently diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. I’ve never been one to say, “That’s not fair,” but it’s not. Yet she continues coming to practice, head held high, coaching us through her fatigue. When we were asked if anyone would be willing to bring her family dinner while she recovered from surgery, every single voice rang out, “Yes, and.”

Life is hard, but life is funny. Elephants are graceful. Looking leads to seeing, catalyzes understanding, and sets us up for our successes and our failures, equally important and appropriately difficult in their own rights. Knowing where you’re going is as important as knowing where you are. And it’s a lot easier to see your destination with your head held high.