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Hi. I'm Marina. Some of you know me, although most probably don't. But we'll get to fixing that right away, because you and I will be meeting here with some frequency. Your eyes and my musings, doing a dance on the pages of The Salt Lake Tribune.

I'm here to add a little more sweetness to your news. Dieters, diabetics and curmudgeons, don't go; I promise to be calorie- and saccharine-free. And I'll always add a dash of salt (because, duh).

The thing is, being informed citizens means knowing what's going on in the world around us. But you know as well as I do that headlines about things going really well are few and far between.

"Operations smooth, money plentiful." Nope. "Everyone in unanimous agreement." Not likely. "Area man finds unicorn dancing on pallet of cash." Never seen it, but wouldn't hate it if I did. And if not that, let's at least get a few more cheery stories around this joint.

So, here I am — a lesbian, millennial and first-time mama — and I'm going to tell you some stories. While you enjoy award-winning reporting and opinion on local and global issues (more on my love affair with serious media at a later date), you can balance that with some less hard-hitting but valuable-in-their-own-right tales of parenting, examinations of pop culture, perspective on life in the City of Salt and probably some cat stories thrown in for good measure.

For the record, though, I wasn't always happy and positive. In fact, I was once a pretty sad kidlet — one of those gay teens who didn't think they were made for this world.

It probably wasn't evident to those around me. I played varsity soccer, was student-body vice president, got good grades and had cute boyfriends. The problem was I didn't know I was gay.

If I had, maybe I would have been just fine. Growing up Jewish (well, Jew-ish) in Utah provided an interesting opportunity to learn, thanks to strong and courageous parents, that being different could be awesome.

Alas, being LGBTQ isn't familial in the way that religion is, where I could be comforted by my parents, who were like me, when I was excluded or was the butt of a joke. I was alone in this way.

I wondered if I was dead inside or if everyone was pretending to feel attraction. Butterflies over boys' butts? Not for this gal. Wanting to get to second base? Only if we were talking actual softball.

It was a shattered world. And I desperately wanted out.

It was after a close call and lots of therapy and love that I learned that hope isn't an innate perspective for me. It's one I have to manufacture.

And once I realized I wasn't broken (just a lady-loving lady), seeing what's good in the world became a much less arduous task. In fact, it's one at which I've become kind of adept.

I call myself a practicing optimist.

This perspective has been helpful as a social-justice advocate in a world where progress feels slow and gains are often met with resistance. It's also been helpful as a parent when sometimes I'm stripped of my favorite things, like sleep and cheese.

And it seems like it'll come in handy here as well, because I'm about to hope and affirm and wonder all over this place. As much as I like politics and investigative journalism, this won't be that. This is a dose of what my boo, Beyoncé, might refer to as the good good — that which might make you smile, and hopefully make you think about things differently.

Marina Gomberg is The Salt Lake Tribune's new lifestyle columnist. Her columns will appear on sltrib.com every other Monday. She is a communications professional and lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, and their son, Harvey. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.