Hope

February 17, 2012 § 4 Comments

This is a follow-up to the love post, written separately because it’s more about hope than love. Tune in next Friday for the Book of the Month! (Hint: Joshilyn. Jackson. ZOMG.)

I didn’t remember that I had talked about love in my post on loss, to include in the love post or I would’ve, but it fits better here.

That’s why love is the scariest, absolutely hands-down, the scariest endeavor ever. The more we love, the more we have to lose, and haven’t we just been over how much that sucks? I once defined love as leaning over the abyss and hoping nobody pushes you. (I’m such a romantic.) But I find love and loss to be at opposite ends. Because love is an opening, a daring, a belief. It’s taking broken pieces and seeing beauty in them anyway. Love is the bravest thing we can do. I think it can transcend itself; that in taking that risk, if we do it right, love can be safe. That’s why I put it opposite loss. Because it can unite, calm, instill hope. Everything that loss shatters, love can restore.

This is why I think love and hope are so entwined. Love is hope in action.

I am in a position to be hopeful. My divorce is nearly final. My finances are sorted. My book is almost out of revision; I’m working on new projects. I’m looking forward intentionally. I have wants, and some needs. I allow myself that.

My hope is a fragile thing. It balances on a razor’s edge. I am fearful for it, fearful to indulge it. To let it grow any bigger. I am afraid to hope, a little.

And yet I do, anyway. I hope recklessly, even painfully. I let it swell and totter and maybe even get nicked every now and again. My hope flutters like paper-thin butterfly wings. Beautiful and delicate.

But what choice do I have?

I cannot remain tight in the bud (Nin). I cannot let the fear win. Hope is like faith. If you had a guarantee, you wouldn’t need it. That’s the entire point.

I want to believe in things. For all the older-than-years I feel and can come across, I am still young. I am sometimes naive, and innocent. In this I try to be. I want to believe. So I do, if you give me enough to hope, to believe in. Tawna asked about your favorite words, and mine were, “I believe in you.” They have so much power. To have someone believe in me – wow. It’s humbling, so for me to offer it to someone else – it’s hope, pure hope. It’s me saying, I trust you with a part of me that can break, and I will forgive you if you break it, but I don’t think you will.

Even now as I sit in this Starbucks, caffeine absorbing into my pores, the lunch rush burbling around me, I take a deep breath and HOPE, hugely. My tag says “Ideas are not people,” to remind me we have to invest in people, not ideas, that ideas don’t make things happen, people do. That concepts don’t give hugs when you’re sad. But they are fuel; they are compass; they are the things that light us up.

I am alight with hope. Right now, in this moment. Whether or not what I hope comes to pass is, in this moment, nearly irrelevant. It is for then. It is not now. Now, I believe in you.

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