Hope has bruised knuckles

I once read a description of hope personified as a woman standing up again after being knocked down in a fight, spitting out blood and raising her bruised knuckles for more. I’ve started thinking about that image more lately, whenever I get overwhelmed by the weight of all the terrible things happening in the world.

Hope is not dainty or fragile. The belief that life can and will get better is not one we can afford to hold in a light grasp. It’s not something you grow without practice. It has to be cultivated with care and intentionality.

I open my social media and every other post is about the Israel-Palestine conflict, or new policies that restrict people’s freedoms, like the book bans affecting libraries. I see posts about people trying to raise money for their hospital bills or funeral expenses for a family member. Everywhere I turn, there is need, desperation and pain.

I turn off my phone.

I go downstairs and make cookies to share with my friends. I can’t save the world, but I can make someone’s day a bit brighter with some flour, eggs and chocolate chips.

I refer to the sticky note on my wall that says, “all you have to do is leave it better than you found it.” 

When I get overwhelmed by all of the horrible things happening around the world and in my own backyard, I try to focus on what I can control. I can make presents for my friends. I can create art. I can be kind to my students and answer their million questions. I can help an animal cross the road so it doesn’t get hit by a car. 

Of course I’m answering the questions with the hope that my students learn. Of course I’m helping an animal across with the hope that it lives a good life and doesn’t get hit by another car at another time. If I have no hope, I will take no actions to make the world even the tiniest bit better.

But I’m tired. There is so much evil. There are always more questions — and sometimes my students ask the same question over and over because no one is listening when I answer. There are always more animals and most of them don’t get help. Someone is always willing to hit them. There are more problems, some I will never see and some I simply can’t solve even if I do see them.

How do I keep going?

Hope isn’t a subconscious decision. At least, not at first. It can become a habit after a while, if you dedicate time to it. And if you remember not to confuse it with toxic positivity. Having hope doesn’t mean you think things will magically get better or that everyone will be happy and all problems will be solved. Hope isn’t easy. It isn’t pretty, even.

Hope is bruised and bloody and sometimes even broken. And sometimes you have to let go of it for a while to let your aching hands rest before you can pick it up again. Hope is honest. It faces the truth and it looks for the good, but it doesn’t invent good where it doesn’t exist. Hope looks at the rubble, it looks at the carnage, and it says, “Life will get better. Maybe not soon, maybe not for me, but overall, it will get better.”

Hope isn’t fun and it isn’t simple. It’s hard work. Sometimes it’s painful. But hope is both the thing that keeps us alive and the thing that makes life worth living.