We End The Month of May With . . . Hope?

 

Hope is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all –

Emily Dickinson

The poem by Dickinson depicts hope as enduring, never giving up, never asking for anything. Hope is a fragile but courageous bird.

I love that verse, even though the full depth of the poem eludes me. And I ask myself, am I still hopeful and about what? 

If I think of the state of the world, the bombing, starvation, brutal killing of children, the political situations where malicious, immoral, power-hungry men care only about themselves and not their countries or humanity, my hope is at an extremely low point.

But then I think about the young people of the world who truly care about the environment, about justice, equality and kindness. And I feel a trickle of optimism, my belief in the innate goodness of humans restored.

Then, my thoughts turn inward. What are my own hopes? What dreams have I not relinquished. I think back to when I was younger, graduating high school, later college. What hopes did I have for myself? Did I make those dreams come true?

But along the way, dreams and goals shifted and changed, as life does. Very few of us want to be or do the same things we dreamed about as children. I wanted to be a doctor. But a patient bedside manner is not my strong suit. Instead I went into IT, better suited to it with my logical, analytical brain, thus sparing any future patients from putting up with a surly Doctor Pearl.

And later, much later, I decided I wanted to write. And here is where I pull up short and take a deep breath. Because, what are my hopes here? This is where imposter syndrome takes centre stage. I write but I am not a real writer. I paint but I am not a real painter.

My hopes now are different than they were when I was young. Younger. Now I want good health mostly, and purposeful, joyful living, still sprinkled with some adventure. I hope for health and happiness for my family and friends. And the children in Gaza and everywhere. But living has taught me, as it does everyone at some point, that happiness is temporary. And when it arrives, you welcome and accept it. And when it leaves? You’re left with hope that one day it will return.

Health scares can up-end hope and optimism. I’m not good with non-questioning, blind PollyAnna-ish type of positivity, just believing and repeating everything will be fine. I want the facts, ma’am, just the facts. One’s hope and life can change on a dime. One day you’re hoping for glowing skin and a plane ticket to Europe, the next you’re hoping for nothing more than strong bones and a healthy, beating heart. You’re telling yourself life changes, for everyone, and you are no exception. You’re resilient and wiser and you know how to navigate this. But deep inside, you’re still worried.

And then, another turn, and you’re out in the sunlight again. Birds are singing, flowers are springing, war is still raging, and those young people you’d set your hopes on for the future, are mindlessly gunning their motorcycles down the street.

You keep writing, and you keep hoping. Because hope is the thing with feathers.

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I attended an event that combined a film about a young woman trying to save one fish and an ocean, with a lobby full of tables set up by various local groups of environmentalists.

Now here was hope again on display. A man from nearby Hamilton, ON is the guardian of the waterways, cleaning up trash as he paddles in his kayak. He’s been doing it for close to ten years, meticulously logging all the garbage he pulls out, even keeping some of it to display and teach the uninformed who mindlessly toss their discards. One day he hauled three tires from the water but didn’t tip his kayak over.

A young man from Halton who oversees community gardens, visits schools and teaches kids to plant vegetables.

But the crowd was predominantly seniors wanting to preserve the planet for their grandkids; people who generously give their time and effort to make a difference.

It made me feel inadequate with my efforts at recycling and reducing the amount of waste I produce, but also, this felt like hope.

 

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