Reaching for Hope

Filling the liminal space between need and reality.

Hello lovely readers! Things feel hard right now. The collective backdrop against which our individual lives are unfolding is not normal, with the deaths and horrendous events happening in Minneapolis amidst the ICE crackdown imposed by our current administration. Even simple daily tasks feel challenging to complete, compounded by other things outside our control—last night, after preparing dinner and making it through the third snow day/school closure in a row, anticipating a virtual learning day the next day, I said triumphantly to my husband, “We did it!” Like many, I hesitated to put out a newsletter this week. What could I possibly have to add to the conversation? But words hold power, and as a writer, they are one of the tools I have for expression. That I can express myself without fear of persecution is a gift, and so, I write. As always, thank you for being here!

HOPE: a desire accompanied by expectation of obtaining what is desired or belief that it is obtainable. Someone or something on which hopes are centered. Something desired or hoped for. (Source: Merriam-Webster)

Hope against hope. Hope springs eternal. A glimmer of hope. Keep hope alive.

We have so many idioms and phrases related to hope, but hope feels like such a fleeting thing. It is hard to truly pin down its meaning—it is more than just positive vibes, yet what it means to you is different than what it means to me, guided in part, I think, by factors like emotions, spirituality, values, and lived experience.

Yet I keep reaching for hope. The idea of it. But to truly hold on to it, to embody it, I seek to better understand how to cultivate it. And to understand the power of collective hope during times of uncertainty, chaos, and upheaval, destruction and disruption. When our society’s fundamental human rights are threatened on a daily basis, it can be hard to believe that hope will move the needle toward obtaining what we desire. Researching the word hope led me to this article by The Journalist’s Resource, and one cited quote in particular stuck out to me:

Anthony Scioli, a clinical psychologist and author of several books on hope, defines hope “as an emotion with spiritual dimensions,” in a 2023 review published in Current Opinion in Psychology. “Hope is best viewed as an ameliorating emotion, designed to fill the liminal space between need and reality.”

Maybe, then, hope can be found in that liminal space, by focusing on what is within our control. What would make you feel better or taken care of in the moment? Is there a way to ease someone else’s strife? Maybe it is volunteering in your community or donating money to a cause if it’s within your ability and means. Perhaps it is shoveling your neighbor’s driveway after a snowstorm, or making a hot breakfast for your child or yourself. Perhaps it is taking a break from your newsfeed and heading to the kitchen or garden or gym, or your chosen place of respite.

All of these actions may feel insignificant in the moment, but they add up. They help us to practice cultivating hope, even if at first it feels like we are only staving off hopelessness rather than reaching something that feels like hope. As a writer, I have to believe that words are an instrument of hope. That words have the power to ground us or provide an escape, to offer us another perspective or comfort us by meeting us where we are.

I love this poem by Emily Dickinson, “Hope” is the thing with feathers (Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson Edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999). Every time I see or hear a bird, it gives me a flutter of hope, a feeling that hope can take flight and reach desired heights once more.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

By Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.