For a such an innocuous seeming four letter word, this baby can throw a mean left hook. Because hope robs us of the comfort of finality. If a thing is bad, and will always be bad, we can make our peace with that. We’re surprisingly resilient as a species, finding ways to endure even the bleakest conditions.
But telling us there’s hope things will get better--that a change is coming-- that leaves us open for a kill shot to the spirit. Because to see the light before being cast back into the blackness is worse. It’s cruel, really.
To say a thing is or is not, that is tolerable. To tell us to allow ourselves to dream of what might be, that holds a certain horror. Allowing a heart to warm to an idea; A better place to live. A second chance at health. A baby. True love. A great job. Achieving a dream. Forgiveness. Redemption. Success. Peace. To dangle these things before us, allowing us to believe them possible at last, only to lose them again, is beyond excruciating.
But why? Why would it hurt to lose what you never really had to begin with? Hope.
See what I mean? Tricky lil’ bugger, isn’t it?
But vicious as it is, hope is necessary. Without hope for what might be, none of us would ever move beyond what is. And those times hope blossoms into reality almost compensate for the devastation it leaves when it withers in the mind.
A life with hope is a scary thing indeed. The only thing scarier is a life without it.
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