Hope

The events of the last while have left me feeling quite hopeless.

Hopeless, not as in inefficient and incapable of doing anything at all but incapable specifically of feeling hope. Being full of hope has always come naturally to me, even at times when I shouldn’t be. I still get hopeful that the tide will turn or the person will change even when it is highly unlikely.

Feeling this way, particularly at this time of year, has worried me. Be your name Brown or Blumgarten and whatever your belief, December is traditionally a time of miracles and hope, of good intentions and resolutions. The external events that have coincided (feels more like collided) with the festivals of light and lightness, have left me feeling quite heavy and dark.

I turned to my usual self-soothing solutions, enlisting the help of Siri for the first time. Even with her sourcing and sorting some happy and inspirational songs from an infinite playlist, I was left as flat as I had started. I found myself fast forwarding her choices and dredging up songs I’d listened to at times of breakups and sadness in my youth, from some really hidden places in my memory bank. At the end of my rather long set, I was left a little hoarse but no more upbeat.

I moved onto my next source of solace, words, specifically words or books that have inspired me.

First to mind was Dr Seuss’ “Oh the Places You’ll Go” which didn’t seem particularly appropriate for someone self- isolating who could only go from her bed to her bathroom. Then I remembered the waiting place.

Waiting for a queue to move or results to come,

For the rules to change or a call of “mum”;

For a border to open or a show to numb,

For the feeling to pass and not feel so glum.

So that’s where I was- the waiting place – according to the Dr who diagnosed my position long before a Covid -19 diagnosis had ever been thought of.  Like a character in a Samuel Beckett play, I sat and waited for someone or something. I was aware, however, that a waiting place implies impermanence, a gateway to something else and hopefully a transition to something better. “This too shall pass” translated to any language, sums up Seuss’ message to the children and adults who read him. The ‘lurches’ and ‘bumps’ we balance in life are just part of our journey. There comes a time again when the path seems less steep and the road is lit brightly enough to see the brilliance of the day and the team of supporters who cheer us as we go.

So believing that I must have some hope left inside, even if just by virtue of the fact that I was waiting for something to change, I moved to Edith Eger’s “The Gift” (a gift) as I searched to somehow “unslump” myself and learn from her “12 Lessons to Save Your Life”.

I imagined that by reading the book I might find some clues to rekindling some sparks of light but I did not expect to be writing right after reading, feeling calmer, more introspective and you guessed it, with higher hopes.

I read parts of me in many of this doctor’s stories and while I had aspirations of summarising her lessons for you in my blog, my gift to you instead, is to say – read the book.

Dr Eger defines hope in two ways: “the awareness that suffering, however terrible, is temporary; and the curiosity to discover what happens next.”

So without giving too much away, as we start a new year, along with all the other blessings I usually bestow, I wish you hope.

And I’m off to create my vision board (exercise from chapter 1).