I love hope. It’s so dimensional. It picks you up at the worst of times. Even when the outcome isn’t optimal. It lifts your spirit.
It’s a dream that could come true. It covers everything from the most important events in your life to the ordinary.
It’s going to a haircut hoping I will come out looking like Meg Ryan. I’ve had that fantasy for 30 or 40 years and it’s never happened. However, for each appointment I am sure my hair will bounce with some curl and I’ll have a twinkle in my eyes. Perhaps haircuts should come with a complete makeover.
It’s watching a movie with your favorite actors. You hope it will be their best ever but you shake your head and ask why you are there.
It’s going to a doctor’s appointment hoping “they” will figure out what’s wrong and have a simple solution. That never happens to me. Mostly they don’t figure out the cause and if I’m lucky it goes away on its own a few months later. In the meantime I keep rewriting my will, requiring those close to me to stay on their toes!
When there is a diagnosis, it’s never an easy one. It always requires surgery. Boogers.
When my mother was ill, there were occasions when she wasn’t lucid and thought it was a different time 40 years earlier. Each time it happened I convinced myself that it was an anomaly and hoped it wouldn’t happen again but it did.
Not all “hopes” end badly. When my old cat Jake was ill, I hoped I’d get another year with him and I did. It was a year full of caretaking but we got to say goodbye to each other with no regrets.
When I was in a totally boring job, I hoped my job hunting would bring me challenge and it did (boy did it!).
There have been times when things looked grim and I hoped I’d make it through the darkness and I did. It’s not giving up.
The unique thing about hope is that it doesn’t go away. I can be disappointed over and over again but I still always hope. It’s in the background waiting for me when I need it most.