A winged thing called hope

Over the past week, I've been having a candid conversation with a few people on the subject of hope.

There are very few times in my life when I have, as though filing books on a shelf I need a ladder to reach, deliberately put hope aside.

Many years ago, having lost a brother and my mom within the space of a few years, I chose to table my faith in a hopeful future.

If fortune could be so cruel ( I don't believe God chooses to inflict suffering on people), then why believe life would offer happiness?

Stoicism was possible.

Hell, stoicism was preferable.

It was all that I could find, groping in the darkness as I did.

Recently, and a bit more wearily, I decided to push the hope of happiness in a romantic relationship to the back of the queue.

Not that I'm sad. Far from it.

A new house, a new career in the offing, and my great kids...there is an open place at my table for gratitude.

But I don't want to allow myself to have my heart broken anymore. No more laying on the train tracks, waiting for some baffled man to run me down with his unresolved issues.

So I must cultivate hope in other arenas.

Not untimely, like the flowers outside my kitchen storm door, pushing their poor heads up a month before they are supposed to blossom.

A faith-based realism?

I don't believe that's an oxymoron, my friends.

I just need to run those scales until I get better at playing.

Those of you who have traveled down those pathways ahead of me can lend a hand.

We need each other.

Our challenges will be different, but we are all tested.

Cultivating contentment is one of the great tasks of daily life in our ADD universe.

Given the choice, I choose to be clear-eyed, rather than deluded. It can be painful -- but it makes for better friendships, and deeper connections.

If this be stoicism, it is a cheerful one. Perhaps even an optimistic one.

Thanks for accompanying me.