I’m a “hopeful” blogger. A blogger that sends little opiates of hope to the masses in light of a tragedy, in light of a discomfort. I try to make people feel better, or if not better, at least understood. I tell human interest stories. Platitudes. Truisms.
It usually makes me feel better, but the truth is, it’s a little shallow. It’s like a bandaid holding together skin that should be stitched back together.
More recently, I’ve decided to sit with the discomfort. I’ve decided to examine what makes me sad. Rather than huffing and puffing my sadness away, I hold it up to the light instead. “Why are you here, Sadness? What can be done with you?”
In 2016, I’m learning to hold the sadness through my hands and let it slowly drip through my fingers. Because gulping it down and pretending to hope for a greater good isn’t getting anywhere fast enough.
No, we can’t just hope that it will get better because we’re relatively good self deceivers. We’ve got to work for it! My real hope for America is that we take this abiding sadness and say, “Why, yes, it really is time to try harder.”
I feel like I’m 27 and I’m already running out of hope. But if there’s one thing I’ve always been good at, it’s hard work.
And you better believe I’m rolling up my sleeves.