The Book of Hope

How do you explain “hope”?

In The Book of Hope by Jane Goodall and Douglas Abrams with Gail Hudson, Dr. Goodall describes hope as “what enables us to keep going in the face of adversity. It is what we desire to happen, but we must be prepared to work hard to make it so.”

This book was written during the pandemic, a time when it sometimes felt like all we could do was hope; hope to stay healthy, hope to stay safe, hope for a vaccine. 

This is a powerful book with a powerful message, and this week I’m sharing some of my favorite passages.

“You won’t be active unless you hope that your action is going to do some good. So you need hope to get you going, but then by taking action, you generate more hope. It’s a circular thing.”

From Douglas Abrams, “I was surprised to learn that hope is quite different from wishing or fantasizing. Hope leads to future success in a way that wishful thinking does not. While both involve thinking about the future with rich imagery, only hope sparks us to take action directed toward the hoped-for goal.”

“The trouble is that not enough people are taking action,” Douglas Abrams said. “You say more people are aware of the problems we face — so why aren’t more trying to do something about it?”

“It’s mostly because people are so overwhelmed by the magnitude of our folly that they feel helpless,” Jane Goodall replied. “They sink into apathy and despair, lose hope, and so do nothing. We must find ways to help people understand that each one of us has a role to play, no matter how small. Every day we make some impact on the planet. And the cumulative effect of millions of small ethical actions will truly make a difference. That’s the message I take around the world.”

“Jane’s stories affirmed that when we feel we can make a difference, and we’re given the means to do so, positive outcomes can happen that in turn allow hope to prevail. It was a powerful example of what the research had found contributes to hope: clear and inspiring goals, realistic ways to realize those goals, a belief that one can achieve those goals, and the social support to continue in the face of adversity.”

“From talking with Jane and doing my own research, I was starting to see that hope is an innate survival trait that seems to exist in every child’s head and heart; but even so, it needs to be encouraged and cultivated. If it is, hope can take root, even in the grimmest of situations…” from Mr. Abrams.

“Well, I always knew I had a gift for writing,” Jane added. “From an early age I was writing — stories, essays, poems. But I never thought I had a gift for speaking. It wasn’t until I was forced to make that first speech, and found that people were listening, and heard their applause at the end, that I realized I must have done okay. I think many people have gifts that they don’t know about because nothing forces them to use them.”

“That when the trials of life come, you’ll be given the strength to cope with them, day by day. So often I’ve thought at the start of a dreaded day — having to defend my Ph.D. thesis, giving a talk to an intimidating audience, or even just going to the dentist! — ‘Well, of course, I shall get through this because I have to. I will find the strength. And, anyway, by this time tomorrow it will be over’.”

Readers – I wrote this blog post before the horrific school shooting in Texas. I wrote this blog and now am re-reading it with a broken heart. Hope — it’s more than just wanting things to change. I hope my son will grow up reading about gun violence in history books, as something that used to happen, not reading about it in the newspaper because gun violence remains a current event. Hope involves action. For me, now, that takes the form of voting. Continuing to Vote in Every Single Election. And I hope my readers feel the same way.

Holding Onto Hope

(These beautiful lines were stenciled on the sidewalk, near where I parked my car, before meeting with a new neurologist.)

In one week, on two consecutive days, I had two very different medical experiences.

Day One: A follow-up with my rheumatologist. An appointment to “strategize” (his word) because after all my tests, he had no definitive answers or explanations to offer me. It’s been a lot of tests, even during the pandemic. A muscle biopsy, meetings with specialists, vials of blood (17 at one visit!), an MRI.

All these tests have ruled out a lot of really bad possible diagnoses. No red flags have been waved. And yet, we still don’t know why – why the pain has spread in my left leg.

I keep going to these appointments, I keep meeting with new doctors (a neurologist and a hematologist within the last few months) for two reasons. I remain hopeful that one day, someone will reach an “Aha moment,” something that gives us some answers, and most importantly, gives me some pain relief. But I also go to these appointments out of fear. Fear that my autoimmune disease is worsening. And when there’s something bad going on in your body, usually, the sooner it’s found, the sooner it’s caught, the better the prognosis. 

And then, Day Two: I received my first dose of the Pfizer vaccination! Here in California I qualified, not because of my age, but because of my underlying health condition. And all I can do is marvel at it all. In one year’s time, this horrific pandemic changed our planet, took the lives of over half a million souls in our country alone. And yet, in one year’s time, a vaccine was developed, tested, and is being rolled out in increasing numbers. 

And now I’m waiting. Waiting to meet with another specialist. Waiting for my second vaccination dose.

Which brings me back to hope.

The Present is a Gift

Let me begin by saying I write these weekly blog posts in advance. You receive them in your inbox each Wednesday morning, but I write them before Wednesday. 

Which means what you’re reading today has been written before the results of the United States election were made available.

So I don’t know what this morning looks like. I don’t know what the election results show. 

But I’m hopeful.

And really, with so much uncertainty in the world, that’s all anyone can really do. Begin each day hopeful. Begin each day with the awareness and recognition that, no matter what, each day is a gift. 

I try. 

Hanging in my bathroom, I have a small, framed piece of art created by Flavia Weedn. It is a reminder to appreciate each day as a precious gift. It is a reminder that each day is a promise of beauty and grace and wonder and magic.

That is my hope for today. 

 

Because of Ryan

Ryan, age 8. Strong enough to lift the truck that towed the space shuttle Endeavour. California Science Center, July 2016

I first became ill when Ryan was just two years old. He has grown up knowing me like “this.” “This” meaning pain in my legs, prescription bottles on the counter, doctors appointments written on the kitchen calendar.

It breaks my heart that Ryan has learned a powerful lesson at such a young age. People get sick. All different kinds of sick. Through no fault of their own. And sometimes there’s nothing you can do to make the illness go away. The only thing you can do is learn to live with it as best you can. 

But there is a flip side to all this. 

There has to be.” 

Those lines were taken from one of my personal essays, “Because of Ryan” which was recently included in the fourth issue of Please See Me. 

Click here to read the full essay.