Looking for hope

I'm not sure where this state of mind comes from, but it's easy for me to subject my perception of the world to a fog of mild fear. What is the squeaking noise that's coming from under the car? How can my daughter possibly withstand the cold when it’s twenty-eight degrees out, and she hasn’t had a pair of mittens since she was six? Why can't I remember where the sponge went when I had it in my hand only five minutes ago? Those are the sort of thoughts that are my companions.

Then there are the big creepy ones. Will the world erupt into a ball of flames due to its incendiary nature? Will the human condition erupt into flames because of its incendiary nature? Will they finally gut Social Security just when it becomes my lifeline? I tell you, it gets exhausting.

In concert with my addictive nature, until very recently, I would scroll on Facebook for hours a day, ostensibly to keep track of my friends and whether or not there is another electric piano for sale—even though I have no place to put it and don't know how to play one except for ten rather cool sounding chords. In order to get to those posts, I would have to go past at least twenty other posts, such as ads and… well, mostly ads.

I would also look at a Facebook page that my community started called 'Rant and Rave,' which is exactly what you would expect it to be. Of course, being the noble creature I am, I would only look at the 'Rave' posts, which would heighten my love for all mankind. Hah!

Well... I must also admit that I am drawn to the 'Rant' posts. I am a gossip. Part of me wants to know who did what to whom and why it's the worst thing in the world. My best guess is that it's a strategy to allow me to feel less guilty about the trespasses I have wrought—or at least to have some company. To be fair, I also like to see it when someone's iPhone is found and, shortly after, returned.

I would look at the news ten to fifteen times a day. Not that it would change that much, but over and over, I would read about awful things that were happening and keep up to date with what kind of amplifier Stevie Ray Vaughn used to record Texas Flood. You can see where Stevie is a gateway drug to the depressing events of the day.

Just three weeks ago, it was January 1st—an auspicious day worldwide. No other holiday or date is so applicable to humanity as a whole. It is a leaving behind of the last year to make way for the possibilities of the new year. So I did what I always say I'm not going to do. I made a list of things I want to do differently.

This year, abandoning Facebook and the news were high on the list. I knew my relationship with them was unhealthy in the extreme. Far from being the occasional source of happiness and hope, they were constantly feeding into my fears.

So I stopped. Completely. For a few days. Then, I was enticed by deeply embedded neural pathways, and I opened Pandora's box so I could post that I had created this website. I felt it was critical for my friends to know about it so they could flock to it, and I would get all the acknowledgment I could take. And more. Of course, more. Always more.

After that, it was imperative to check my notifications for the next couple of days to see what sort of reaction I got. People were happy for me, but I'm not sure anyone actually went to the site. Then, I had to keep checking for the next two weeks in case there were any stragglers. So, the endorphin rush of typing 'Facebook' into my browser was satisfied. Ummm… so good…

Now, about the news. I kept my one guilty pleasure, the daily opinion from Heather Cox Richardson. I find her to be rational and informative, and I know it's vital to stay informed. Hiding in her shadow came the nightly monologues from Steven Colbert and Jon Stewart. Ummm… so good…

It's hard to put down an addiction. It's hard when I have the thought that, if I do, I'm somehow shirking my responsibility to my community. And so, because I'm a good citizen, my gut keeps getting tied in knots by reading about the events of the day—and it turns out that I have an empty restlessness when I don't know who to be happy for and who to be disappointed with.

Allow me to pivot. In order to frame my thinking for this post, I looked up the definition of hope. Here it is:

Hope is an optimistic state of mind that is based on an expectation of positive outcomes with respect to events and circumstances in one's own life or the world at large. As a verb, Merriam-Webster defines hope as to "expect with confidence" or "to cherish a desire with anticipation." If you have ever sat with me in the Lower Tavern at lunchtime, you have seen me in a state of hope. That is pure hope. I want more of it.

It is my nature to ask, "What could go wrong?" Since I spend my cognitive capital to answer that question, I have a broad menu of negative choices to chew on. There is an equally valid question to ask: "What could go right?" The first time I had that thought was forty years ago, and I knew I was onto a game-changer. While I haven't made that my exclusive approach to life, I always feel lightness in my being when I do.

Now, more than at any other time in my life, it will be easy to be held hostage by fear. Now, more than at any other time, I need to be conscious that I have some part in deciding what state of mind I want to be in.

Because of the tender quality of my perceptions, Facebook and the news do me no favors when it comes to finding hope. As that fount of wisdom, Nancy Reagan told us, "Just Say No."

Today, in the face of turmoil, it is crucial to foster hope. Start small. Go to the Lower.

Hope is an optimistic state of mind that is based on an expectation of positive outcomes with respect to events and circumstances in one's own life or the world at large. As a verb, Merriam-Webster defines hope as to "expect with confidence" or "to cherish a desire with anticipation"

A note: I shared this post with m y friend David. He pointed out that it isn't enough to hope. In order to fulfill the promise of hope, there must be a precipitating action. Using the Lower Tavern/French Dip sandwich analogy: I can go into the Lower and hope all I want for a delicious sandwich—BUT—if I don't order it, I'll never get it. Also, the owner of the tavern is always thrilled when I pay for it.