The summer after I graduated from college, I lived with my best friend (bestest friends since middle school) for a summer in an eccentric town in the Adirondack mountains. We described it by saying, "where the men are men and the women are men." That kind of town.
I am an idealist, so I always thought Hope was a positive trait. Helpful. Inspiring. Motivating.
In college, I had been shocked to learn that according to the Greek myth, Hope was in Pandora's box. I audibly gasped at the thought. How could hope be a bad thing? Since then, I think Hope becomes toxic when the desired outcome is simply not going to happen. Unfortunately, Hope does not have a sell-by date nor does it stink when it morphs into resignation.
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| Thank you, Google maps. |
It was the summer of 2005. I was walking on Ampersand Avenue. I glanced at a street sign and immediately stopped walking. In brown and gold, I saw "Hope St." The road began to climb upward with one side street and then a stone wall at the peak.
Who would name a dead end street Hope?
I immediately began to walk upward. This time, simply gasping to breathe.
As I approached the top, I saw the road curve to the left, continuing; I laughed.
Hope often feels like a dead end path, but we will not know what is waiting for us at the top unless we start walking. Call me if you need a walking buddy.
Hope 2012 relay credit to Melanie Crutchfield: http://melaniecrutchfield.com/2012/07/27/hope-2012-a-blog-relay/
