A feeling that things never change
Finding hope in the midst of a dark world
It’s been hard to think about writing about my small life these days. Hard to feel like the losses in my life, which are not permanent, not tragic, not senseless, are worth discussing when so many are facing profound and horrific loss. I don’t want to write about the pain and hatred that I see because it is not my voice that needs to be heard on this. But I see it. And see the hurt and devastation that so many people I love and so many people I will never know are experiencing. And it is shattering.
I have wondered many times, not just in the past two weeks, but over my children’s lifetimes—particularly in the past seven years—whether I made the right choice bringing children into a world that feels so broken, so polarized, so full of hate. I once asked my father this question, why he chose to bring children into this world. I was in college and felt overwhelmed by human history, which seemed to have made gains at such tremendous human costs. His answer was simple, “I always hoped that my children could be part of the solution.” I often come back to this belief. At times, I will admit—sorry, Dad—that I found it naive, perhaps arrogant. Those times when I felt that way, I thought change needed to happen on a much grander level. Did my dad really expect that one of us would be a world leader? Would find a way to address climate change? Find a way to convince people that kindness, love, peace, and not just acceptance but celebration of difference and diversity was really what we all need to offer each other and ourselves?
For the first 10 years of my children’s lives, I worked in a job that had far-reaching impact. I trained healthcare providers and administrators. I helped to write national policy for the Veteran’s Health Administration. I conducted and published research. I developed and implemented mental health treatments. I hope they made a difference in some way. But I left all of that because I realized that for me, all the travel and presenting, the brainstorming and writing and grant proposals, the late nights and early mornings kept me away from what was most important to me: Raising my three boys with my husband.
The world is so full of hurt people. People who were physically and emotionally hurt as children. People who were abused and abandoned as adults. People who were lied to by those they trusted, by their family, their religion, their government. Sometimes, people can take that hurt and transform it into beauty and art. Sometimes, they take that hurt and temporarily chase it away through addiction. Sometimes, people bring that hurt to a therapist, a yoga practitioner, a healer and ask for help working through it. And sometimes, they take that hurt and use it to fuel a rise to power and a platform to hurt others.
I want a world with less hurt and more joy. Less violence and more love. Less pain and more comfort. No guns and more Little Free Libraries. What I have learned over the past 20 years is that the best way for me to contribute to that is on an individual level. For me, the change happens in relationship. Every day in my job, I try to help people find better ways to navigate toward the life they want. Helping a mom to carry less guilt about not being able to do everything. Helping a couple find better ways to disagree. Helping someone sort out the feelings that belong to the past and those that belong to the present. Helping a partner know it’s time to forgive. Or time to move on. Helping people feel a little less anxiety, a little more joy.
And more than that, my greatest contribution is to be a mother to my boys. I can’t stop a war. I can’t restore function to our faltering democracy. I can’t make our politicians understand that human lives are worth more than the gun lobby’s money. I can’t make our leaders believe and legislate that every life is precious and should be protected from hatred. But I can and have tried to teach my boys to choose love over violence, understanding over judgment, kindness over hatred. These are not choices I have always made successfully myself. And so I also tried to teach them to have grace and compassion not just for others, but for themselves. To know they will make mistakes and that is okay. What other hope do we have if not our children, not the next generation? How else will we move forward if we don’t believe that our children will make changes? That the forward movement we see will continue to bend toward justice, as Martin Luther King, Jr. so wisely said.
As I try to hold both the sadness and heaviness of the world right now, I think of these faces. The promise and the hope held in all children. And I am left with the same sentiment, we try our hardest to make this world a kinder place. For some of us, it is on a macro level—serving communities, cities, states, countries. For some of us, it is on a micro level—serving students, older people, clients, patients. For all of us, it has to be at a personal level, being kinder, less polarized, recognizing our limits and not overextending ourselves, speaking up for what is right, reaching out when others are hurting, voting in every election, and creating a world we want to leave for our children. And hoping that they take that world and make it even more beautiful than we could have imagined.
Dear Hope ~ Sara Bareilles
Read a book on Hemingway
Closed my eyes to see
The man himself appeared to say
To write is just to bleed
So I will write it down, all the jagged edges
The ugliness I've seen
Until I change the truth, rearrange the letters
For beauty underneath
Dear hope
If you can hear me, don't go
I don't feel you now, but I know you're there
Dear hope
I could really use you now
Throw me a rope
Throw me a rope
Dear hope
I can't seem to shake it yet, feeling that
Things may never change
It always breaks my heart when broken parts
Ache to heal again
So I will write it down and make jagged edges
Into something I can hold
Don't wanna lose my way
Like dear Hemingway
So I won't let go
Dear hope
If you can hear me, don't go
I don't feel you now, but I know you're there
Dear hope
I could really use you now
Throw me a rope
Throw me a rope
Throw me a rope
Throw me a rope
Dear hope