Hope

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—

 That perches in the soul—

 And sings the tune without the words—

 And never stops—at all

 —Emily Dickinson

In May 2024, my position was eliminated at a company I loved—a place that had formed me through mentors, travel, colleagues, and professional development. It had also begun to consume me in unhealthy ways.

In the days and months that followed, I felt grief, shame, and anger. But also relief. There was a lightness. In my heart, I felt that "thing with feathers." It took me a while to name that feeling as Hope, perched in my soul. It was a tune I hadn't heard clearly in a long time—a tune that had never stopped but had become muffled under the noise of work, stress, striving, and confusion.

There were days that summer when the weight of the present felt impossibly heavy, when despair was so dark I couldn't imagine my next step. My journal is filled with questions about how my scattered experiences might ever coalesce into a coherent path forward.

But there were also days of long walks. Weeks when I prayed and journaled consistently. I wrote poems again. I started teaching a weekly yoga class. The year remained disjointed, but I was revisiting practices that made me feel hopeful.

I wonder: What transition are you in the midst of? What change is upon you? Is there a situation or relationship making it difficult to hear the tune of Hope that is always being sung?

A Practice for Hope

Hold out your right hand and imagine it holds all that is sad, frustrating, impossible, and confusing. Feel the weight of it.

Now hold out your left hand and imagine it holds all that is good, kind, clear, and possible. Feel how light parts of life really are.

Bring your hands together, letting all of your life mix in the bowl of your hands. Lift your hands and press it all into your heart. Imagine Hope perched there as well.

Listen for the tune. What seems possible if you let Hope guide you?

May you hear Hope's song this week.