A Drop Of Hope

Photo by @aaronburden

I’ve had ample opportunities to publish the book, but turned them all down. The truth is, the book was no good and I knew it.  In my mind, I would say things like “you surely know enough to help people now,” or “you know so much about life, just do it.”  But deep down I knew that I would change in ways that the book could not.  Then what?

Seven years later, just as I expected, I’m different and the book is the same.  Ideas from the old me.  Nothing wrong with that.  I just knew that I wasn’t quite there at the time.  And, truth be told, I may still not be.

However, the new me understands pain, isolation, and loneliness in a much more layered way (and a later version of me will see it differently, I’m certain).  The book was written by a man (the old me) that understood individual suffering very well but knew little about suffering because of someone else's pain/disability/suffering.  Thirteen years of coping with very severe autism in my oldest son makes me wonder who the heck even wrote that first book.

Before, I grieved over suffering on the streets alone.  Now, my heart splits for a different reason and into many more tiny pieces than before.

I’m going to be transparent here.  I don’t believe I have many answers.  And I’m not sure many people do.  I believe there’s a place any of us can get to where coping skills/talking about it/putting a positive spin on things--and/or prayers just makes things worse or pisses us off. 

There is one thing I’m pretty sure I’ll always believe helps me though.  And that is hope.  Remaining hopeful pushes through the walls of time and pain and creates opportunities that otherwise may not exist.  It’s not bound by the laws of this world.  Nor does it change.  Add a drop of hope into any situation and it changes the chemistry of it.  It leaves the door open for the possibility to step in.  

I keep pushing forward believing that hope will win. I hope you can do the same. 

Jeff