Hope on the Road
I’m optimistic, probably to a fault. I’m a lemonade-from-lemons kind of human that makes some people gag and choke on the seeds. I’m sticky gooey with excitement at seemingly meaningless moments. The texture of a doorknob, the color of a flower, the sound an aging steering wheel makes--I’m easily amused. I see every moment as an opportunity to Reimagine. Reinvent. Recommit.
I think the heaviest toll that this year has taken on me, in addition to the loss of potential work and the shocking wake-up calls to racial injustice, is the feeling that hope sifts through my fingers a little more every day. Doesn’t sound like the words of an optimist. But it’s honest. My glass, which has always felt full even when I’m looking at the dregs, is beginning to feel empty. I hate even writing those words because it feels like giving in. Like I’ve let some nameless entity win. I’ve invited pessimism into my bedroom, and he is not a gentle lover. I’m even thinking about starting a twitter account.
But, in true optimistic fashion, the best thing I can do here is find the silver lining. For me, it comes in the form of a last minute road trip spanning two thousand miles east from the four walls of my Seattle apartment. Mask donned, fingers thick with Purell, and at the wheel of a rental car, my best friend and I set out towards the frozen tundra of my youth. In looking through the hundreds of pictures I took along the way, and the memories of long hours along empty highways and quick overnights in little towns, I’ve found a few things that replenish some of those loose grains of sand so eager to flee my fingers.
Humor. Sometimes I just need to laugh. Or at the very least crack a smile at something so bizarre or nostalgically pleasing that my head clears for a few moments. Whether it’s a Steve Urkle button or a candle scent called “Ope,” I cherish those moments when I can set aside the heavy thoughts and just be present with my funny bone:
Beauty. I’m not sure that “beauty” is really the right word here and my thesaurus is failing to provide me an alternative. But there were moments so breathtaking on our trip that I just simply pulled over. Stopped briefly from that 80mph speed limit; cruise control shuttling my co-pilot and I toward our destination. I pulled off the road. I got out of the car. I had to breathe in that air. Listen for sounds of wildlife. There was this vacuum of silence that left me questioning my attachment to city life and technology.
Generosity. When the majority of our messaging in-take is in the form of sarcastic social media one-liners (of which I am also guilty…), it’s easy to forget that kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity exist. It’s the gesture of a homemade meal, the advice of where to grab dinner in an unfamiliar town, the ‘thank you’ from our bartender for simply wearing the mask that all the signs in the place say are required, the round of nightcap shots from a new friend who can’t believe that two liberal feminists could be so nice!
Art. Street art is one of my most favorite things to see out in the world. Sometimes, these illustrations are just cartoonish figures, possibly simply created to elicit a chuckle or a grimace. Other times the pieces are expressions of life mottos, or they point to injustices in the world, or they are a call to action in the changing of minds and hearts. I find them profound because they are simultaneously colors on a wall you walk past every day, blending in with the streetscape of your commute, as well as the invitation to stop, rest and reflect.
Despite the late night doom-scrolling and the anxiety of waking up, bracing for whatever tragic or shocking event had occurred while I slept.
Despite the fact that today is election day. And today, the lives of all Americans will dramatically change, again, for the third time this year.
Despite all of this. I have to hold on to the hope that there is good left in the world. And that there is something out there for which to keep fighting.
