A pocketful of hope

I wasn’t going to write an end of the year post like I have in the past. I tried. I sat down to start it more than once but couldn’t get much past:

I don’t even want to recap this year in any way. I don’t want to try to glean lessons from the trashfire and while there was many many MANY good moments in 2016, remembering them makes me anxious over how hard we may have to work to have even somewhat similar good times.

2016: the year I had to up my medication to deal with it

I really don’t want to look ahead to 2017 either. I’m worried at best and terrified at most and I’m already bone-weary tired.

Last year, however, I did something a little different, something a little Neil Gaiman. Something a little like what we’d do growing up, speaking blessings and prophecies over each other in those final hours of the fading year:

I hope the coming year is magic.

That the dragons we all come across are friendly and, if they’re not, our swords are sharp and our aim true. I hope we make lovely, terrible things, and we get as much goodness returned to us as we put out. I hope the only tears we cry are from laughter and, if they’re not, there’s always someone there to wipe them away for us. I hope we find light when we need it and we’re a light when someone else does. I hope the only time our bones hurt is from holding someone’s hand too tight or dancing too hard and the spot next to us is never empty when we take a break. I hope we find miracles and mischief and that we are miracles and mischief. I hope our pile of good things are always taller than our pile of bad things and we make friends with the monsters under our bed.

But above all, I hope we’re happy. Dangerously, recklessly happy, and I hope we spread that happiness like seeds and that happiness grows tall and strong with roots thick and deep.

Those blessings don’t seem to have taken all the way and maybe that should turn me off of trying again. But I’m stubborn and that’s exactly what I wish for in 2017.

I hope we’re more stubborn.

Stubborn in our pursuit of happiness. In our refusal to allow tyranny to take hold. I hope we stubbornly dig our heels in, as a society, and refuse to be dragged backward. I hope the spark in our hearts, that flame that warms our blood with all the beautiful things that make us human, stubbornly burns on. I hope we keep learning, our thirst for knowledge to do and be better, is unquenchable and as stubborn as a toddler.

I hope we’re happy. Genuinely and staggeringly happy. I hope our spines are straight and our cries thunderous if we’re not. I hope our hands always find another’s to hold and I hope we remember to stretch out our other to someone who needs it. I hope we shine like the brightest of stars and the darkness trembles around us. I hope we reach down and punch up and I hope our swings are sure and dangerous. I hope we dance in sunlight and in ashes and I hope it rains glass from the ceiling.

I hope we create lovely and sensitive things. Things full of fury and soothing touches and so much love it bursts the seams and spills out and saturates the ground and softness grows from it.

I hope we have hope. I hope we are hope. I hope our pockets are bursting with it and we have an abundance to share and we pass it out to strangers who pay that hope forward and it’s our homes and talismans.

I hope 2017 is ready for us and we’re ready for it and if we’re not, we find our footing quickly and there’s someone there on our six.

I hope. I hope I hope I hope.

See you on the next page. My boots will be laced, my sword sharpened, and my fingers waiting to find yours.

Let’s give it hell.

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