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No hope. If I went with my gut this morning I’d be calling this No Hope Thursday. I’m deep into a “what’s the point?” mindset this morning. If you know, you know. 

There are no local stories that rise above the overwhelming dread I feel about the future.

Write anyway.

There are no upcoming events that entice me to believe they are worth doing.

Write anyway.

There are no local initiatives or ideas currently under discussion that feel possible to me anymore.

Write anyway. 

Yesterday I received a box in the mail from the Penzey Spice company. It was a surprise. It contained 27 sample-sized packets of a spice blend named Resist. That’s a whole heck of a lot of resistance in one box. These days I’m not sure I’m capable of enough resistance to fill just one of those small packets.

Light a single candle? Curse the darkness? Go back to bed?

Write anyway.

Yesterday for the first time I stepped out of my comfort zone and showed up at the drop-in coloring session at the East Columbia 50+ Center. The folks at the desk were friendly and they made me my own photo ID for signing in when I visit. I spent about two hours in the company of some fun and easygoing women who made me feel welcome and filled me in on what the center is like. 

It wasn’t so much that I had a desperate urge to color but rather that I’ve been determined to try something new. Will I go back? I think I might. I get the feeling that there’s something there for me to learn or experience that’s worth exploring.

Is that…hope? Maybe the thinnest of wisps.

 A while back I saw a television program about the children’s show Bluey and how it pertains to concepts of modern day fatherhood. The prospect of trying to be the kind of engaged and playful dad that Bandit is was daunting to many of the fathers interviewed. A parenting expert pointed out something interesting. Bluey episodes are seven minutes long. Maybe you shouldn’t freak out about trying to be “that dad” 24/7. What if you committed to being that dad for a whole seven minutes?

A seven minute unit of dad-ness.

A sample sized packet of resistance.

A two hour adventure outside my comfort zone.

This week I received an invitation to have coffee with a local someone who I admire greatly and I haven’t even responded because, well, “What’s the point?” That’s a rough place to be in and I think I’m not alone in this right now. But what if that cup of coffee is every bit as much a harbinger of hope as a sample sized packet of resistance?

I don’t know. 

But, here I am. Writing anyway.





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