When hope disappeared on me, I felt like it did that on its own.
It wasn’t like I made a conscious decision…
I’m tired of hope, so I’m kicking it out.
I was so scared about losing hope, that I fought as hard as I could to hold onto it.
And this makes sense because…
We humans are a hope-based species.
Over the millennia, hope has kept us going through our hardest times. Which makes it one of our most prized possessions. We depend on it. We turn to it again and again. It’s built into our genome. There’s no reason we would give it up without a fight.
At least, I’ve never met anyone who just up and decided to dump it, like dropping it off at the second-hand shop and going on their merry way.
Instead, what I’ve seen is that when hope disappears on a person, it’s a momentous event. A painful event. It’s felt as a terrible loss.
And now, in our time, as the crises we face multiply and as the danger we’re in deepens, more and more people will be crossing over to the far side of hope. And they will be…
Landing here scared and disoriented.
But one of the things I love best about my post-hope life is…
Being here for newcomers.
Giving them company and comforting. Welcoming them in. Offering guidance. Helping them find their way.
And not only is this a pleasure in and of itself, it’s absolutely essential work. We can’t build a community or a movement of post-hope activists if the great majority of people crossing over get swallowed by despair.
What I want for newcomers is that, first…
They get to feel for themselves.
And then…
They get to fight for themselves.
The first impulse for lots of people crossing over is to blame themselves for losing hope, to be hard on themselves. But I want them to treat themselves with tenderness, especially now when they are hurting, and the hurt is running deep.
I want them to understand that it’s reality that’s ripping hope away from them.
If you take a long, hard, objective look at the world, and at the mass behavior of our species, that look can so easily kill hope. And reality simply has the power to take hope from you even when you’re fighting with everything you’ve got to hold onto it.
But I want newcomers to know they’ve got something to look forward to. Because once you’ve crossed over and settled on the far side, you can now be here for the people crossing over after you—loved ones, neighbors, colleagues, old friends, or maybe strangers who are about to become new friends.
You’ll get to show them by your own example that…
There is life after the death of hope.
And it can be good.
And you’ll get to show them that…
There is love after the death of hope.
And it can be better than ever.
It’s true that this post-hope realm is a very hard place to live. But I want newcomers to know that…
The death of hope is only the inciting incident.
The real story here is that…
We get to upgrade love.
That’s what gives our days meaning. And joy.
I miss hope. I miss it like crazy. But I can’t go back to it. First of all, the way I see it, hope really is dead, so there’s nothing to go back to. And second, my relationship with hope has changed irrevocably. I don’t even want it back anymore.
I used to be a born-again believer in salvation hope. Knowing the danger we’re in, that was the only kind of hope I really cared about.
But now I’m able to look behind the scenes, and what I see is that salvation hope is not real. Its purpose is save us from having to face the fact that we can’t save ourselves.
And salvation hope is too big. It’s like a supernova which is the grand and final fireworks of a dying star.
So I really am done with salvation hope…
I’m done dragging its cadaver around with me pretending it hasn’t died.
And…
I’m done trying to suck nurturance from it when it has nothing left to give.
I’ve lived on the far side for decades now. I’ve paid the price in pain for crossing over. I’ve settled in. I’ve made a home for myself here. And I can tell you, if I had a choice, which I don’t, but if I could go back to my old life, I wouldn’t.
Even knowing that this is a place of relentless sorrow, I would still choose here, because…
Sorrow is a living thing, whereas despair is not.