On a Bed of Nails ...

I've always been a realist with how I handle things ... or as much of a realist as anyone can be.  We are human, after all, and humans are prone to flights of fancy of how things should be and how they can be, and rarely do those notions bear any kind of resemblance to reality.

I am not above that, but I do try to, as the kids say, keep things real.  Sometimes I fail miserably.  There are rare moments, however, where I succeed far better than I thought I would.  Far better than I could hope to actually. 

I used to dread the future.  I would fear what cruel tortures it had in store for me.  Not so much these days.  I have this weird feeling that things are working out just fine.  I don't have the few things I really want, and I don't see me obtaining them anytime soon, but I now have this gnawing little feeling at the back of my brain.  It nibbles.  It bites.  It whispers things.  Tells me to not blurt out some of the things I want to say.  It tells me to hold on, to see if my ideas are going to mesh with reality.  It tells me to have patience.

I have named this beast.  I have given this vexing little parasite an actual name to go with its prodding nature.  I have taken the unknowable and unthinkable and have given it personality.

I call it Hope, and it is foreign to me.

I used to force it to be quiet.  If you let Hope speak, you would be wildly disappointed.  You would fall over the words that were spoken from your mouth.  You'd get that rush that comes with happiness, but it would be fleeting at best, and disastrous at worst.  So I silenced it. 

These days I'm letting it speak more.  I'm giving it some power over me.  I just wish I would have had the courage to let it speak a few hours ago.  But one thing I learned about letting Hope speak in the past is that in some sense it has made me a coward.  I don't like that feeling, but I respect it.

Maybe someday I'll let Hope be my spokesperson, but for now all I'm going to do is listen and nod my head a little.  I'll acknowledge his presence, but little more.  For I do, he may bite again and dash all those dreams against the rocks like an unanchored ship in a storm.

I have no desire to sink anymore.  I've done that far too often in the past, and I like the view from here better.

Keep whispering, Hope.  I hear you.  I just don't know if I'm buying what you're selling just yet.