Hope can have different meanings. One sense of the word is when it is used as a wish: I hope there will be seats at the movie. I hope there is asparagus at the grocery store. This kind of hope can be rooted in expectations that defy reality, or long for our expectations to be true. We hope that the climate crisis isn’t happening, that it isn’t too bad. But hope as written about by many authors these days is radical, active, and critical. It is a living thing that we nourish with our action.

I’d like to add to this biodiversity. For me, hope is a bone deep faith in the goodness of things; in the beauty of the world, and the worthiness of being alive in troubled times.
If we think about it, we are the embodiments of thousands of hopes gone by.
Hope is inherited from our ancestors and borrowed from future generations.
Hope is an intergenerational heirloom. It does not depend on a feeling. It depends on a keeping. Hope is a seed to be saved and planted when the time is right and harvested when the time is right and saved all over again.
What is something you are too scared to hope for because it seems impossible?