Here’s what happened when I asked for hope

Handwritten words, Goodnight Moon stamps, and one feather.

Hope, in letter form.

Last month, a reader of this newsletter named Christina was offered a job as the program coordinator for her county’s mental health warmline. She’d recently gone through a difficult period that challenged her in every way possible — “physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.”

Now, she’s the person answering calls from people seeking their own support and resources.

“I really am just so, so, so absolutely and unequivocally thankful, grateful, for this new role and work I have been given,” she wrote. “It feels like ... I have more ... I don’t know ... hope? Light? It just feels like both reaching the top of a mountain after a long, arduous hike and like standing on a beach during sunset, feeling the cool water gently washing over your feet and ankles as you gaze upon the wondrous sky with its pastel pink, orange, yellow, and purple hues. And you can breathe again.”

Christina was one of more than two dozen readers who sent mail — actual, physical, stamped, handwritten, beautiful mail! — to the P.O. Box attached to this newsletter. Readers from all over the country (plus Canada and Vietnam!) shared their reasons for hope after I sent out an SOS feeling pretty hopeless myself.

I received letters, postcards, drawings, and a zine. Stunning stationary and a delightful number of Goodnight Moon stamps. When I opened my mailbox, not sure if I’d receive anything at all, I gasped. I was floored by the response — by the sheer generosity and kindness.

Among them, a reader named Brad finds hope in seeing “vulnerability, seeking help, and prioritizing mental health become more normalized.” I bet he’s grateful for people like Christina.

Liz finds hope in autumn, a season of profound metaphor. “Now is the time to collect the seeds! Lots of little promises everywhere — some food for the birds and insects, some seeds will replant themselves, and some I will harvest and save for next year.”

There were common themes running through the responses. Readers find hope in faith, relationships that are built on trust, and the many people out there fighting the good fight — strengthening democracy, teaching young people, making others laugh.

We find hope in children, always, and in books, including Eleanor Roosevelt’s You Learn by Living.

We find hope in nature, whether it’s from a flower growing through a crack in the concrete, or “the way the sunlight flickers through the leaves on the first crisp day of fall.”

One reader described hope as possibility: as long as you can create space and believe in possibilities, you have hope. I found that especially helpful.

A refreshing number of readers found hope in birds, including Mary, who shared Emily Dickinson’s iconic words:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.

Meanwhile, someone else included an actual feather in their envelope. How perfect is that?

A reader named Jillian shared a note that read like a poem itself:

“I feel just as lost as you sometimes, but I feel hope when each of the parents on our street make sure every kiddo gets off the bus safely. When the middle school girls stop at the Little Free Library in our front yard everyday. When the golden retriever down the street nearly flies to come give us kisses.”

Herb reminded me of that famous quote, “All politics is local,” and applied it to hope. I found that helpful, too. Your letters were full of small moments that, once noticed and appreciated, became big and meaningful.

I was beyond touched that people were willing to stop their busy days to write and send mail. Reading note after note, I laughed and cried happy tears — hope, in letter form! One person wrote while listening to the live version of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.” Another wrote while her five-month-old granddaughter, her “greatest reason to fight for love, peace, and joy,” was taking a nap. Someone sent a note on the back of a recycled substitute-teaching lesson plan. Another used stationery they hadn’t touched in years. My sister-in-love mailed a postcard from a weekend trip to Idaho.

A reader named Karen — who made me chuckle with an anecdote about her teenage granddaughter — shared this wisdom: “As a giver, you need to become a receiver of every unexpected loving or caring gesture, and wrap yourself in it.”

The thing with feathers.

If the world feels especially dark right now (and lord knows, there are endless reasons to feel that way), try looking around you. Look for the kids at the bus stop or the excitable golden retriever. Observe the people honoring their right to protest. Search for a plant pushing its way out of the ground. Take a minute to watch the falling leaves and remember: new growth will return — hope and possibility, intertwined.

Listen to a beautiful song or reread a comforting book. Give yourself or someone else a hug. Breathe. And if you’re still struggling for a reason to find hope, try asking someone else for theirs.

“The best way to find hope is to give hope,” another reader said. That’s exactly what you all did for me, and now I’m passing it back to you. There is always light, even in the darkest times, and there’s always someone to carry that light, even if you can’t.

Thank you for reminding me of that.

xoxo
KHG