One hundred and sixteen things that bring you hope
And one that will probably make you laugh
Last month, I asked readers to share what brings them hope when things feel hopeless.
It was a selfish question. Like many of you, I’ve faced my share of hopeless moments this year, and I’m bracing for more.
In my day-to-day life, things are fine — even lovely, lately — which is a privileged and lucky thing to say. But when I zoom out to the broader issues — the wars, the raids, the hate, the bans — it’s hard to catch my breath. My heart hurts. I have trouble wrapping my head around it all. How can the world be so cruel?
And so, I asked you all for your list of things that bring you hope. And I absolutely loved reading them.
Today, in lieu of an essay, here’s a compilation of your wonderful, beautiful, thoughtful replies.
Other people. My family. My friends. My children. My kids. My kids? My daughter. My son. My stepdaughter’s accomplishments and recoveries. The people I love. The people who know me best. My people. Certain people. Connection. Always connection.
Babies. Kids laughing. My college students. Seeing and hearing from the next generation — or two — and how they see the world. Watching my daughter grow and learn. Hearing from others who have a vision and are working to make it reality.
Random acts of kindness — to do and to witness. A smile from a tired or wrinkled face. A quietly witnessed act of kindness. The small, wonderful things that people say and do for others on a daily basis. Noticing small kindnesses around me. Being a helper to other people.
Nature. Trees in the wind. The beach. The mountains. The sky. Clouds. Birds. Sunshine. Fresh air. Springtime blooms. Being outside. Time outside. Going outside. Getting into nature. Walking. Swimming. Hiking. Doing yard work. Working in the garden. Moving my body. Exercise. Ogling the beauty in nature. Going very, very small — looking closely at a houseplant, at the softness of my cat’s fur.
Art. Writing. Reading. Poetry. Creativity. Creating something on paper — something basic, simple and joyful. Writing haiku. Writing my own little stories. Reading stories about humans doing good. Essays that show another side. Writers who remind me that hopelessness is not forever.
Books. Music. A funny TV show. A nice cup of coffee or tea. A good sleep. Hitting reset. Waking up early and watching the sunrise. Taking a break from the usual routine. Slowing down. Taking a breath. Going to sleep and trying again later.
Faith. My faith. Jesus and His word. Connecting with my spirituality. Treating myself with kid gloves. Creating art. Attempts at creative outlets. Setting a new goal. Taking action. Trying to make things better in my community one day at a time. Local efforts I can contribute to and see the real impact of. The great work of writers, artists, activists, and community champions — all helping to create a better future.
Understanding how others cope. Learning how others get by. Knowing that other people are feeling the same but working through it. Interacting with humanity rather than my phone. A random connection to a like-minded stranger. Validation that I’m not alone.
Getting perspective from an outside source. Seeing the good in humanity. Seeing kindness in the world. Seeing joy in others. Seeing beautiful things in nature. Seeing others experience joy.
My therapist. Remembering what I’ve already been through. That I’ve survived so much. That I’ve gotten through so much already. That I've been wrong — in my hopelessness — before. That at my core, no matter how much I struggle, I love my life.
Zooming in on what matters most. Zooming out to the big picture. Remembering our place in time. Remembering the long arc of history. That the world is ever-changing. That change is inevitable. That others have been here before — from the beginning of time. That humans have survived far worse. Reflecting on what my ancestors survived.
Trying again. Starting over. Looking at my day in quarters; if the morning is bad, there’s still the third and fourth quarter — 100% of the time, it helps. Knowing tomorrow is a new day.
Smelling my partner’s nose (don’t laugh). Fresh bread. Humans being. A warm sunny day. A call from a friend. This newsletter. The mindset that as long as I have my breath, things are pretty good.
xoxo KHG
p.s. This issue was created with love — with thanks to all of you. Thanks also to Ann Friedman, who’s curated similar collage-style responses in her wonderful newsletter, a source of frequent hope for me.
Always makes my Tuesday better. My hunch is that being a 62 year old guy, married for 35 years, probably not your usual subscriber. Just a guess, willing to be surprised.
I first stumbled into your substack waiting for a CAT Scan for a real, but successful Cancer battle. That was what you would call a glimmer. The next few years of reading your work. Short version: you may never understand how much your writing had helped me. It has. Thanks for doing it and sharing!
I'm adding to this because it's been a busy week (which is when it's good to stop and smell the flowers like this) and I happened to journal about this topic within the last several days!
-Reading at the end of the day in bed, feeling my muscles get to relax from the long day, reveling in the peace and enjoyment of reading during a time when I don't feel obligated to be doing something else and getting to rest my body!
-Eating dinner (take-out is extra fun but it could also be something yummy we cooked) with my husband after the work day at our living room coffee table watching whatever TV show we're watching at the moment (right now it's a re-watch of "Suits). An excellent way to decompress and be together but quietly after our work days.
-Having a large glass of iced coffee early in the morning when the day still feels calm and journaling in my Moleskine journal. I love writing by hand in the morning (and love my own handwriting) and it's such a great way to start the day even if my journal entries are just going through what's on my agenda, as they often are. The world is quiet and I love, love mornings.