Hope

An essay by Lisa Jamison

She tried them on like offerings in a boutique and found that, like clothing, not all aspirations fit as she had hoped.  She wondered if bringing up long buried dreams and joys would feel different in this new reality or, if like clothes in her closet they would have shriveled with neglect, become threadbare or woefully out of style with her evolving nature once selected and considered.

The poetry reading was corny and crude and suited her poorly as it had no emotional depth—no soul.  The TED talks resurrected a dormant desire to communicate and educate and entertain. It reminded her of the vulnerability it took to be authentic; something she didn’t’ think she’d yet achieved.

This new path was full of discovery and options.  So foreign was the autonomy that each step felt unreal and dreamlike, disconnected but with a subconscious current leading her on.  It was thrilling but measured, like trudging through an overgrown meadow.  Her energy was sustained with the new—or was it exceedingly old?—sensations.  Was this hope?