The Strength of Small Hope

“Nothing is stronger than a small hope that doesn’t give up”

-Matt Haig

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Without further ado, today’s pocket.

I’ve rediscovered audio books recently, and I realized that I need to be careful about what I choose to listen to. I listen to audio books on my morning walks to work, as I move about the house, as I’m falling asleep… I can’t shelve an audio book in the same way I can one that is paper bound. Some books are more compatible with this form of attention than others. After listening to a book whose contents I still can’t stop thinking about but nonetheless pulled me into a darkness I found hard to shake, I decided I needed something that would help me climb up into the light. For this, I chose Matt Haig’s The Comfort Book which fully delivered on the commitment it makes in the title. Matt even includes a list of comfort movies. You can find Matt’s list here, thanks to the Johnson County Library. Aren’t libraries the greatest? Anna and I rewatched Peanut Butter Falcon last night, and now I feel better about everything.

In The Comfort Book, Matt intentionally repeats the phrase “Nothing is stronger than a small hope that doesn’t give up.” Because the words are repeated so many times, they stay with you, perhaps suggesting that if we stay with our hope, it will stay with us.

Krista Tippett often ends her On Being interviews by asking her guests where they are finding their hope. I think this is such an important question, worthy of asking, worthy of answering, worthy of repeating again and again, until we find ourselves immersed in these stories of hope.

These days I’m finding hope in the puppy sleeping on my lap and in the new ways my family is learning to care for him together, in the changing of old patterns. I’m finding hope in one of my students who has chosen to challenge himself by taking the AP Lit exam, who shows up at my office at the end of the day, before heading to his job, to practice writing essays with me. I can’t control the world currents right now, but I can make some clear choices in my life, that reflect a more beautiful version of what I want that life to look like.

“We aren’t at the mercy of a world we can never control. We are at the mercy of a mind we can potentially with effort and determination begin to alter and expand. Our mind might make prisons, but it also gives us keys.”

- Matt Haig

Because we have a new pup, and because we can only take him outside in our backyard until he’s fully vaccinated, I’m doing a lot of noticing out there. This noticing is grounding. I notice that the bird feeder, which I filled up at the beginning of winter, is now only one quarter of the way full. I notice the bird baths are thawing. I notice the tulips, daffodils and garlic starting to peek up. Just the tips of their leaves, but each one is tiny gift. I notice the cats are still using parts of my garden as a litter box. Between the cats and this new pup, I am surrounded by shit, and yet there is so much beauty.

I’m finding so much hope in Spring this year, in the reminder that this season cannot be taken away, or controlled by selfish, ignorant men who care more about filling their pockets than they do about people. Tiny buds are forming on the trees, and a dry barren landscape is starting to teem with life, life that has always been there but was quiet and underground for a bit.

Recently Nina Veteo who writes the Substack Flora and Forage wrote about spring wildflower season arriving in the Blue Ridge Mountains. “While I was at Table Rock State Park this past weekend,” Nina writes, “I saw the first signs of life after the storm! I’ve been waiting for this moment for months now. Frankly, I think we’ve all been waiting for this moment. Many of us were honestly wondering if it really would happen. Will life really have the courage to show itself after the ravages of Helene? Would the promise of spring actually hold true after so much devastation?” She goes on to announce that indeed it is happening and to praise the trout lilies.

“Nothing is stronger than a small hope that doesn’t give up.”

I’m tilting my ear to the ground and keeping my eyes peeled for these small hopes. I was delighted to come across Tara Penry’s Hope Library, a compilation of writers sharing their stories of hope.

I imagine us connecting the threads of our stories, each of us tying our tiny hopes together, connecting them to one another. A story shared by a friend, something a neighbor said that offered solace, a view of a garden come together to form a tapestry that envelops us in beauty and warmth. Other times, I imagine these stories of hope as pillars of scrap wood that we piece together to build a raft, not unlike the raft they build in Peanut Butter Falcon or the raft that Huck and Jim created in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Go, gather your wood. Grab an oar. Hop on board.

I’m going to close out with a poem titled “The Wish” written by my friend and poet Claire Coenen, first published in Write Launch. Claire will join us next week with her thoughts on spirituality, nature and the divine feminine.

I would love to continue this conversation in the comments. What resonates for you? Share your story of small hope. What are you reading or watching that’s bringing you comfort?