Teetering on the edge of hope

I am headed to Toronto on Sunday morning for a week of writing, hanging out with fellow authors, swimming in a lake, and generally enjoying myself. I am both incredibly excited about this trip and anxious about the usual flying/leaving cats*/etc.

I know I'm anxious even when things are going well because the cats have been especially clingy this week and I haven't even brought the suitcase out yet. River is practically in my lap as I type this despite my laptop already occupying said space. (Cats do not care about laws of physics in the slightest.) I continue to watch the politics of my country with a wary eye on hope and one keeping an eye on our six for signs of danger. It's so hard to trust to hope, even though I write about it all the time.

I remind myself that that *points up* is hope. Steve Rogers saying "I can do this all day," against a bigger and stronger opponent. It's never giving up even when things look dire. And believe me, I know how tired we all are, but I also know that this is a fight that in one way or another, we're going to have to keep fighting our whole lives.

And given the alternative, that's fine. I'll spit out a tooth and get back on my feet again. Step up and fight a bit more while someone else gets their breath. Because at the end of this, we're fighting to protect each other and one of the best ways to do that is make sure that all the rest of our crew can keep going.

I write about this a lot for a reason, because I think it's both important and I love finding all the ways that people come to care for each other enough to sacrifice everything. (Or even, on occasion, make it out unscathed on the other side.) About refusing to give up on people and holding your hand out with held breath as that lost soul tries to find a reason to take it. I write stories about people finding themselves, finding others, and standing against the tide even when everything seems hopeless.

Villains want to tell us that hope is useless, a false light that distracts us from our doom. But by that same token they want us miserable and defeated, because it not only allows them to march in and take over, but it allows them to believe that their misery is justified. Joy is a powerful antidote, laughter always a good response, and believing that nothing is hopeless is the best path we can take in the face of such things.

In that vein, remember to take care of yourselves and your people. You don't have to do everything, but do a little work every day. Hope is a verb as much as a noun.

Love,
K

*in the incredibly capable hands of my brother but still, you know how it is