There’s a distinction between optimism and hope. I heard it first in a podcast (in Hebrew) and found it later in a paper by Jeffrey Duncan-Andrade. Optimism is looking at reality, finding the positive, and concluding everything will be fine. Hope, however, is looking at reality, being grateful for the good things, and having a plan (and a sense of agency) to change the things that need change.
A few weeks ago, I was hurting. It was the beginning of winter, and I was reading a rather depressing book about a tough topic. The world felt relentless.
I’d love to give you eight easy steps—a guide to fighting the world’s relentlessness—but I have no easy answers. I can only tell you how I keep going.
When I was hurting, I went back to basics. I started with some “material hope”, as Duncan-Andrade calls it. I gathered warming things and created a warm-up station. I made a hot chocolate station in the kitchen. I found little, frivolous, pretty things that made me feel a little better. Did it solve the global rise in fascism? Of course not; it’s a hot water bottle.
Baking always makes me feel better, and I baked cupcakes and got creative with the decoration of said cupcakes. It worked. In searching for things that made me feel better, I remembered writing. Sure, I’ve been working on my book, and I’m determined to focus on the edits and get the book out as soon as possible. But also, editing doesn’t give me that flow state I feel when writing new things, creating characters that did not exist before, listening for the story and getting it down. So, I decided I’d write something—anything—new for half an hour in the morning.
Let me elaborate on why this has not been happening. I had started a couple of short stories in the past few months and couldn’t get them to the finish line. Few ideas captured me and caused me to want to sit down and write. I’ve struggled to pin down the new book I want to work on. And I was worried that I might not have another book in me. In sum, I was scared.
Fear is the true reason that I didn’t start working on anything new. I was scared that my writing career was over. And ironically, I let that fear prevent me from sitting down and writing. I was denying myself my ikigai, the thing that makes me feel well: my writing. I had a bunch of excuses. I was writing blog posts and newsletters. I was focused on the Heritage edits. I wanted to read for the new project. But really, I was scared to start another short story and be disappointed when it ended up nowhere.
When I finally sat down to write, I found my flow again. I started working on a new short story. And I don’t want to make it sound as if I’ve unlocked the secret to life. This new short story may be going nowhere, precisely like the previous ones. I still don’t know how even to start tackling the next book I want to write. I still want to edit and read and do all kinds of other things. But it felt so good to be writing again, to be in the zone again, that these things feel less daunting now. It helped me get through the funk.
So, what is the action plan? I have a new project I’m excited about. I have my writing to fight the despair that can easily suck me into the swamp of sadness. I have plans to build a community. And that will need to be enough for this winter. That, and the hot chocolate station.
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