Ya boi has been wrestling with the concept of hope. Right about now, it seems like a good idea to have some of it on tap. But I feel like it has to be the right kind.

See, I often bristle at hopeful statements like "it'll all work out." I know it's meant to reassure and console, but unfortunately it kinda does the opposite for me. There's something funky about trying to speak betterment and certainty into existence. If given the choice, I'll take "I have no idea if things will get better, but I want them to" over "Things will get better, I know it" every time. I guess what I'm saying is I need a version of hope that's grounded, and in touch with doubt — with the fundamental uncertainty of reality.

It's also gotta be connected to action for me. The feeling of wishing for something to be better is understandable, noble even. But it is only useful insofar as it leads to a wise application of effort. In other words, things don't get better through hoping alone. We have to let our "thoughts and prayers" instruct us — show us where we might push or pull on the world around us. The arc of the moral universe is bent with hands, arms, and backs.

Speaking of muscles, I really liked what Krista Tippet and Jason Reynolds had to say about hope in their recent conversation (via On Being). Many people have described hope (and love) as a muscle, but they really worked and extended this metaphor. Muscles are things we can develop and strengthen, but we don't demand strength from them all the time. It is natural for an exerted muscle to fatigue after a while. They require rest and maintenance if we want to be able to use them well and over the course of a lifetime.

If we translate that over to hope, what this reveals is an unrealistic expectation many of us are carrying around: that we ought to always be hopeful, and that moments of despair are unnatural. That ain’t right. Unless we hide ourselves away, we will occasionally despair. The world will sometimes—maybe even often—overwhelm us. This isn't because we are failures. It's because we are human. Our capacities — our strengths — are not infinite.

Also, this means that our ability to admit weakness is a form of strength. An athlete (a wise athlete anyway) knows when to stop; they know how to avoid injuring themselves and disadvantaging their team. Finding ways to be open and frank with those around us when we are feeling despair moves us closer to this muscular understanding of hope. (It’s also is a form of restorative negativity).

And man, sometimes I be despairing. Sometimes I can't see how things are going to get any better. I take a look at AI training on (stealing) the work of small artists. Or how it gets used to impersonate (and shamelessly appropriate the intellectual property of) small musicians. I look at my own business and wonder if I'm foolish to keep trying at a creative career. I wonder if the party is well and truly over, and I'm that last guest at the bar that can't take the hint. I wonder if it's all cooked.

The truth is I don't know. But back to On Being — Jason Reynolds goes on to develop the hope/muscle analogy in an interesting way.

"If I were to think about my life as an athlete, let’s say I’m running track, and let’s say my stamina is what it is. When the stamina runs out […] I then am allowed to stop and pause and catch my breath, and while doing so, I rely on my team and their stamina […] to carry me on. Like my teammates then have a responsibility to carry their teammate who was out of breath. But I do deserve and get a moment to be out of breath […] when I’m out of stamina.

The idea of hopelessness as a perennial issue I actually think is a bit disingenuous and unfair, but moments of hopelessness I actually think are human. And I think we all should allow ourselves enough grace to take a moment to catch our breath, believing that the communities that we’ve built, which we should be building, will be there to sort of carry us with their hope until they’re out of breath. And then it’ll be our turn to take the baton and to do the same thing."

So when I'm doing a natural human thing (despairing), this is where community comes in. We've got to lean on friends, neighbors, countrymen — folks that can carry us through our despair. These "teammates" can continue to act wisely until we have time enough to catch our breath. And when we feel up to it, we can take our turn running, and hopefully relieve someone else.

Eventually — every time so far, at least — I catch my breath. I do get to hoping again. I see evidence of a different economy rooted in humanity, and of people doing art — recklessly, zealously, skillfully, despite all the incentives pointing in the other direction. I feel motivated to research (do any of you know if there are ways to obstruct AI training? Can you save out images in a way that offers additional protection?) and to act (Here’s something you can urge your reps to support).

Anyhow. Hope you're doing okay out there. I'll carry you, you carry me, everything is always becoming otherwise. May you let your hope and despair be instructive, may you rest and act and rest. Keep on going. See ya next month.