Dare to Hope

Last weekend my boyfriend and I had a virtual date night. We decided that we would watch a movie together using the new Netflix Party feature. The only problem was we didn’t know what to watch. My dad had suggested to me earlier that we watch Shawshank Redemption, and because it is a classic that neither of us has seen we decided to watch it. It’s also a timely movie about the importance and perseverance of hope.

It’s a Tuesday evening, and I’m absolutely exhausted. Between struggling to fall asleep last night, a kitty demanding snuggles in the middle of the night, and the wear of COVID-19 social isolation setting in it’s been a long day. I had actually been on a pretty good streak, mentally. College work is keeping me distracted, the warmer weather means I can escape on bike rides, I am FaceTiming friends more routinely, and I am practicing my cooking skills. I have found a new sort of rhythm for our new (temporary) normal. I can do this. I just have to take it day by day. But today it came crashing down. My hope, while present, is thin and fragile. So, when someone very confidently said that they didn’t think we’d be on campus in the fall, maybe not even in the spring, I broke. My hope crumbled. So, I did what I normally do when I need to process extreme emotions. I turned to my journal, and I found wonderful solace. For whatever it’s worth, I decided I wanted to share my reflections. There have been a lot of times during this pandemic when I’ve thought about blogging, but there are already so many thoughts flying around. We are drowning in information overload, so I didn’t want to be another voice shouting my own thoughts into the mix. I didn’t want to write something emotionally charged that I would look back at later and cringe. But, this time, I journaled and found ways to start rebuilding my hope. So that’s what I’m going to share. A dare to hope. No information. No sensationalization. No political opinions. Just hope.

Hope can be dangerous. It can let you down. It can easily disappoint. It can lead to futile efforts and pipe dreams. It’s also one of the only things keeping me going. I pick one point in the future and say as long as things are more normal by this point I’ll be fine. As long as I can return to campus after our extended break. As long as swim team is still going to happen. As long as I can go on summer vacation. As long as I can go back to campus in the fall. Then, inevitably, things aren’t back to normal. But I also know this. Nothing so far has really come as a surprise. I knew we weren’t going back to campus this semester weeks before they finally announced it. I would be incredibly pleasantly surprised if MCSL found any way to salvage the swim season; I’m not counting on it anymore. But this knowledge doesn’t keep me from mourning the official cancellation when I get the announcement. Just like how the realization of the inevitable cancellation doesn’t make me lose (too much) hope for an eventual end. So, I let myself break down as I pass each milestone unmet, but I also work to put myself back together again and pick a new point in the future. All the while fully knowing that I’ll have to go through the process again. Those days when my hope is shattered aren’t fun, but the hope I rebuild every other day is what keeps me going. I wouldn’t be able to move at all if I was just staring into the black hole of uncertainty. At least this way I make some progress most days.

Mixing rest and progress to get baby steps isn’t a novel idea. I discovered it while coaching the summer I was 13. I was trying to get one of my swimmers to accomplish a full 50meters of freestyle without stopping. It was too daunting a task to go that long. I told her not to worry about the full two laps. We would only do 4 half laps with breaks. We then worked our way to where she had the endurance and confidence to finish the 50 without stopping. It’s really kind of similar to this quarantine situation, only we don’t know how far we have to go. Just like my swimmer knew that she was not done after she ended her half lap in the middle of the pool, I know that the milestones I’ve been setting are not the end. But, they are enough to get me started, to push off of the wall because I know I can reach them. And when I get to the next milestone and I’m still stuck in quarantine (or restrictions have become tighter) I let myself take a break. I lounge around. I don’t shower. I cry. I know letting myself do these things is important. That rest is allowed. I don’t need to always be productive. That rest can be its own sort of productivity. But when my break is over, after I’ve caught my breath and slowed my heart rate, I keep going. I use the support of my friends, and I find my rhythm again. My swimmer already did half a lap and can, therefore, do another half. I’ve already done 3 weeks at home. I can do 3 more. Eventually my hand is going to grab that finish wall and I’ll be able to leave the pool.

I know this approach can be tiring. It probably isn’t even the best approach. It’s difficult to constantly be let down and then remain optimistic. It’s hopeful, and that is dangerous. It has its painful days. But ultimately, it’s the method I’m working with. It’s been able to keep me moving so far. And I am hoping for the quick arrival of the day we can leave our houses and safely gather. Oh, how that day will feel so light and free. How joyous we will be. Yes, there will be a lot of damage. We will have to care for our own wounds and for our neighbors, but we can do so in the company of others.