Richard Hugo wrote, “Writing is a way of saying that you and the world have a chance.” This gives me hope in a seemingly less hopeful world.
The world as I’ve known it my whole life doesn’t seem to have much of a chance most days, but I’ve not been writing so much lately as I have been coming to my writing desk, sitting down, reading the news and crying for the first twenty minutes of any given day. Because the news is rarely good. For anyone, really. There are power struggles dominating electronic front pages, mandates and executive orders disassembling what has become familiar and, for some people, necessary to their lives. It goes beyond simple reform and turns into a Reformation. There are talks of removing people from land they have called home – some of them in places we have no business interfering, except that Someone has decided it should be so – so it shall. Long-time allies look at us in wonder and loathing. People I know and love who are different in some way – whether that is their race, their sexual preference, a disability, their gender – are all in danger daily of losing more and more services that have been afforded to them in the name of – in the name of God, maybe? I’m not sure, anymore. But it all looks frighteningly familiar from a historical lens. Thus, my daily cry of feeling powerless and without hope. Am I making sense here? It’s not terribly well-said, but maybe you can see that I’m trying. I’m truly not a political person. I find it painful to discuss politics. Yet they consume my thoughts so much lately, that pains me, too.
But if Richard Hugo is correct, and I feel like maybe he is, I should be sitting down at my writing desk and doing something about it. I’m not a political-minded person; I don’t want to write about politics. And I don’t believe I have to write about politics in order to bring hope into the world. People can feel hope through something other than straight-forward political discourse and discussion. Maybe more of us than not would find hope in most anything but that. I’ve been given a gift to write. To create. And the ability to share my work with others, both in personal venues such as our 7 a.m. writing group, and through venues like publications I may have work accepted by when I submit my work to them. The world and I have a chance because, in my writing, I see that chance and I can empower us on the days we seem least empowered; I can love us on the days we feel most unloved. Sometimes, feeling like we have a chance is all it takes to hold on for one more day. We need that now. We need words that serve as a balm to our souls and as inspiration to our hearts, not just as information for our reeling minds. We need to encourage others and ourselves, to dig deep and find something – to create something – that will provide hope to someone somewhere sometime when they need it. We need to write often to offer that chance.
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