hope (less) (full).

hope (n.)

from late old english hopa, “confidence in the future”.  related to dutch hoop.  of unknown origin, a general north sea germanic word.

hope (v.)

from old english hopian, “wish, expect, look forward to something”.  of germanic origin, related to german hoffen.  some people suggest a connection with the word hop (v), with the idea of “leaping in expectation”.

related words: hopeful, hopeless, hoped, hoping

last week i went to see a hypnotist.  in technical terms, it is described as hypno-visualization.  it is offered as an option alongside traditional treatment at the ottawa integrated cancer centre (oicc).  if you’ve done guided mediation, it felt a bit like that.  to be completely honest, i was a bit uncomfortable at first, and i struggled to fully relax.  however, once i got past my performance anxiety – which is so silly, because you’re lying on a bed, not being evaluated for how well you visualize (!) – i felt the tension in my body melt away.  during the visualization, i knew i was in the room, but i also felt a distance from it.  i could hear the instructions, but they felt miles away.  the therapist took me through a timeline of my life… into the future.  she had me visualize a moment, when i’m healthy and well, and all of this is behind me.  it came to me immediately and clearly.  in fact, i can still see the picture clearly: the room, the clothes i am wearing, who i am with, the lighting.  it brought tears to my eyes.  and it still does now.  she had me look around.  soak it in.  go above and look down on the scene below.  then, she asked me to look back along my timeline, and think about what (action/emotion/strategy) got me to this point.  what did i hold on to to get here?

all at once, i was enveloped in a feeling that i hadn’t felt since my diagnosis.  the clarity was instant, almost palpable.  i felt like the word was written in the air, on my body, across the years of my timeline.  i knew what i had gotten me to this very specific moment in my future.  it was hope.

when she had me open my eyes, my cheeks were wet.

and i knew that hope was what i had been lacking; that it was what was going to get me through these next days, weeks, months.  but i felt…

doubt & trepidation;

i asked the therapist, “why have people with cancer, who might die, look forward to when they are healthy?  what if they don’t make it there?  what if it gives them false hope?”

she explained, “with surgery and treatment, people need to know what they are going through all of this for.  it gives them something to hold on to.”

it had been many weeks of not feeling hope.  in fact, since discovering my recurrence in may, i had felt very little hope.  i did not see a life beyond the cancer.  i could not envision getting through this, beating it, returning to life, having my dreams come true.  at times at the beginning, i felt completely devoid of hope.  hopeless.

a very thoughtful friend gifted me the book when things fall apart, by pema chodron.  chodron is an american tibetan buddhist and nun.  she now lives in nova scotia, running a monastery there.  in her book, she makes a case against hope.  she claims we are all “addicted to hope”, “hope that the doubt and mystery will go away”…. and that when we hold on so tightly to hope, it “robs us of the present moment”.  and i take her point.  if we are constantly hoping for life to be different or to get better, we will miss the life that is right in front of us right now.  we need to live and act on our hopes, not just hope them.  life will always have hopelessness, hard times, challenges – we will never have the hope of lasting security.  it is impossible.

feeling a glimmer of hope last week during my visualization was a really important moment for me.  it gave me a feeling of resourcefulness.  that i do have what i need – within myself – to wake up each day and take this on.  i do not have hopes for a life that is different than mine, or a life without struggle.  but i can’t help but hope that i can be healthy, and that life exists (with its own set of hardships), beyond today.  i’m willing to stick with myself.  to accept the shitty mess of this situation.  to live with the strong emotions.  to turn towards the fear of death, the fear of pain, the grief and the loss.  of this moment.  and of the next.

i’m not sure i’m addicted to hope, but i’m probably not ready to abandon hope completely.

hopeless?  not anymore.  hopeful?  i’ll take a glimmer.

that image in my timeline is calling me.

*the above photo was taken near kalaw, myanmar in april 2012.  we came upon this monastery, and these young monks, on a day trek.  i loved their serene, thoughtful expressions as they watched the world go by.