A Living Hope

On hope as promise and future as reality

Ali Wong and Steven Yeun in BEEF—small spoilers in this piece

My snake plant is currently dying in my room. Now, I like to think it is not all my fault because I inherited it from my sister's room a few months ago where it sat lonely and dry, and I thought it better to rehabilitate the plant with me in the company of my other plants, than sit neglected in my sister’s absence. So I carried over the plant in its tiny home—a little pot with no drainage holes held the large yellowing leaves and bone dry soil. After a few weeks and some water and sun, I saw new growth begin to sprout from its center, signaling toward resilient roots. But now after another few weeks, perhaps too much water, and a  Wisocnsin winter later, the snake plant is still dying. It’s become a key fixture in my room and I can’t bring myself to move from its post, despite my space or its small pot not being the best environment for its growth. I only hope that the new sprouts continue to thrive, but the fear that they will soon join their older counterparts’ unfortunate demise—a yellowish, wilted fate—takes over, leaving me paralyzed by inaction. 

I am a cage, in search of a bird

—Franz Kafka.

I just graduated college, which is what led me back to my childhood room in the first place. Lately the degree I labored for and dreamed of seems to be the source of nearly all my insecurities and stressors, and the limbo of being a postgraduate feels more taxing than it was actually being a student. Then the world seemed incredibly open, I felt as though when I came out of school adulthood would embrace me with outstretched arms and my degree would boost me over any fence I wanted to climb. Instead I was met with a cold shoulder from a bleak job market.

The thoughts constantly creep in, did I waste my time, am I too late, am I doing the right thing, am I in the right place? I want to penalize myself for everyday I spend not knowing, I feel each day pass away and desperately try to recover the shedded seconds, minutes, and hours. These lingering uncertainties snake themselves into my thoughts, stirring up doubt and insecurity, piercing me with indecision.  

She has no idea what she doin' in college

That major that she majored in don't make no money

But she won't drop out, her parents'll look at her funny

I’m coming to understand that this fear of lost time, of falling behind is inline with the human experience. We are keenly aware of our finite, unspecified amount of time here on Earth.  The fleetingness of life is stressed culturally, and more recently the fleetingness of planet Earth itself has come even more to the forefront. 

Over the past few years a movement toward climate justice has emerged and is mobilizing youth globally to fight for the planet. Scientists, environmentalists, and activists alike have long warned of the detrimental effects of our planet's rising temperatures. Despite the irreparable damage we have done, hope to save our planet is not lost. Through simple actions like recycling, using LED lights and other energy efficient appliances at home, eating less meat, mindful travel and countless other actions, each person can take responsibility for putting our planet on a stronger path. Ruminating on all the ways we’ve destroyed our planet, while it can give us a level of perspective, does not save our burning home; proactive, forward thinking and acting does. Our Earth has hosted life for 4 billion years, and can continue to if we diligently protect it today.  We place our hopes in our present actions, and their power to preserve and propel the future. 

It’s tempting to hyper-fixate on the past—how we could’ve, should’ve, or would’ve. Lee Sung Jin’s Emmy winning, limited series Beef plays with this idea of twenty-twenty hindsight in an insightful way. The series is an imaginative blend of psychological, drama and comedy, with majestic frames which guide the eye through a tale of how a road rage incident uproots and sends two stranger’s lives down a seemingly endless spiral. The stunning frames with intentionally placed elements, meticulously designed lighting, and masterful use of song and art are a perfect backdrop to the poetic, witty, emotional script and fantastic acting from leads and supporting characters alike. 

In the last episode, after leads Amy and Danny have ruined the lives of virtually everyone around them as casualties in their year long road-rage incited beef, they find themselves literally driving off a cliff. After the crash, lost in the woods and poisoned by wild berries, they are able to face each other and reach a place of true understanding. Coming down from the poison berry induced high which bonded the two, Danny utters something along the lines of , “We should have done this more often. What a waste.” to which Amy responds, “At least we did it once.” In the rubble of what was once their lives, they sit in gratitude for a moment, a moment of love between two once sworn enemies. 

The ability to hold space for gratitude in the midst of any circumstance is a skill I’m learning to build. Some lessons will drive you off a cliff to learn, or cause you to drop a few leaves, or put the quality of your life on the line,  but this doesn’t make it time wasted. Hope is promise, a guarantee of what is to come. Hoping is also not an idle activity, it's active and earned. Our future hopes are guaranteed by our present commitments toward them. The space in between now and the hope answered, should be filled with gratitude just to be on the path to wherever.  

There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.

—Celia Thaxter

With a new pot, some soil, and care there is still hope for the baby spouts on my snake plant, and for the planet 4 billion more years from 2024, and for myself 22 more years down my timeline. In the meantime, there is so much to be thankful for.