Things usually aren’t working out as well as we were hoping.
Especially the big bad things. The things that we’ve been toiling over trying to make a dent in for what seems like millennia. The things that are worth changing, but fuck, if only we’d known what we were signing up for.
If we didn’t have hope, there’s a good chance we’d have given up long before now. But if we didn’t have hope, we’d be less heartbroken to realise that that light we see at the end of the tunnel, well it isn’t actually getting any closer.
In those moments when we realise we’re still far from home, we have two choices. We can relinquish any lingering hope of ever getting home, and live out here in the wasteland instead. Or we can steel ourselves, double down on the effort and march onwards, holding our vision of home in our hearts.
To those living out in the wasteland, a bright homely heart will look like insanity. I don’t know if there’s anything to be done about that.