Many of the famous writers of our time and before were tortured, miserable souls. For them, their brilliance was perversely inspired by, or fed on, the darkness that resided deep within. There must be a reason why artists, and I don’t just mean of the paintbrush type, are generally of the melancholic nature. Is it an instance of the chicken and the egg and does it really matter?
Unfortunately for me, misery does not produce brilliance, simply an inability to sleep well if at all. Which explains why I am up, typing away in the dark at 1.39am. As if I don’t need to be up for work tomorrow. You’d think if I was going to wallow in negativity, at least I’d be allowed to do so in peace while effortlessly producing bits of brilliance, but a million dollars isn’t going to fall from the sky and I suppose I can’t have everything my way. Between restless, heavy-hearted slumber and (quite possibly) ruining my eyesight in the wee hours, I pick the latter.
I must say it’s been a fair while since I’ve had to deal with my thoughts in the dark. I usually go out as quick as the light and know nothing safe the alarm going off in the morning hours. But sleep came a teensy bit slower last night, and it’s taking it’s own sweet time tonight. I blame it on a toxic combination of thoughts, emotions, stress… whatever. Do I really need a reason?
While last night’s thoughts centred around issues of housing and time, tonight brought forth a topic of much worthier discussion – hope. I believe humans are innately programmed/created to hope. But look around the world today, and there are many for whom we can say, they have no hope. What makes a person keep on hoping above and beyond the circumstances and painful realities? What makes one person keep on hoping while another dies quietly in the spirit? What makes a person grow cold and hard and hope-less?
We hope for all sorts of things, both near and far. Good jobs, happy families, maybe that holiday we’ve been eyeing. We hope to meet up with friends over the weekend, we hope to hear from loved ones, we hope we hope we hope. But what happens when the things we hope for do not happen and we’re disappointed?
We’ve all been disappointed before. Some of us learn from the disappointments; others hold unerringly on to (more) hope. But the question is: what do you do when the people you place your hopes on disappoint you over and over again? At what stage does the disappointment become replaced by cold, steely resolve not to be hurt anymore, and is it inevitable? What if those very people aren’t exactly someone you can just move on from, like… siblings? parents? spouses?
We don’t choose our siblings or our parents. We choose our spouses. But for all three groups, it’s the same: there ain’t no getting away. So how does one deal with dashed hopes when it strikes so much closer to home and the heart? Do we give up hoping in order to protect ourselves, or do we continue hoping because it’s a better alternative to apathy?
