The Time for Radical Hope is Now


The past eight years of my life have been painful. Dark, sometimes. Lonely often. Some days have felt endless. It has never been apocalyptic, but moments have felt unbearable. I am grateful for the hope, the radical hope, that has risen in me in these moments and reminded me: still I rise, I rise, I rise. 

I write this on one of those nights. My hope is too strong tonight for darkness, but loneliness hangs around and time passes slowly. And it occurs to me: why haven’t I told you sooner?

I am strong. I am resilient. I am funny, even. And I firmly believe in our power as co-creators. I feel my mission, in part, is to remind all of us of the magic glowing within: we are, without doubt, the ones we have been waiting for. 

But, somehow, I believed that my pain ran counter to that message. I believed that if I shared what, at times, feels broken, my message would somehow be less. 

The truth is, I think it makes me more dynamic. More gutsy. More bold. I don’t think it lessens my passion but fuels it. 

The story of the world is this: we have always fought for what we believe in. And rarely has our way forward been uncontested, even when our way is true and good and loving. The question is not, if we face the ebbs, but rather, when we face them, what will we do?


Persist together. Persist with kindness. Persist peacefully.

And persist, paving our future with every block that has guarded our way.

I write this because I wanted you to know that, for many nights now, my journey has not felt easy. That my pain has affected my physical body and my spiritual body.

I write this, also, because I know I am not the only one who has sung a song of pain. I join a choir of beings stretching from here to the dawn of time. And of all these people, ancestors descending from ancestors, I am certainly not the only one who is strong and resilient and funny, even. 

I came to the conclusion tonight that the only way forward for me is to share. So, with only honesty to bare, I ask you to hear my song. Maybe you recognize it, maybe yours has its own beauty. 

I go to sleep stronger tonight knowing I’ve released my song not from the throes of anger or resentment or darkness, but from the clarity of hope and love and togetherness.

We will find our way.

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