Unshakable Hope

When I started writing this blog in 2018, it was to “search for moments of awe.” Over the past year and a half, it has become very apparent to me that I can’t see “moments of awe” when I don’t have hope. Hope is critically important to me.

A few weeks ago, my best friend and I were discussing Brene Brown’s latest book, Dare to Lead. There is a chapter in the book where Brown talks about personal core values. Brown recommends that individuals narrow their core values down to two. We’ve been discussing core values at work and have completed an exercise in which each of our team members selected their personal core values. Photos with each of us holding a Word Art document with our individual core values hang on the walls in our suite of offices. My Word Art document lists 12 core values, and I had a hard time narrowing them to those 12. I explained to my best friend, that while I understand Brown’s reasoning behind narrowing them to two, I just didn’t think I could it.

Carolyn, who directs the Center for the Practice of Collaborative Leadership at The Johns Hopkins Hospital, produced a deck of cards with a core value on each card. She asked me to sort the cards, without too much thought, into two piles. One pile represented values that were important to me, and the other group was the discard pile. When I had finished, she told me to repeat the exercise with the “important” values pile, until I had narrowed the core values pile to a point that I could no longer narrow it anymore. The card that I just couldn’t discard was hope.

My sister teases me about my “Pollyanna/rose-colored glasses” viewpoint, but I think that is more about my hopeful nature. Even during the darkest of times, such as when my father and nephew died, I’ve always managed to find reasons to feel hopeful. Until the day arrived when I couldn’t.

I’ve been fortunate that I’ve escaped the throes of clinical depression that has affected several family members. Truth be told, I probably wasn’t very understanding in the past because it was hard for me to relate. However, the National Institute of Mental Health reports that major depression is one of the most common mental health conditions in the United States. According to the 2017 National Survey on Drug Use and Health, an estimated 17.3 million adults in the United States had at least one major depressive episode, defined as a period of at least two weeks when a person experienced a depressed mood or loss of interest or pleasure in daily activities, and had a majority of specified symptoms, such as problems with sleep, eating, energy, concentration, or self-worth.

I was one of those 17.3 million adults in 2017. I wasn’t just sad – I felt hopeless. This didn’t last for days or even weeks, but for almost 10 months. I felt like I was living in an alternate universe. My values of fairness, empathy, gratitude, humility, credibility, curiosity, and hope seemed to be lost among the cheering for a presidential candidate who had admittedly had multiple extra marital affairs, bragged about “groping” women, bragged about the size of his own genitals, mocked a reporter who had a disability, and insulted a family whose son was killed serving our country in the military. I watched as politicians and other leaders used, what I considered, racially charged rhetoric that seemed to embolden dormant neo-Nazi behavior. I watched news accounts of how several hundred members of white supremacy groups carrying torches marched on the grounds of the University of Virginia shouting, “You will not replace us,” and “Jew will not replace us.” I listened as Christian leaders praised these actions and cited Bible verses as justification. I read “tweets” from Christian pastors defending these actions while condemning persons who are gay or lesbian. I watched others, who claim to be Christians, turn away from the hate and violence with apathy.

Where I once saw immeasurable kindness and generosity, such as following the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah building in Oklahoma City or when my father was ill, I could only see a country that no longer resembled my values. The people being targeted were not nameless, faceless Mexican-Americans, blacks, Muslims, gays and lesbians, or women seeking justice from sexual harassment or freedom for reproductive rights. They are my friends and family. Their issues are my issues. I was paralyzed with an overwhelming fear.

When I looked into the eyes of my friends, I saw their angst and fear, too. But, I also saw love and resilience. It was that love and resilience, as well as professional counseling, that got me through the dark months. Even today when I read my journal entries from that time, it still stirs feelings of despondency. But hope has re-entered my vocabulary.

A couple of weeks ago, I attended the baptism for my great-niece. In honor of the infant baptism, the minister prepared a sermon on “unshakable hope.” That’s what I want. Correction, that’s what I need. I need to believe that Audrey will grow up in a world that is empathetic; a world where understanding and acceptance of people with different talents, ideas, and beliefs is fostered. I don’t want to succumb to the cynicism of our current reality.

I’ve discovered that you actually can find hope and “awe” if you just look for them. A few weeks ago while waiting to board my flight from Washington, DC back to Dallas, my iPhone XR froze. I couldn’t access my boarding pass. I hadn’t bothered to read the directions or look at the Apple Tips app since I had gotten the new phone. I was panicked and close to having a meltdown. An African American young man, with tattoos and baggy jeans, came to my rescue. This young man patiently showed me how to turn my phone off and back on again. He told me, “Don’t worry, I will stay with you until your boarding pass comes back up, and you get on the plane.” I was relieved and very grateful.

This week, my sister-in-law sent me an article about Cody Barlow, a 28 year-old heterosexual Oklahoma man, who decorated the tailgate of his pickup truck with strips of duct tape in rainbow colors, along with a message that read, “Not all country boys are bigots. Happy Pride Month.” He posted a photograph of the truck to his Facebook page with the following message:

“This is important to me, not only because I have family and friends that are LGBTQ+, but also because countless people have dealt with hatred and judgment simply for who they are, and/or who they love, for far too long. Obviously doing this isn't going to change the minds of those who are intolerant, but hopefully it can help drown out the hatred with love.

I live in a rural area in Oklahoma, surrounded by small towns in every direction, and I'm sure this is not a very welcome message around here, but this is going to be displayed on my truck for the entire month of June in support of pride month.

I don't think it is necessary to say, but for all intents and purposes I am a straight man that grew up here in Oklahoma. I love taking my truck mudding, going fishing, swimming at the lake, floating the river, and several other "country" activities.

It doesn't matter what negativity I receive for supporting this. I hope that this can help even the slightest bit to encourage and support at least one person that needs it.

I hope everyone finds their inner strength to finally live life loud and proud without regard for the negativity of ignorant people.

Happy pride month!”

Today, when I pulled up to the drive-through counter at Starbucks with my Starbucks app ready, the barista told me the man in the car in front of me had paid for my order. Surprised, but appreciative, I held my phone out to be scanned and said, “Then, I’ll pay for the order for the person in the car behind me.”

Perhaps, my hope for Audrey’s world isn’t that far off, after all.

Gmorning.

Try and face the world with

your best self, even if the world

doesn’t respond in kind.

Don’t do them, do you.

Gnight.

Tomorrow we try again.

Rest up.

Lin-Manuel Miranda

Gmorning, Gnight!

little pep talks for me & you”