Slow Sunday in the Studio 🕊 this will be our last (& 6th) year in this space before we move to a newer, truer home (the likes of which I do not yet know). As much as I am ready for that move, sometimes when I’m here, alone, I’m brought back to when I first moved in: signing a lease on a wing and prayer, terrified about taking such a big gamble on myself and this dream.
This last year has brought me back to those feelings so many times & in so many ways. Each time the fear rises, I am reminded of the kernel of light that made me take that leap of faith then:
Hope doesn’t always make sense to everyone else in your life. Hope cannot be seen on a balance sheet. Hope is a prayer, a wish, a bet. Hope proclaims, whether you know it or not, ‘I believe in myself’. Hope is a testimony to the miraculous, the very same miraculous that turns the world to vivid, heart soaring color from the dull ache of black & white.
Approaching one year’s time since “unprecedented” became the new normal, I’m reminded of the big, hard, to-the-bones fear born last March — but also — the quiet, steady will to keep trying. THAT is hope. And I hope she will always be my guide.
What keeps you hopeful in these uncertain times?