When Hope Feels Out of Reach
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about hope—and how fragile it can feel in a season like this.
I joined a book club with grad school alumni, and we’re reading Parable of the Sower. I thought it might help me process my anxiety about the current political climate—maybe even give me perspective. But honestly? It’s just hitting really close to home. The beginning feels so dark. And I’m noticing how quickly that darkness starts to feel like inevitability.
When I read this line, it hit hard. So many people I know are in survival mode right now.
“That’s all anybody can do right now. Live. Hold out. Survive. I don’t know whether good times are coming back again. But I know that won’t matter if we don’t survive these times.”
―Octavia E. Butler, Parable of the Sower
We’re not just dealing with personal stress—we’re trying to lead, work, and care for others in a time when the ground beneath us feels shaky. If you feel like you’re barely holding it together some days, you’re not the only one.
At the same time, I just finished reading Tiny Experiments by Anne-Laure Le Cunff and started the updated version of Bob Johansen’s Leaders Make the Future—and I’m sitting with this tension between despair and agency. Between the systems that are and the possibilities that might be.
In an increasingly BANI world (one that is brittle, anxious, nonlinear, and incomprehensible), this is likely par for the course. It will be increasingly difficult to know exactly what to do because the challenges we face aren’t problems to be solved, but dilemmas to flip or polarities to manage.
I’ve noticed that when the world feels big and overwhelming, my initial response is to withdraw or shrink. I pause my creative projects. I lose track of my vision. I retreat to strategize…
But I’ve also been experimenting with the opposite—showing up anyway. Not with grand plans, but with tiny acts of aliveness.
“Don’t let anyone rob you of your imagination, your creativity, or your curiosity. It’s your place in the world; it’s your life. Go on and do all you can with it, and make it the life you want to live.” ―Mae Jemison, American engineer, physician, and former NASA astronaut
Here’s what I’m practicing right now:
Letting small actions matter.
Taking breaks when I start doom-scrolling.
Naming my desires, even when they feel audacious or inconvenient.
Designing tiny experiments that reconnect me to aliveness and agency - sharing a cup of tea with friends, walking in nature with my dog, journaling to stay connected to my own thoughts and feelings, adding my local elected officials to my contact list so I can share my concerns, or meeting as many cool people doing awesome shit as I possibly can.
Because here’s what I’m learning:
We don’t build a better future by waiting until we feel hopeful.
We build hope by experimenting as if the future we want is still possible.
I’m learning that hope isn’t something we find—it’s something we cultivate.
So I’m asking myself:
What’s one thing I can do this week that brings me joy or relief?
What’s one brave thing I can say out loud, even if my voice shakes?
What if tending to aliveness is leadership?
Sometimes leadership looks like a strategic plan.
And sometimes it looks like lighting a candle and writing one brave post or email when you’d rather stay silent.
This post doesn’t wrap up neatly. I’m still feeling the tension, and I suspect this is something I’ll need to learn how to live with. If you’re also holding complexity, grief, or uncertainty right now—I see you. Keep going.
Tell me: What are you experimenting with lately? What are you trying, even when it feels hard?
