When’s the last time your wind was psychologically sucker-punched out of you? The last time you had a really rough day such that nothing was adding up and it seemed like you couldn’t see anything but the storms overhead? Maybe it felt like you couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of you, what you could see wasn’t promising, and taking even a single step forward felt like more energy than you had. Maybe you couldn’t see anything at all.
We all have bad days; it’s part of the human experience. They* say the peaks wouldn’t mean anything without the valleys. Still, knowing that doesn’t tend to make the valleys any easier to traverse; it may make them crossable, but not effortlessly so. Trials and tribulations eventually come to an end; there is always hope because there is always a slope to climb to get out of the gully. That’s what makes them gullies.
I don’t use the term “always” lightly: when taking a multiple-choice test, I automatically cross out answer options using the terms “always” or “never” because of how exceptionally unlikely an “always” or a “never” qualifier is to hold true. (The sky is not always blue; the grass is not always green; water isn’t even always wet!) Here, it holds: there is always hope. There is always a way forward.
They also say we write what we need to hear.
Today, I got a few doses of sucker-punches: two rejections regarding what I considered to be my two most likely paths forward. I was grateful for not being strung along – the responses were relatively quick – but it hurt. The first I spotted this morning as I was writing follow-up emails; as I was ruminating on wording, I flipped through my email categories, discovering it in a folder I normally ignore. I physically slid my chair away from my computer to catch my breath.
And then I pulled myself back in, grimaced a makeshift smile on my face, and clung to the silver lining. Pushing on, I finished the email I was working on before diving into another task, returning after a little alternative recovery. After sending yet another message, I paused for lunch; when I returned, just as I was feeling capable of handling the day, there was another rejection in my inbox. On top of a botched attempt to help last night and a few other things that seemed to hit me out of nowhere this morning plus a near occasion of sin while I was reeling from it all… Ouch.
My silver lining from the day is a four-letter word in the above paragraph: near. Also part of the human condition, we all have things we struggle with. I keep thinking I’ve escaped a vice only to find it lurking in the corner awaiting an opportunity. Somehow, today, I managed to say no of my own volition. It was weak, a pathetic whimper against the darkness closing in, but it held fast, like the tone of a clear bell through a dense fog. That whimper got me to sit up and take a deep breath. That whimper was just enough to remind me to look for the light.
I’m still looking for it, mind you; the weather is still overcast with the night closing in, but I know the light is there. It’s always there; there is always hope. Just because we lose sight of something doesn’t mean it no longer exists. (Peek-a-boo! Say hello to object permanence!) Knowing the light is always there makes all the difference because it means the reach, the attempt, the effort isn’t in vain.
So, here’s to hope. Here’s to finding that silver thread and hanging on to it until you pull the cloud out of the sky with it. Here’s to the dark nights that help us isolate the light. Here’s to perseverance when the slopes seem too steep to climb. Here’s to holding fast to the whimper of conviction in your soul. Here’s to knowing that the fight’s not over, that the best is yet to come, and that something beautiful will blossom from the struggle. Here’s to knowing that there is always a path forward.
Cheers!
*
The infamous “they” of common knowledge whom nobody seems able to pinpoint.