Hope is a Thing...

My son's words hang in the air, as he describes me to someone:

...my mom is a really positive person.

And my mind wanders, because I believe it to be true...and not. For he has heard me yell about homework, rant about this, that and the next thing...as well as coo and compliment and just be a really nice mom sometimes too.

Depending on the day, the hour, the second...my perspective can change in a flash.

And the speed of change is one of my biggest lessons from this cancer and amputation journey. My mind has become a more disciplined jedi-master-sort-of-thing. A survival tactic, I tell myself. Necessary to get through. To the other side. Now I can alter ideas as fast as turning over a coin: one side crisis and the other opportunity, like the Asian saying.

So as I slide on my butt down the stairs...

...I wonder how we generally like when people are "positive" about something difficult, right? It feels warm and comfy and cozy, like an old sweater. To witness someone rise above tragedy, lift others up. It gives us hope that we might do the same, beckon our own inner hero. That all will be okay on this bittersweet globe. But then someone crosses a line and we call it "Toxic Positivity", post a thousand memes and more. Given our own really real lives, we wonder how they exude such cheer. It can't be genuine, a little mean-ish whisper decides, and cue the Olympic Joy Games.

Hope isn't a thing with feathers, after all.

But maybe...

...some experiences feel so deep, difficult, and scary that one grabs hold of the "positive" to avoid sinking into too much. Falling off a cliff or tumbling down the stairs. It isn't fake at all...just not the whole story. So it seems unfair and even dangerous to expect eternal optimism on the one hand, or to call someone "toxically positive" on the other hand. Let them keep their cheer, in a judgment- and doubt-free zone. Perhaps we might offer a hug when another smiles with tears behind their eyes, or sobs before our eyes.

For I believe we are all doing our best to do what we need to do, in the middle of,...

...well, a lot.

Because my days are a mix. I am proud to be driving my left-footed car on long road trips. To shovel snow last week, to run errands by myself. To have a perky attitude many days, forgetting about my amputation for a minute or an hour. Recently I tromped through the snow and joked to my son that I am handi-capable. That day I was able to laugh...

...but I cried a few hours ago. Big, sad, gulping sobs about this whole cranky situation, howling at the moon pissed too. For having to keep returning to medical checks and never having my right leg again. Wishing I could grow a salamander leg or something. Filled to the brim with self-pity and sadness and badness, wishing someone would hear and give me a hug.

So what do I know, in all that contradiction of my ordinary life?

Mostly friends, I know that life is better and sweeter and lovelier....when we remember our blessings.

For there is always something bright and shiny to grab our attention, a silver lining. Alright, there is usually something hairy and hard and difficult too, for all of us, not a special amputated few. It is a tough slog being human, for sure, and we can turn our gaze there. So we might need to curse and cry for a few minutes or longer...

...yet if we can wipe our eyes and count a few blessings...we feel better. Maybe not sing show tunes and waltz with roses in front of a sunrise gloriously wonderfully perfect.

But better, often.

Now granted, it is a big responsibility - choosing our view. And a responsibility we don't always admit or like very much. We fight against it and deem it unfair. For it takes effort to count blessings, my friends. Those who urge that gratitude is just too much to expect of ourselves...well they are right about it being hard work, a labor of love some days.

But yup, our response to the stuff of life...is up to us.

And hope is a thing with feathers, after all.