#37

I have this bad habit...maybe it's not a BAD habit, but it's surely an impractical and silly habit...of hoping when hope is not enough. Perhaps it's human instinct. Perhaps it's animal instinct. Perhaps it's the way we're brought up. Or, perhaps, it's the last remnant of my childhood. Like adults who pick their noses or use too much toilet paper, or still pronounce their older siblings' names incorrectly because when they were young they couldn't pronounce their R's o their I's or their L's.

Everyone has a quirk or two. The guy sitting across from me still doesn't tie his shoelaces properly. There was a woman on the platform who was standing there, biting her nails. Why can't I have my hope, right? Isn't that what stories...almost all stories, I guess, are about? hope? Surely Jason hoped that Medea would leave them alone, just as Medea hoped that Jason would take her back and not allow her to resort to killing her children. Jane hoped that Rochester would not send her too far away when he married Blanche. Blanche DuBois hoped that the Kowalskis would not investigate into her past. Aramis hoped to serve God and king and friends all at once. Mattimeo hoped to be great like his father, and like Martin.

So, why can't I have my hope, even though I know it's futile? Is it desperation? Is it a perverse need to be pathetic? no. I don't think so. I think that...without hope, what do you have? I give a short-term hypothetical: I hope that the 2 train tomorrow morning is mostly empty so that I can get a seat and possibly nap on the way to work. Even though I know that the train will be crowded, I keep to my hope. At least I recognize that I could be, and very likely will be, disappointed.

But who wants to be entirely pessimistic, right? Without hope, why go on? Everyone gets some kind of pleasure out of life. Mine has yet to arrive. But I know it's coming. Just like a crowded 2 train.