Hopescrolling

Hopey changey stuff is back. There are good reasons not to let it go.

For months now, I have tried to insulate myself from the doom of a brutal news cycle, the intellectually dishonest bothsidesing of editorial boards that should know better, and the contentiousness in my social feeds.

It wasn’t enough.

I still woke up every morning exhausted from the stress dream in which the world is literally on fire, and my teeth are falling out, and I can’t keep up with all the tables I am waiting on, and by the way, I’m also back at high school knowing I’m too old to be back at high school but still, I can’t find my stupid schedule in my backpack and now I can’t even find the office where I go to get a replacement schedule and I’ll definitely be late for first period French.

Oh, and that’s all one dream.

This week, for the first time in ages, it’s lifted.

Don’t you feel it?

The incredible energy, the unity, the belief that YES we can do this —

That’s the feeling of hope.

Screw the law of thermodynamics, energy can absolutely be created. And that energy creates more energy. I’m seeing it live before my eyes.

Photo: Saffu via Unsplash

Yesterday, in response to nothing in particular, I posted in IG stories that I was not going to let anyone steal my hope. Only I said it like this:

Boy howdy did this make some people mad!

(Cue: Carly Simon.)

This is not exclusively a political issue. Sometimes we outgrow people in our lives and in our online circles.

Maybe someone whose blog you once loved has traded their witty observations about the world for posts about Amway supplements and doTerra oils. Or they share dad jokes all day, and not the good ones. Or maybe they’re just incessantly negative, and not in a way that’s feisty or fiery or inspiring, but just feels draining.

I still remember one acquaintance I had to unfollow on social media many years ago; I realized that each time I saw their avatar pop up, my heart sank, like oh no…what now?

In fact, I have no doubt have any number of my own Instagram followers will tiptoe away from me this year. I mean, I don’t want them to, of course — but I understand that sometimes people come for the kid photos and don’t want to stay for the activism.

All this said, I continue to believe that’s important not to live in a bubble, and to listen to people who may have different views than me provided we can discuss them respectfully. Or maybe we’re on the same “team” but differ on policy or strategy. The veepstakes fight will be a whooooole thing.

That’s not the same as drowning yourself in a soup of people who crap on the values and ideals that you hold dear. People who make sexist, racist, ageist or ableist comments. People who loudly support policies that hurt those you love. People who hurl every logical fallacy to defend a position, or simply call you names or ascribe false motives to your actions.

Oh, you’re a feminist? Tell me why you hate men so much.

Unfollow. Mute. Block if you must.

Acts of self-preservation are never a sign of weakness; they’re feats of strength.

Don’t let people steal your joy.

Don’t let people steal your hope.

Hope is not some soft, wishy-washy feeling. Hope is quite literally a force for healing.

Hope helps people recover from trauma.

It’s a factor in overcoming anxiety and depression.

It promotes resilience.

It makes cancer patients more able to respond to life-saving therapies.

It kept concentration camp prisoners alive.

It kept enslaved people alive.

It sustains the tens of millions of refugees, displaced people, and victims of war around the world.

There’s a reason that autocrats aren’t fans of tools that allow you to limit demoralizing, cruel, or hope-blunting content that comes your way.

Hope truly impacts your quality of life in every way. It doesn’t guarantee positive outcomes, but it sure can influence our involvement in actions that do.

I was reminded yesterday by Kimberly Atkins Stohr that my social media bio included, for a long time, “fan of hopey change stuff.”

It’s still true.

Here’s the derivation of that phrase, for those who don’t remember the Sara Palin era, or have done their best to forget it.

These last few days, I’ve seen group text threads light up with joy. I’ve seen countless private messages asking the best way to help, from people who have never volunteered for a political campaign before. I’ve seen nearly 900,000 individuals smash records in small-donor political fundraising.

Maybe best of all, I’ve seen ambivalent voting-age teens suddenly get engaged. (My daughter tells me, “Stop overanalyzing the TikTok memes, Mom. It’s all a W for Kamala.)

Things will get ugly again soon. But this week, we’re reminded of what hope feels like.

It’s okay to let yourself feel it.

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