A Moment for Reflection, Not Just a Post
[3-min read] Accompanied by words of Maya Angelou and Emily Dickinson - After this election, I find myself asking: Is hoping worth it?
Hello friends 👋,
Yesterday, I was meant to share a post about the struggles of millennials finding peace, but in light of the election results and the deep heartbreak they’ve brought, it feels wrong to continue as if nothing has changed. Though I am not American and can't vote yet, the weight of this loss feels universal, and I stand in solidarity with those who are hurting.
As I process the shock and frustration, I am drawn to the words I saw on a sign in my neighborhood: “Hope matters.”
I find myself asking: Is hoping worth it?
Given the weight of this loss and the uncertainty of the future, can we still believe in the possibility of change? I wonder if our hope—sometimes fragile, often tested—is still worth holding onto.
The path to justice, equality, and peace has never been easy, and now, more than ever, hope seems fleeting. So I ask you: Is it worth it to keep hoping when so much of the world seems to move backward?
Maybe the answer is unclear, or perhaps it’s different for each of us. But in the face of all this, I pray more than ever that hope is never lost. And that, despite everything, we remember: we are stronger together.
(Except for the hate-mongers—some people simply shouldn’t be part of this movement. But we’ll keep pushing forward anyway.)
Today’s Poems
As we’re a bit more needy today (or I am), I share two poems: one by Maya Angelou and the other by Emily Emily Dickinson. I hope these poems are well-timed, and if not, may you find other healthy ways to cope.
Still, I Rise
by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.
As always, thank you for being here! Please share your thoughts in the comments to let me know if you’re reading. ✨