Recently, my wife and I traveled to one of our favorite places, Key West, Florida. It is a very welcoming and interesting place where we enjoy the museums, entertainment, and just relaxing.
On each trip, we make it a point to visit Mallory Square close to sunset. Street entertainers engage the crowds with tall unicycles and fire. They are always fun.
As sunset draws near, folks make their way to the pier for the view and to take videos and photos. With Cuba to our left, we watch the sun go down.
I always hope that I will see a green flash. Popularized by Jules Verne, the green flash is a green glow that can occur on the water just as the sun passes below the horizon. Lore states that once you see the green flash, you will never have problems with matters of the heart. Others think that a green flash signals good weather for the next day.
I am filled with hope as I wait and watch for the green flash.
I have never seen one.
But, I still wait and watch.
I think that the green flash explains a bit about how I see hope. Here is how.
Somehow I came to love serendipity. You know, unexpectedly receiving something good. The surprise enlightens, invigorates, and enlivens me. It makes me feel hopeful.
So, I find that I wait for hope. For serendipity.
There is so much excitement in the waiting and watching, the anticipation. Maybe I will see the green flash this time! And when I don’t, well, there is always the next time.
I have come to equate hope with anticipation. I am always hoping, but seldom experiencing hope.
Therein is the problem. I think that there is always an element of waiting, watching, and anticipating with hope. But, experiencing hope is something beyond this. Hope is participatory.
As we wandered around Old Town Key West, we stumbled upon an art gallery. It was in an old building (no air conditioning) with an old man (meaning that he is older than I am). He was delightful. He engaged us about his art and his life in Key West. He told stories and laughed as we laughed. We bought one of his prints and left.
Later, we decided that we would go back to get another print. So, the next day we made our way to his place. But, something was different. This time as we began to talk with him, he spoke only French! We looked at each other and wondered about his mental state. After some time and much consternation (two years of college French completely failed me), he started laughing and began to speak English. It turns out that he thought that we were another couple with whom he spoke French. It was a delightful time!
Perhaps this seems trite and simple, but hear this. Outside, in the rest of the world, violence and violent rhetoric seemed to rule. Pronouncements that the only remedy for violence is more violence lead to a feeling of hopelessness and remind us that some define insanity as doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. But, inside this hot, humid shop, there was laughter and joy.
And the laughter and joy seemed hopeful.
They were hopeful.
When times seem hopeless, we look for big things to give us hope. We are sure that big things are needed. But, here is the issue for me. I find that if I seek to make big changes, the enormity of the situation makes it all seem hopeless. So, instead of doing something, I wait for someone younger or smarter or (you name it) to come along to give me hope.
And I need hope.
I need the kind that requires my participation. The kind that comes from kindness, laughter, and joy.
So here is my proclamation – my invitation to us all to participate in hopefulness.
Vive la rire!
(Long live the laughter).
I will take those hopeful moments, be they waiting and watching for the green flash on the pier at Mallory Square or wondering and laughing in a hot and humid art gallery in Old Town. They remind me that hope is alive.
Vive la rire!