In these troubling times, how do we keep finding hope? When I’m struggling, I climb the mountain, finding hope up on the ridge, in a deep breath, a prayer — over and over again. Hope is active. A conscious step out of fear and into love that we must keep taking.

We follow a grassy logging road, steadily climbing through the trees up onto the ridge, listening to woodpeckers hammering away against the tree trunks and watching for porcupines and black bears. The two dogs, Echo and Blue, and I are so loud that it’s hard to imagine us sneaking up on any creature. Yet, we’ve come upon porcupines frozen in fear, their sharp, barbed quills out in all directions.

We make our way on the trail, up along Brush Ridge in Rothrock State Forest in the heart of central Pennsylvania’s Ridge & Valley territory.

A deep breath. Then the next. Every step forward shakes me free of the grip of fear. Every step brings me closer to a hopeful state. I release anxiety into the fresh air, into the solid tangle of rocks, soil and pressing root beneath my feet, into the branches of oak and maple, tulip tree, birch and hemlock reaching up into the sky. 

At the top, a view of the Stone Mountain ridge. To the southwest, more mountain ridges in crumpled, corduroy rows recede to the horizon. As the dogs scan the expanse and sniff the tree stumps, I fill up on the beautiful view, the refreshing air.

Hope floods in, robbing my fear of its oxygen and space. I return home to my work refreshed, inspired and hopeful.

How do we Stay Hopeful in These Troubling Times?

In these first days of the New Year, I’ve thought a lot about hope. How do we stay hopeful in these troubling times when we are immersed in multiple wicked, global problems? 

I’ve googled, read and reflected, listened to excellent conversations, and thought some more. I’ve asked wise people who responded with passages of scripture. While that comforts me, my expertise is not to illuminate scripture — so I’ll leave that to the clergy and others far more knowledgeable than I.

Rather, I’m a seeker, better suited to share what I’ve learned so far on the journey.

Hope is active. It is the conscious step we take — we must take —away from fear and into a place of light and love. That may be a state of inspiration or motivation, or acts of kindness, helpfulness or creativity. 

Or, perhaps, simply a state of peaceful rest for the next day. That works, too. 

Hope is taking the next best step. A full, deep breath. A pause before speaking. Pouring a glass of water or tea instead of whiskey. Pausing to appreciate a kind word. Noticing new shoots of growth on a cold day, the tight buds on the tips of tree branches promising fresh growth even in January.

Hope is, for me at its essence: This walk along the ridge, the deep breath, the prayer, the writing, the reading, the seeking and sharing, connection with loved ones, the planting of a garden. 

Your step into hope is different than mine. What’s paramount is that we each find our ways to step out of fear and into hope, repeatedly.

Other people make music or sing to find hope. Some mend cloth — and mend people. Many spend their days teaching or leading or caring for strangers in the hospital. All beautiful and hopeful work. 

Superheroes of Wisdom

To explore hope, last week I turned to my favorite superheroes of wisdom: Maya Angelou, Fred Rogers and Krista Tippett. 

American poet, author, and civil rights activist Maya Angelou said: “Hope and fear cannot occupy the same space. Invite one to stay.”

In bronze Sharpie, I printed that into my 2022 planner with its perfect, crisp, unblemished pages.

Hope, then, is the act of inviting and welcoming it. 

But what if it doesn’t stay? What if the next day’s news cycle brings another horrific human act that shoves our hope aside? 

Shaking Fear — & Shaking Fear Again

I thought of how often in these last two years that I’ve been afraid. I don’t like to feel so afraid.

In spring 2020, early in the pandemic, I spent my days re-working communications plans for my clients, pivoting in-person events into safer ones. 

But at night, I laid awake.

In the dark, my mind spun and swirled like a swarm of agitated bees. Many nights, I was worn out with worry and unable to sleep or even deeply breathe.

“Hon,” said my drowsy husband. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t,” I told him. “I feel like this thing is coming for us, and it could take away one of our kids or parents, or one of us — and there’s nothing we can do. I’m so afraid.”

“I know,” he said. He’d wrap himself around me and that physical sense of his warmth and calming strength and security on chilly spring nights was enough to soothe my being. The buzzing bees quieted. I could settle into breathing deeply and fall asleep.

Breathe — & Pray

It wasn’t fair, though, to rob him of his rest. As a school administrator, he is responsible for hundreds of students and teachers and at that time the school so essential to their lives was shut down. 

As I tried to hold it together — to “keep my cheese on my cracker” — I didn’t want to put any more strain on him.

My walks in the woods became non-negotiable life support. 

Deep breathing and praying took on surprising new power, as I found comfort and rest in the words of “Our Father” — the prayer I’d learned as a little girl growing up Catholic, rejected as a young woman, and returned to in my 40s. In the early weeks of the pandemic, silently repeating the words settled me to sleep without waking my husband.

Practicing Hope

These walks, deep breaths and prayer became even more important the deeper we got into 2020 with all that we could not un-see: The brutal murder of George Floyd, the realities of systemic racism, violence in the streets, wildfires in the West, authoritarian acts in plain sight, dysfunctional politics, a growing culture of contempt. 

Turning the calendar to 2021, of course, was not enough as I learned by Jan. 6, shaking with fear while watching violent Americans breach and defile the U.S. Capitol, threatening the peaceful transfer of power that distinguishes our beloved country. 

I have to wonder: How often is fear at the root of violence? This researcher has dug into that question

Hope, then, is the antidote.

But it’s not a single step — it’s repeatedly stepping away from fear and inviting hope in to stay. The conscious choice we can make over and over, as much as necessary.

‘Spiritual Muscle Memory’

Perhaps this is the “spiritual muscle memory” American journalist and founder of the On Being Project Krista Tippett writes about:

“Hope is distinct, in my mind, from optimism or idealism. It has nothing to do with wishing. It references reality at every turn and reveres truth. It lives open eyed and wholehearted with the darkness that is woven ineluctably into the light of life and sometimes seems to overcome it. Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a practice that becomes spiritual muscle memory. It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be.”  

“Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a practice that becomes spiritual muscle memory.

It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be.”  

~ Krista Tippett, Founder + Editor in Chief, The On Being Project

These times, then, are endurance training for our “spiritual muscle memory” to repeatedly see the reality, reject fear by stepping toward hope. For me, that’s the deep breath, the walk, the prayer into a hopeful state of positive action. 

Any time we choose hope over fear, to control what we can control, I believe we help the world — even as one individual person.

This year ahead will bring days when I must will myself to be hopeful. Tuning out is not an option.

But I’ve been training my “spiritual muscle memory” for them. I’m here to share hope, not fear. That simple. 

Walk. Breathe. Pray.

And look to the helpers, as Fred Rogers — “Mr. Rogers” — has said, remembering his mother’s comforting words to help cope with tragedy.

Better still: Be a helper. Let’s help each other stay hopeful, and do what we can to help. 

Natural Reboot

It’s been awhile since we walked up to the ridge, but we will again soon. During autumn and early winter, I yield Brush Ridge and the rest of the wooded trails to the hunters — a few of whom I love with all of my heart. Now, in January, the ice has moved in.

Soon, there will be a break in the winter weather — and then spring. The light always returns in a sunrise, then the next. Each day brings a bit more daylight. The spring always returns.

I’ll take us to the wooded trails, for healing after another dose of the reality of these times, for more training of my spirit. As long as I have breath, I’ll step away from the dangers of fear and into the light of hope. 

Amazing how the natural world still renews us, despite the strain of our collective impact. Sweet melodies of birdsong. Scent of rich soil, fresh air and new growth.Such life-affirming power of regeneration.

I will drink in the spring, follow the push of shoots and stems toward the sun and lean into the beauty of the world as it is — as it could be. Hope will come easily on many days this year and on the others, I’ll insist on climbing to reach it.

How do you stay hopeful? Please share a comment below!

Would this story help someone? Please share it.

Would you like new stories delivered to your in-box? Please subscribe below.