re:mix - surprised by hope

The last three journals have all begun in a state of quasi-depression, a concoction of hopelessness and despair. Much of this, admittedly, was due to some emotional and relational "trauma" (I think I can call it that) in my life. I have charted the rhythms of this trauma in a post last month (go browsing if you care to find it), and as this new journal begins, there is something quite different: a vibrant and ecstatic hope. This is something different, something new--it is unpredictable, and it is uncharted territory. The result is that as I plunge forward, I do so with hesitancy and tepidity, caught between both exhilaration and fear. I am not quite sure what the hope itself is pointing to: basically, as the song goes, I am hoping to see better days (and I don't mean in the eschatological sense). I am hoping, to borrow quite pagan language, that my fortunes will turn, that the sun will shine upon me, that I will breathe both deeper and more peacefully. Already this hope sustains me--I am smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more, being much more outgoing, experiencing a new-found energy, and actually sleeping at peace at night. Even when I know that one of the greatest hopes of my life has been just recently torn asunder, I am at peace with it. It is quite strange. So now I tiptoe--cautiously yet excitedly--into the next journal. I flip through the blank pages, wondering what adventures and discoveries will be enlisted onto their pages, wondering if the cycle will be broken, wondering--and fearing--if this hope will just crumble away, being some sort of manic episode that's lasted for about six weeks now. I'm not sure. Though I will admit, usually I start journals with just as much excitement as when I end them.