There is so much to be hopeful for right now but I worry about hope. It ties into “my narrative of self” (as my therapist calls it) where I feel as though I am not a particularly lucky person. Hello, run over by a truck here! So hope feels like a dangerous thing that is bound to hurt me.
I had my IVF transfer yesterday. Three embryos! With decent ratings. I’m so hopeful, so so hopeful. But this is final round three, and I don’t know if hope is even warranted. 👇 me and my honey all suited up.
Then there’s the art fair that I applied to. It’s very prestigious called the stARTup Art Fair, and open only to artists who aren’t currently represented by any galleries. Since I handle my own sales, I qualify! I submitted early. I’m proud of the work, I sort of have an “in” with one of the judges, I want this and it would be a big thing for me. I’m hopeful. 👇 a piece I submitted
Finally. Finally, (I’m shaking now from writing the scariest most precious things down for you all to read) I’ve been working on a story for 8 years now. It started out as a journal of my pain from my accident and along the way it morphed into a novel about a girl who works in a casino. My editor calls it “chicklit noir” and my other editor, Laurel from Dear Writers scrubbed out all my silly nonsense, tightened it up, and perfected it for me. Now, my first editor, Jay, says we’ll start approaching agents. I feel really good about my story, it’s something different and interesting. But again… too much hope.
So I’m sitting here completely terrified. TERRIFIED. Hope has never treated me kindly before, I don’t know why it would treat me well now. All I can do is bide my time and wait to be punched in the face one way or another. Or all three ways! But still I hope maybe for once everything will go my way.
Hope Necklace byJR Dunn