Waiting, Wishing, Hoping

Two quotes come to mind when I think of this topic: “A dream is a wish the heart makes,” and “Don’t wish, don’t start. Wishing only wounds the heart.” Both are true.

I’ve been wishing for years: on falling stars, on birthday candles, on 11:11 and on clasps that fall to the front. All this time I’ve spent wishing I’ve just been building up my hopes, making myself think that life can be different than how it already is with just one well-timed (and specifically phrased) wish.

I’m a good story-teller, you see. I have a very active imagination. I can dream up some amazing things. I think of them in such detail that it’s almost like they’ve come to life. When I was little, playing “pretend” was my favorite pastime. I became a sort of expert at it, and called upon those skills to help me deal with any of the awful, upsetting things that I came across. Today, I use this as a way to explain what happens. I come up with five different possible plots for why bad things happen to the people that I love, and myself. I can rewrite people as heroes or as villains, and (most of the time) it will seem plausible. Then, I’ll wish and hope that it was true so that I can make sense of the world.

I’ve always done this. Honestly, I’ve always had a problem believing that anyone besides Hitler and Umbridge were truly evil. So, whenever someone does something particularly awful to me, I rewrite the story. I explain why they did it. I come up with a tragic reason why they might have done something so awful, and I find a way to forgive them.

That’s where I get into trouble. I explain this alternate motivation so well that it becomes hard to snap back into reality. I have amazingly wonderful dreams where everything is sunshine, rainbows, chocolate that helps you lose weight and singing animals straight from Disney. Then, I wake up, and life is normal.

I would conclude this by saying that I’m not going to dream again. That I’ll never think up different explanations (besides the obvious), and that I’ll stop hoping for the best. After all, Camus once implied that hope is our worst enemy. Hoping for a situation that’s different than the one we’re in is the best way to upset ourselves.

Well, thing is, I’m a hopeless romantic. So, whether Camus is right or not, until I go through that magical transformation that turns me from a romantic to a cynic (because I’m pretty sure that most cynics are disappointed, tired romantics) I’ll keep hoping and dreaming. I guess I’m like Anne of Green Gables that way.

I will, however, attempt to change my behavior. Maybe, instead of hoping that things will come to me, I’ll go to them. I’m not exactly sure how to track ethereal things like love, happiness, stability and trust, but I’ll learn. That way, I’ll wish with action, and maybe that will give me some more control over my life.

 

I’ll keep you updated. Sweet dreams, everyone.

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