I’m coming out

It’s probably time for me to step out of my closet. Sure, I think I’m revealing something astonishing, but most people will say: “That? Pfffft – we all knew THAT. No surprise there.”

But I’m going to confess anyway.

Yes, I’m a hoper.

I know. What a stupid time this is to hang that sign around my neck. Instant loss of credibility, instant down-grade to bunny-hugging pixie-dust-sniffing moron.

But it’s how I am. I can’t change it – I was born this way. And then, a life of astonishing grace, ahead of land-mines, catastrophes,general mayhem and privation, has sealed the deal.

I’m sorry. Clearly, I’m an under-evolved throwback model that doesn’t know reality from a unicorn. I’m not being funny when I don’t grasp how being bitter and cynical makes everything better. Don’t get me wrong: I know how to do bitter and cynical – I just don’t know how to keep them going.

Okay, as a relatively only child (yes, that is possible) I was mostly socialised by a Labrador – which is why bitter or cynical are constantly being surprised out of me by all sorts of things: an amazing sunset, a call from a friend, a line that works; sometimes just that I made it through the night.

So, there it is: I’m a hoper.

I get up and do things because I believe that they matter – even if it’s just to me. And I care, even if it puts lines on my face and makes me the butt of all the realness real people know is really real.

I don’t pretend that things don’t suck; I’m not an idiot. I just don’t know why I should search them out, agree with them, peddle them and lie down under their heaviness. Some can’t be fixed, and I understand that, but many can. Let’s get fixing.

In case anyone thinks I don’t know how to do anger, be assured, I do. But I also know what anger as a lifestyle looks like: corrosive degeneration.

I’ve learnt the secret of anger, and I learned it the hard way: harness it as a once-off launch-blast to get you to change something too scary to normally contemplate.

And don’t allow it to launch you over the line of your own conscience: that’s strange territory devoid of road-signs; you may take many years to find your way back. But don’t let it burn longer than a day and a night at a time: it turns inward and starts to burn away at what’s valuable inside of you. Always.

I hope this makes sense, I hope it didn’t make you throw up πŸ™‚ I hope, when you get up tomorrow, it will be to do things that make life better, even if it’s just for you.

Hi. My name is Joanne, and I’m a hoper.

Angry-Makes-Stupid

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