Be Indomitable, Be Joyous

Thoughts on Hope vs Expectation as we travel through Life

A view of the small Martian moon Deimos in the wee hours of the morning. Photo courtesy of NASA/JPL-Caltech

To be hopeful means to be uncertain about the future, to be tender toward possibilities, to be dedicated to change all the way down to the bottom of your heart. Rebecca Solnit

I’m heading out of town in three days. Or maybe today by the time you read this; words have poured from me lately like semi-caramelized molasses. Or like Heinz catsup, if you’re old enough to recall the commercial.

To quote singer Carly Simon, “Anticipation is making me late, is keeping me waiting.”

I’m marooned on Block Island. (A New Yorker magazine cover)

I have also succumbed to a hard-core case of Travel Block. Yes, Travel Block. I am NOT looking forward to this trip even though my itinerary includes the Greek islands and Athens. Sites that have excited me ever since, antiquities ago, I happened upon a National Geographic story titled “To be indomitable, to be joyous, to be Greek”.

I love the epic aspiration and earnestness of this depiction. This manifesto I strive to live by.

So, what’s up with the dread?

I’ve allowed the past to spill into the present. Anticipation anchored in defeatism has sunk my ship. Christening my departure with Charles Dickens’s immortal opening to A Tale of Two Cities – allowing the shadow of past travel debacles to block any sliver of light or delight – plays a role as well.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

Dickens’ novel was set during the French Revolution. What if I ignite a revolution of my own? An inner revolution of perception? I’m indomitable, I’m joyous, right?

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The roller bag I’ve hoisted upstairs to my bedroom is heavy…But what’s this? It’s empty.

Or is it?

Let’s dump the bag out on to the floor and see what we find. Bon voyage expired boarding passes, dust and grit, dread, doom and gloom. Enjoy your trip to the trash. I’m packing a new wardrobe of Hope.

Of Hope.

Not expectation. The difference is subtle, but mighty. I hope traffic to the airport won’t include gridlock, but I don’t expect this. I hope check in lines won’t meander like the Mississippi, but I’ll factor in extra time. I hope my luggage will arrive in Italy when I do, but I know better than to expect it to oblige. My inner shopaholic is on standby to rejoice.

Hope is the thing with feathers, remember. (Thank you, Emily Dickinson). Hope is lightweight. A feathered pillow upon which to rest, as opposed to a pillow lumpy with bricks of expectation.

Hope perches in our soul ever so tenderly. Hope flies to the stars and dances about the moon. Hope sings.

Yes, my bird is a lark.

Larks are known for their beautiful contributions to the “dawn chorus” and as such represent hope, light, and joy. Worldbirds.com

Long ago, I met a lifeguard named Lark. Lark lived up to her name and then some. How intriguing, what Lark chose to do for a living, at least for the few years I knew her. Lark’s spirit guards my life from drowning in despair.

Lark guides me skyward. Small wonder one of my favorite pieces of music is Ralph Vaughan Willliams’ The Lark Ascending.

A Tale of Two Names: I chose Lark to be my ‘grandmother name’. When my grandson began talking, it became ‘La La’ to help him transition to Lark. Somehow, La La became Yaya. Yaya, Greek for grandmother. Yaya I remain. Yaya I am.

Here’s to the best of times now, now, now, now ad infinitum, UNBLOCKED. Indomitable. Joyous.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep you posted, how the trip goes.
Stay tuned.

If you enjoyed this piece, please check out my Substack, A Septuagenarian Sings.

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