Why hope prose?
This is a place to find first and foremost hope through words. Why? I love words. And Tea. But that's for another post.
You could call me a bit of a lexicon junky. (aka- word addict). And ironically, this passion came to me as a teenager, entirely separate from academic course work. I discovered a love for words, through reading the most ridiculous assortment of books. I read cheesy romance novels, childhood classics, philosophy and religion books, chic-lit and got my first taste of the addictive world of dystopian YA novels (The Giver may be one of my all time favorite books). And yes, I still read them now. I don't have a huge classical education around English literature, but have I forged my way through a few leather bound literary giants, compliments of my more refined book-club buddys.
Through many years of working through bedside jenga book piles, two things became clear to me:
1) Reading well-crafted words allows me to learn and experience things that can only make sense in my mind.
2) No one else will ever see or feel those things in quite the same way.
And that is a gift. I believe that authors, poets, singers and sometimes just well-worded people, can change the world through communicating their ideas out loud or on paper. Their words have certainly helped shaped who I am today. Not to say that I am without fault. Oh, I have many. But I definitely am filled with a faith and hope that is surreal, because of their inspired words.
Through my informal literary education, I began to notice my favorite quotes, passages, novels and lyrics shared similar themes. Most of which could be boiled down to hope. As a teen, I was desperate for direction, purpose and meaning. And as I'm sure you may be experiencing or have experienced, when you leave childhood behind, the world can be very overwhelming. Unpredictable. Less fairytale-esk than you would like?
Take this ridiculous question: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Can you feel pimples forming under stressed out layers of skin, that barely contain a rising lava flow of heartburn inducing nausea with the near mention of your future. Your response inside: I don't know. I'm 15...or 25...or 35. How am I supposed to decide from an infinite number of possibilities? Outwardly you respond cool and collected-ish, "I'm thinking of science? Maybe a marine biologist?"
So, you take a guess, based on logical guidance on how you will get to the ocean for professional training. But then you start to think bigger. Like, will I get a job doing that? Will it pay enough? How much money do I need to be happy? Can I still have a family with that job? Do I even want kids? What if my uterus doesn't work? What if I never get married? Would anyone even want me? Hopefully my cat will still be alive. He loves me right? BLAH...mind spew.
And now you are at the bottom of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Eating two pounds of cream gets you even more stressed out. Particularly, when you realize there is no way you can wear that spandex shirt you picked for school tomorrow due to serious muffin-top lactose bloat.
OK, maybe that was just me. But that lactose bloat moment pushed me to sift through my tower of books to find the perfect reprieve to get me out the door the next morning. We didn't have blogs back then. Reality: I would have started with a blog. More easily digestible chunks. Like the Tums before the decadent dessert. And that is hopefully where you will start. With some Tums to direct you to the real sinful delights. Welcome to Hope Prose.