Reflections on Hope

All The Fish in the Sea

I was having a conversation about dating with a friend the other day.  I mentioned that I wasn't like other women.  I'm not on the hunt, looking for someone to complete me.  I'm living my life and waiting to see what love may bring my way.  "I'm a sea anemone.  I'm doing my thing, stinging and running off those fish that aren't a good fit.  Waiting for the right one to come along."

"If that is the case, then all you'll attract is clown fish," he replied.

I thought about for a while.  Is that so bad, really?  What did I want?  A shark?  A barracuda?  A swordfish?  No.

I want a clown fish.

Humble.  Spunky.  Bright.  Willing to cross the whole ocean to save the person he loves, but happy to come home to me.  Perfectly suited for what I have to offer, and just right for me.  A clown fish isn't necessarily cool or glamorous.  It's definitely not the sexiest fish in the sea.

But damn.  I do love a good clown fish.

In fact, for a while, I've had my eye on one particular clown fish.  He's the best, brightest, most adorable, and wonderful clown fish I've ever encountered.  Truly the best one I've seen.  I've often thought he's be a perfect fit for me in every way I can think of.  But there is one major problem.  He really wants to be a shark.  

Being a clown fish isn't acceptable so, I watch him try to swim with the barracudas.  I see him try to chase the swordfish and the sharks.  It ends in disappointment time and again, because he doesn't want to accept that he's not suited for those other creatures.  But what can an anemone do?  You can't make a clown fish stop wanting to be a shark.  So you have to let that one swim away - and wait for the clown fish who knows and loves who he is.  

Prank

I'm almost certain you meant no harm.
Just like the kid who thinks it would be funny to pull the chair out when his buddy is getting ready to take a seat.
Landing flat on your ass?
That's comedy!

You didn't anticipate the events that followed.
Me flat on my ass - yes! - Ha!
But with my skirt up over my head - completely exposed.
Even that could be laughed off - mostly.
In front of an audience - and you have a nice added dose of humiliation.
Well, that upped the ante a bit, but I'm pretty good at laughing at myself.
It still could have been a really good joke.

But something happened on the way down.
I landed wrong - jarred something.
And now I'm completely paralyzed.
Immobilized.
Helpless.
Powerless.

It was a simple prank - a flick of the hand.  An afterthought.
But I'm forever altered - and not for the better.

I hope it was worth the laugh.



The days pass, and I think I'm getting better at separating myself from the source of the hurt.  It's not easy.  Every time my thoughts land on it, I feel the flush of heat and panic.  The plummeting feeling in my gut that doesn't seem to lessen as the distance between me and the event grows.

I feel a little indignant.  Like I was duped.  But even more, I feel like something essential has been stolen from me.  I probe that line of thinking...
What's missing?  It's not the friendship.  That's still more or less intact.
It's not love.  That was never mine - and I was not so naive to think that it was.
On the surface nothing appears to have changed.  So what's absent now?

Then it hits me.  I know what's disappeared.
Hope.

Hope was what was wrested from my hands on that stormy Saturday.

Before, I had glimmers of the life that was exactly what I wanted.  It wasn't perfect, but it was possible.  For a shining moment, I thought that maybe there was the possibility of a happy ending for me.  Maybe I could get what I wanted.  And I got comfortable with hope.  I wasn't just lowering to perch on a chair.  No sir!  I was flopping down onto a couch - stupidly comfortable and confident in its ability to support me.  That's the chair that was pulled out from under me - leaving me flat on my ass.

Hope is what is missing from my days now.  I can function fine.  I'm putting one foot in front of the other.  I still tackle every task that is put in front of me.  But I have to ask myself - what is the point?

Before hope vanished, I felt like I was working for something - investing in something, building something.  It wasn't perfect, but it was promising.

I know now it wasn't mine.

But in its absence, it's hopeless.  That's the loss that I can't seem to convey.

Life hasn't changed on that level.  I haven't lost anything tangible.

Yet with this loss of hope, I feel like I've lost everything.