Where did my hope go when it was lost?

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day."

   

 President-Elect Barack Obama November 4, 2008
          From the full text of his victory speech on The Huffington Post website.

I am ashamed to admit I was one of those people. I had lost hope. I could barely breathe on Tuesday and when faced with those people who were sure Obama would win, I turned away.

I had had too many hopes dashed before. I had listened to debates where my current President clearly lied and stumbled over words he barely knew the meaning of. I took the information in: America did not want a smart President. America wanted status quo and if that meant leaving behind whole populations of people, so be it. America was a great country for the wealthy, the greedy and I was a minority living among minorities. Northern California's Bay Area is a gated community, but our walls are invisible to its occupants.

On Tuesday November 4, 2008, late in the evening, on the couch of close friends, I saw what I could barely believe, and had only dared to hope privately. I was frightened to hope, and faith had gone into early hibernation.

Now, I can't stop the tears.

These tears are being produced at a rate my eyes can't keep up with. They are at the edge of every encounter, every correspondence. Every time I see his face on the web or from square pages at the newsstand, in each email I get from family and friends, and flow explosively after reading an article in the paper or seeing photos from that night.

The tears are for joy but also of shame and sadness and loss.

Where did my hope go when it was lost? If I retrace my steps can I find out when I lost Hope?

Hope is the exhausted pixie who struggles to make it out of Pandora's almost empty box. All the other evils have attempted to crush her soul with their weight and menace but she makes it out, using her last strength to get out from the confinements of an airless box.

Anyone who knows debilitating poverty, sickness, grief and addiction knows Hope is barely visible when the blackness comes. Hope isn't afraid, but we are.

And we are ashamed to admit, when we come out of that tunnel, from underneath that lead blanket, Hope was discarded, shoved aside, screamed at, shot at, given up on and killed off over and over while we struggled to get through and make it to the other side. Was there a light at the end of the tunnel? Not always. But we put one foot in front of the other and now we have a little perspective.

Hope.

Where does hope go when it's lost? Does Hope travel to where it's needed most like emergency medics? Does Hope grow in expansive fields like wildflowers between mountains? Does Hope send off seeds generously when the wind blows?

Hope never dies, even when it does. Hope is the ultimate superhero. Hope is resilient even when we feel broken. Hope is malleable and slides under the door even when the lights and heat get shut off in the middle of winter. Hope holds us when we cry even if we only cry in private.

I wanted to come clean for all to hear: I had lost hope.

I felt brave enough to admit this when NY Times writer Judith Warner said so too,

"I will admit that back in January, when Barack Obama, in his post-Iowa victory speech, spoke about the “cynics,” the “they” who said “this country was too divided, too disillusioned to ever come together around a common purpose,” he was talking about me."

Tears To Remember. November 6, 2008

While you could say that you've heard enough from me about the election, that this is a food blog for fuck's sake, I will say this: Hope is food. It's soul food. And without it, there's nothing.

As I have just traveled thousands of miles to move to a city I've not lived in since 1989, hope is something I could use having a back-stock in. Hope is something I can't afford to forsake or shelve or act cavalier about needing.

My heart has been turned inside-out. Thank you millions of people I've never met. Thank you Barack Obama for speaking to me on Tuesday November 4. Thank you president-elect for understanding my hopelessness and not only not holding it against me, but displaying amazing humility when addressing me and my fellow citizens. You have inspired me beyond words.

Comments

[Jennywenny]

I felt similar, I was almost too scared to check the results, but I popped on NPR after my godawful food purchasing class, and cried all the way home to the cheering and celebration and outpouring of hope. Yes we can!! I still get a lump in my throat. And I hope you find hope in london too, as it can be a very harsh place, although on my last visit I found nothing but smiling faces and friendly, helpful people.

Unfortunately the brits are seriously losing hope in their politicians, but maybe this will give us some hope to dream that things will get better.

[Jennifer Jeffrey]

Me too. Me too. Me too.

Thinking of you way across the ocean - hope you're happy & staying warm.

xox

[Sarah Caron]

I wouldn't let myself hope or believe that Obama would be elected. I couldn't take the distress if he wasn't. But I went out and voted, even though I was confident that my blue state would remain blue. It did. But I needed to be among the votes that made that happen.

And even though I wouldn't let myself believe, when I read the television screen and it said "Barack Obama Elected," I cried. I held it back for as long as I could. Then I just let it go, the tears came.

The most unexpected part was the intense release that came with it all. I never counted myself among the cynics. A realist, yes, but a cynic? And yet, I was. So, on Tuesday, when it became clear that our country had chosen change, I cried and felt something I haven't felt in a long, long, long time: Hope.

Beautiful post, Shuna.

Beautiful comment, Sarah, thank you. You just described it for me exactly as you have described it for yourself. I passed a friend on the way to my polling station but I could not even say hello. It was wrapped way too tight inside of me. ~ Shuna

[Lori S.]

I cried, too. I'm still crying sometimes.

I've always had a small store of hope. This time, I got to see one of those hopes realized -- that sooner or later, lies and fear are no longer sustainable, and people *will* reject them.

[Kelley G.]

I love this...quite simply it is beautiful and amazing and you. My hope got shoved back into the place where I keep all my things I can't admit having....like dreams and desires. It was there but dusty and tired and trying to act cool. It had put on sunglasses and distanced itself and tried to pretend it wasn't there. But it was. Because being the good dork I am I still kept it in a box, dusty but there. I am a secret, secret, secret optimist with a very bad sarcastic streak.

[lee]

I want to show your post to all the people who say that hope is just a buzzword used to get someone elected.

[katrina]

Fantastic. The"exhausted pixie who struggles to make it out of Pandora's almost empty box" is such a unique and perfect description of how we've been feeling. The tears still come, and I'm sometimes afraid the blackness of the world will descend - but no, not with people like you, and a remarkable new administration. Yes we can. Our mantra.

[Lyn Lidsky]

I'm one of those people who read your blog every day (or at least every time you write) and yet I never comment back. I'm not a real computer person and I've hated them for years as I had a PC that I fought with every time I turned it on. But last Christmas my husband gave me a MacBook and I've been exploring the internet ever since.

I found your blog through the blog Ideas in Food the day after Christmas and I have been reading both of you ever since. I love your writing, your photography and your social ideas. I'm not in the food industry, but my daughter is and has been since high school when she worked in a local bakery in Cambridge.

She's now a partner of a neighborhood restaurant in San Francisco. I love reading about all your travels in the industry because it helps me understand even more all the work and effort that my daughter goes through each day. You show with your photography and your writing all the passion and hard work and thoughtfulness that goes into the best of American food....from gardening and farming to selling to preparing and presenting the finished dish. I may not always know where you are headed in your writing, but I'm always delighted and many times surprised. You are always thought provoking.

Tonight my husband and I are going to Craigie Street Bistrot in Cambridge for a special dinner. The restaurant has been in the basement of an apartment building for a few years and it's now renovating a new and larger space in another part of Cambridge. Tonight is their last night in the old space and they are having a special dinner to celebrate. So as I celebrate with them tonight, I'll also celebrate with you and all your new adventures in London. All the best. Lyn in Boston

Thank you Lyn. I'm sorry but I had to edit down your comment a bit. I thank you for your words. Anything to help another person understand my industry! ~ Shuna

[Athen]

Hope and connection, Shuna.

One thing that really strikes me, now that shock is settling into joy, is how calmly and strategically Obama and his campaign understood the need to break down the barrier of racial prejudice, especially among white voters. As a member of the GLBT community, I am familiar with the importance of both recognizing and de-personalizing prejudice, in order to overcome it. That approach isn't for everyone, but it's such a beautiful thing when the decision to keep going, and connect rather than disconnect, actually pays off.

Most of us do this, if we do it at all, within our families, with close friends, and perhaps in the workplace; but we draw the line somewhere - and on the other side of that line are people and opportunities we've lost. It's truly wonderful to see the power of connection being modeled, as modus operandi, on national scale.

More about how personal transformation becomes political in the NY Times today. (You may have to click to skip the ad.)

Athen

[Cakespy]

What a lovely essay. You so eloquently put into words what I think a lot of people are feeling this week. Never have we felt so proud to be American. It's a tingly, unusual feeling.

[Diane]

Thank you for your honesty. I have been having the same amazed and teary feeling all week.

I flirted with these feelings, but I must say I mostly converted my shreds of hopelessness into anger. I didn't want to admit to the fears. "Not this time. Not this way. I won't let this happen..." I volunteered. I donated (for the first time ever). I argued with my French in-laws who told me that America was too racist a country to elect Obama and McCain was "Plus Americaine." I swore we were better than that, although deep in my heart I doubted a bit. I was quite hopeful here in Northern CA, but when I went to PA last week to visit family I started to get nervous. Nonetheless I hoped.

It's scary to hope, as it carries the possibilities of let-down, of being taken advantage of, of betrayal. But I was glad to see it validated.

[Leena!]

Hey Shuna,

Great post. I've been hiding in the wood works while reading your blog over the past six months, but I couldn't stay quiet anymore. Thanks for saying exactly what I was feeling but too ashamed to share. I hated not believing.

[liz]

Hi, have just discovered your blog via the wonderful nordjlus links and have just read your post about the us elections
Yes good things happen !!! I too held my breath, did'nt believe or was too scared too believe cos u think then it's not going to happen thru some perverse cosmic force but it did happen and even now I have tears that pop up readily in my eyes when I think about the outcome , plus it means a lot to me as I carry around a major legacy of guilt from the time I lived in South Africa
Good for you America and long live Obama