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i looked up the word “hope” tonight in my gigantic, ever present webster’s new world dictionary of the american language. (admittedly, i have no clue why it’s the “american” language dictionary, since “whatevs” and “like, you know” are NOT included.) i’ve been thinking all day about hope and what it means to me, it’s significance in the world, in my world, in my heart, in my brain. in my past. in my now. in my tomorrows.

i have always been hopeful. always. i’ve said “i hope, i hope” so many many times silently to dozens and dozens of first stars i spied in a night sky, blew out countless amounts of birthday candles repeating the words “i hope, i hope” in the breath i had left over, repeated it at every altar, shrine, temple, mosque, church, pagoda, roadside crucifix i have ever been to and seen. i’ve hung hope on every hook on every door in every apartment i’ve ever lived in. i’ve glued hope in scrapbooks, photo albums, notebooks; penned it into margins of crusty paperbacks with words inside that gave me back some hope in return. i’ve pinned it on bulletin boards, saw it in art galleries stroked into 20th century oil paintings, on movie screens, heard it in song lyrics. i’ve seen it in shadows, in silhouettes, in that 4PM orange glow of pre-dusk sunlight. i see it often in eyes. hope.  

hope for what? what the hell are you hoping for?

what AM i hoping for? if i hope for something to happen, is that unfair? naive? unrealistic? if i hope for a significant relationship with someone is that just  another dreamy fantasy that will elicit countless eyerolls and deep sighs?

really, i just hope for simple things. uncomplicated things. things and experiences and words and people and relationships that don’t require untangling or fiddling with or a master’s degree in psychology to understand. i just want something easy. not a blow-off, not a it-doesn’t-matter-to-me-i-can-take-it-or-leave-it kind of thing, just a comfortable place to sit. 

an easy chair. that’s what i hope for. an easy chair.

an easy chair is a place where i can just be. just be. where i don’t feel crushed or twisted or in need of a stretch. where ouches are non existent, where nail biting is not allowed. a place that is non judgmental or  free of analysis or where no one is looked at through suspicious eyes. a place to be that requires no explanation, no thesaurus, no i-didn’t-mean-it-that-way-really-i-swear-oh-shit-now-i-am-scared-because-i-can’t-take-it-back, a place where regrets don’t have a home, a place where walls don’t exist. an open space, a comfortable space. a place to sit where i can just be. where i can breathe, and suck in air that feels fresh and clean and clear

i want to sit in my easy chair across from someone who’s in theirs and feel okay in the silence. i want to feel okay in the tumble of words. i want to feel safe in the sharing and the talking talking talking and the unloading and the uploading and the downloading. in the hearing and the listening.  i want to look into this person’s eyes and know that he sees me as an easy chair. i am in my own, but he’s in mine, too. and i’m in his. like musical easy chairs.

(i can understand from a psychological standpoint why people like recliners. i personally think they’re hideous from a design perspective, but i get it subjectively. however, i think ray & charles eames designed one that would suit me just fine. i can visualize myself in it, its supple leather and gorgeous, smooth wood grain enveloping me, as i am sitting in a field/beach somewhere in the sunshine, with an ashtray and a can of diet coke at hand, having a conversation with my hope recipient in a matching one.)

is that a lot? is that the equivalent of hoping for, well, the fucking hope diamond? is this something everyone hopes for? i haven’t a clue. if everyone does hope for this, then why am i still hoping for it? can’t we trade hopes and fulfill the hopes for each other?

all i know is that this easy chair has been on my christmas list for years and years. and i really, really want it.

let me have my hope. i hope i hope i hope for my hope.



  1. maybe, just maybe, the trick is to find – no, to make – one’s own easy chair, put it near the window or alley street or river front, settle on into it in a place a person wants to be and get a good view with a deep breath and wait to see who settles down next door in his or her own easy chair. it’s all about the real estate; the neighbors will come.

  2. There seems a reason I ran into you Elizabeth. I read quite a few blogs but only one like yours. I still hear your voice so strongly. But I’m struggling with the easy chair – but that reflects more about where I’m at perhaps…

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