This is part 1 of a 3-part talk I gave for the Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester for their "Lives Touched, Lives Celebrated" event. Right before I gave the talk, I tested positive for Covid, and spent the next week plus feeling miserable, and then trying to make up for all the time feeling miserable, and well... a month later I'm ready to post it! Since the first part is about hope, it is a good way to start the Advent season. Part 2 is about healing, and Part 3 is about celebration.
Hope
“Hope is the thing with feathers –
that perches in the soul –
and sings the tune without the words –
and never stops at all – ”
That is from an Emily Dickinson poem you may have heard. I’ve loved Emily Dickinson since I first encountered her in 7th grade, but this year, that image of hope as a bird perching and singing without stopping gained a deeper meaning for me.
It has been a tough couple of years for everyone, right? Even more so if you have been dealing with cancer or loss on top of everything else. My husband and I have dealt with our share of challenges in 10 years together – including two bouts of breast cancer, now 8 and 9 years ago – and this year brought us new struggles, like it did to so many. We have been grasping for hope, seeking it anywhere we can find it.
During one day when I was feeling especially low, I sought to process my sadness and hopelessness the way that has worked for me so many times before: I wrote. I wrote several pages. And then, feeling somewhat lighter, and renewed, I closed my computer, threw on some running shoes, and went out into the sunshine for a walk. As I walked outside, a huge flock of birds that had been just chilling on my front lawn took flight, all of them flying right before my eyes to find shelter in a nearby tree.
My friends, I stood there simply stunned by their beauty. I thought, “Oh my goodness, they are just so… so free.” In that moment I realized that this was my deepest desire: freedom. I realized how bound I had been feeling – by circumstances, by unprocessed emotion – and I longed to be free of it. And the hope of that freedom was indeed what would give me feathers, so that I could sing my own tune, words or not, and never stop at all.
Hope has that sort of power, doesn’t it? To give us voice. To give us lift and flight. To give us freedom.
In a pandemic that took from us the ability to sing together, I could feel my spirit withering. Singing and making music with people has always been something that gives me life, that fills my soul and calms my heart. When we are facing a trauma – whether it is a pandemic or a cancer diagnosis or a loss – that’s when we need those gifts most of all. Without the opportunity to sing, it became harder for me to grasp the hope that brings freedom.
And yet hope has never left. It was harder to grasp, yes, but it never left. It didn’t leave me through three different cancer diagnoses, it didn’t leave me in a pandemic, and it didn’t leave me through the other struggles I have faced. Sure, it sang more quietly on some days, but it didn’t leave me. It remained that thing with feathers, perching in the soul, singing without stopping at all. Sometimes it didn’t have words. Sometimes I don’t have words. But the day that I saw those birds fly across my front lawn, I remembered that even without the words, the thing with feathers never left me.
Knowing it was still there (hope is resilient, after all), I could find ways to nurture and feed it. As I did, I began to notice more and more birds – literal birds, perching not only in my soul, but on my roof, and flying across my path, and showing up in songs my randomly chosen in my car. And when I noticed it, I could acknowledge it, and thank it for showing up. And over time, the hope grew. And sometimes, it did sing a tune with words. And sure enough, hope grew some more. And with hope grew again the possibility of freedom – freedom to fly and to sing.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. Can you feel it? Can you find it? Can you hear its sweet tune, even if you can’t hear the words? If you can, then feed it. Nourish it. It will, finally, make you free.
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