Hope

There is a ritual I endure from time to time. In moments of perfect clarity I say something that resonates on a deeper level. These moments have been affectionately coined as Jeffisms, later renamed Shamrockisms. A majority of these can be classified as lewd and vulgar for which you will find no apologies. As they say, you can take the boy out of Auburn, but you can never take Auburn out of the boy. A legacy, I’m sure, that I share with many from the hamlet of mullets, ’84 Camaros, and the last standing Drive-In movie theater for counties.

In rare cases, however, a lucid concept comes to pass which involve little of the lewd, but more of what it is that we call reality. Something simple. One of those happened last night. The details, which led to this discovery, shall remain dressed in the cloaks of secrecy; in part because they are of little relevance, the other can be defined along the lines of homey don’t kiss and tell.

Hope is something of a fragile nature. We have elected our President predicated on the very promise of it. Hope endures. Or does it? Does hope in fact ambush us allowing us to believe in the unbelievable, worse the unattainable. Webster’s definition can be summated- to wish for something with the expectation of its’ fulfillment. Shamrockismictionary (Yes, that is a real word) defines hope as the dismantler of admiration. I spoke those words last night. Hope is the dismantler of admiration. That moment of clarity allowed myself to let go. I was speaking to someone else, but in fact was convincing myself. It’s funny how life works.

We all hope for this, and wish that. Some of us, myself included, have hoped and been hoped for. Hope will never, nor should it, exit our vocabulary, certainly not our conscience. Human nature and specifically the romantic relationship breed this way of thinking. A majority, if not all of us have been trapped in a relationship full of this hope to the demise of our self-esteem and core belief system. The scientist in me believes that with all outcomes there is an eventual opportunity based on those findings. Where one failure ends, an eventual success breathes life. The realization born from last nights Shamrockism is that hope is not faith; faith in oneself, faith in others.

I will love again, and so will you. When admiration, and faith outweighs hope- you have a winner. At least, that’s what I am hoping for. :)