As I sat in the hot tub on a steamy Florida night, I pondered my future.
Hours earlier, I’d walked across the stage at my college graduation. My family then celebrated the occasion with dinner at one of the ritziest restaurants in town.
But now, the ceremonies were over. We had retreated to my family’s hotel near the airport.
And now, submerged in warm waters flanked by the not-so-distant roar of jet engines, we commiserated.
The conversation quickly turned to what was next. And as it did, my triumph faded into a sense of failing.
For I didn’t have a job lined up. I didn’t even have any interviews pending.
In the throes of a brutal recession, I would need to move back in with my parents until I could launch my career.
My family assured me this was no big deal. I’d earned myself a break, they said.
But had I?
To me, college was not a four-year party. It was a proving ground for professional life.
And without the first step in my career imminent, I felt I had failed. I had wasted my time and countless dollars of tuition.
Fortunately, this despondence didn’t last long. I soon landed some job interviews, followed by a job offer. Two months and a day after my college graduation, I reported to my new role as a news producer in West Texas.
And while I’ve long ago left that position — and that career — behind, I’ve remained self-sufficient throughout adulthood.
My story had a satisfying conclusion. My quest for a career launch was simply deferred, rather than denied.
Some of that had to do with the industry I was seeking to join. Some had to do with the economic realities of the moment I was in. Much of it had to do with sheer luck.
I never gave up hope throughout this process. Even in those dour moments on the evening of my college graduation, I retained faith that things would work out.
But attributing the outcome to me sense of hope is a fool’s errand.
Many of my peers faced the same circumstances as I did as they walked the stage at commencements across America that spring. Despite some despondence over their lack of immediate job prospects, they remained hopeful.
And yet, despite sterling credentials and supreme self-belief, that faith was not rewarded.
Many of my peers ended up waiting tables for months on end, just to be able to pay the bills. Some were forced to give up their career hopes entirely after years of rejection.
It was cruel and unfair. But it was reality.
A reality that was out of touch with a prevailing narrative.
You see, we tend to view hope as a self-fulfilling prophecy. This principle is central in Hollywood scripts and other narrative arcs.
Cinderella is in a desperate condition when the Fairy Godmother first encounters her. Yet, even in her darkest hours, she retains a semblance of hope — one that pays off in spades once it’s time to try on the glass slipper.
Similarly, the Rebel Alliance retains hope against long odds at the start of Star Wars. The Galactic Empire has a decided advantage. And the Jedi equipped to counter the Empire’s brutal reign are seemingly nowhere to be found.
That hope that sustains the Rebel Alliance from the first scene becomes the fabric of the franchise, interspersed into dialogue, story arcs, and even film names. (Once sequels hit the big screen, that original Star Wars film was rebranded Star Wars Episode IV – A New Hope.)
Given these prominent examples, it’s all too easy to believe that a little faith and determination are all guaranteed to provide a favorable outcome.
And so, we go all in on hope. We treat the fairy tale ending as manifest destiny. And we suppress the narratives where satisfaction doesn’t arrive.
This does us no favors.
As I write this, we’ve had a rough go of it.
In recent years, we’ve dealt with a global pandemic, a teetering economy, and societal polarization.
Through it all, we’ve followed a familiar playbook. We’ve tried to stay the course, clinging to the prospect of better days ahead.
We’ve clung to the promise of hope.
This might seem sensible at first. Looking across the long arc of history, things tend to even out. And Star Wars and Cinderella show that a little faith can pay big dividends. So why not bask in the glory of tomorrow?
But I’m not so sure that a bright future is imminent. There’s no guarantee that things will get better just because we hit a rough patch. And if the past is precedent, they might continue to get worse.
It’s easy to overlook how spoiled we’ve been spoiled in recent decades. Sure, things weren’t always ideal. But we’ve recovered rather swiftly from the adverse events we did face — be they the 9/11 attacks or the 2008 Financial Crisis.
This near-instant resilience was a blessing. For in prior generations, the route back was far more treacherous.
The Great Depression lasted a full decade, and it was followed almost immediately by World War II. One catastrophic event followed another, with devastation touching all corners of our nation.
America did emerge from the Allied victory in World War II with a robust economy and improved global standing. But people weren’t entirely jubilant. Instead, they were hiding under desks during air raid drills, terrified about the prospect of Soviet missiles bringing nuclear winter.
It’s only in the past few decades — with the Cold War over and the tech boom bringing unprecedented innovation — that we’ve seen hope blossom into true prosperity. And that prosperity has deluded us from the truth.
Indeed, the reality of hope is messy. It carries no promise of returns, let alone instant ones.
There are costs to shunning hope, as complete despair can leave us without the will to seize opportunities. But its benefits are minimal, at best.
This isn’t the message we want to hear. It’s not the tidy narrative that leaves us feeling fulfilled. It’s not the bright carrot that motivates us to keep moving forward.
But it is the message we need to hear. It’s the one we should heed.
Yes, hope is beautiful. It’s inspiring. It’s uplifting.
But it is not a crystal ball.
We cannot count on it to provide us opportunities. We can’t expect it to help us seize them.
Much of that power belongs to circumstance. The rest belongs to us.
Act accordingly.