“And as far as false hope, there is no such thing. There is only hope or the absence of hope—nothing else.” –Patti Davis
It’s been a tough year for me thus far. A year filled with challenges, some of which I’ve spoken about on social media, many of which I have not. In February, I lost a pet exactly a week after it was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. A close relative is fighting the same challenging illness. My husband’s job remains in limbo, and my own business is struggling. Writing is…. Well, let’s just say writing can be a tough business, even in the best of times.
On Tuesday, a vet who I adore delivered a harsh diagnosis for my beloved dog, Tasha. I think she’s wrong. I pray she’s wrong. I need her to be wrong. Still, according to the vet, “All we can do is wait and see.” Basically, if we have to put my dog down in six months due to a progressive paralysis, the vet will have been right. If not, hopefully we have another good year or two.
Usually, I’m pretty resilient—like a Weebles doll that wobbles but never falls down. These days, I feel more like a mosquito standing at the end of line of Dominoes, about to be crushed by forces over which I have no control. Truth is, I think I’m simply drained. There’s not enough helium left in my happy balloon to lift me up anymore.
Then, just when I was about to give in to depression, the universe gave me a sign.
I attended a book signing for my mystery series this afternoon. I usually love any opportunity to chat about my work, but today I would much rather have hid in the corner. I simply didn’t have the energy to make lighthearted small talk with strangers, no matter how much I loved the subject. I browsed around the book store, pretending to look for a book, when I stumbled across the stone pictured at the top of this article.
Literally staring at me from an otherwise empty windowsill.
I wish I could say that seeing that rock filled me with a lighthearted joy. That it changed my attitude in some distinctly measureable way. The truth is, as I picked it up and hefted its weight in my hands, only one clear thought went through my mind.
This would make a pretty good murder weapon.
What do you expect? I am a crime writer, after all.
Still, I carried that heavy, gray, yet somehow powerful stone to the register, paid for it, and brought it home with me to serve as a reminder. Hope isn’t a gift. It’s not always pretty. Sometimes it refuses to show itself, except when you least expect it. Yet it’s always there waiting for you, if you’re willing to grasp it.
Namaste my students, my family, my friends, my loves. May you all stumble across hope when you need it the most.
Come visit Whole Life Yoga in Seattle, and check out Tracy Weber’s author page for information about the Downward Dog Mysteries series. A KILLER RETREAT and MURDER STRIKES A POSE are available at book sellers everywhere!