One of the last experiences I savored before leaving Downers Grove was a lunch date with myself at Mayslake Forest Preserve. I grabbed some tacos at Tacos and a coconut water at Standard Market and sat myself down beside the pond in the shade of a tree. I’d brought my computer, hoping that I’d be inspired by the scenery enough to write the beginning of my goodbyes. I did manage to get some words on the page, but I found myself distracted by the quirky root system of a nearby tree. 
Eh, distracted is a not the right word. I was sitting on the roots. The earth that had once likely protected the roots had worn away. Perhaps it was foot traffic, or wind and rain, or maybe the lake had at some point overflowed its normal boundaries. Whatever the case, there they were. Knobby and twisted and exposed. Then I noticed one root in particular that did not slope gently into the ground like its neighbors. This one took a sharp 90 degree turn straight back into the soil. What had caused such distinct growth? Had that root encountered a sudden obstacle? Did it know something that the others did not? Or did it simply turn and blindly hope to find fertile ground?
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‘Tis the season! Of many things, really, but in the Christian church calendar, the season of Advent is about to begin. Advent may be my favorite season of the year – and not because it culminates with Christmas. It is a season rife with anticipation and mystery and hope. Yearly I am reminded of the story of a people who wait anxiously in darkness. How they must have felt so lost and lonely, wandering in the dark, reaching out for something to stay grounded. I imagine that it had to have been hope that kept them rooted. Hope for the future and hope to make meaning of the past. Hope as the only steady ground in the present. As I type the word “hope” over and over, it sounds so lovely and pleasant. But hope can be dangerous and painful. Hope can be what saves us from a lack of foundation, but it can also become false and topple us to the ground.
And what happens when hope is disappointed?
Oh, 2017, you have tested my ability to hold onto hope 1000 times over. My god, you have been the very essence of pain. The death of dreams and the reality of heartache. Those dreadful goodbyes and tears without end. Late summer days of wondering whether endings are better than hope for beginnings. Everything was awful. Everything was terrible. Everything was completely fucked.
And then hope. Hope. Hope.
Hope like a single strand of a spider’s web as it catches on your arm. You can’t see it, you can’t hold it, but you can feel that it is there. I cannot recall what it was – an event or a conversation or a sign (or maybe all of the above) – that brushed my soul, but I know that it was hope. Those late summer days have ended and I’ve started to learn to let go with the autumn leaves. While I still fear the (much less cold) shortened days of winter, I do so with hope. Because I’ve learned that hope, that beautiful, tethering light, co-exists with the shittiest experiences of life. And if hope is on my side, then I can survive grow into the new life of spring. Advent.
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I thought when we left our roots in Downers Grove that we would be left with no footing. When we arrived in Missouri I was adamant that I would not allow this place to provide what we need in order to place new roots. Living doesn’t work that way. The roots are always searching for the earth, for a way to be grounded. I may not love where I live yet and I may never love it. But I do want to embrace the opportunities, the experiences, the challenges, the people, and the life I have here. And I cannot do that without planting roots. So I’m taking a cue from my life lesson of six months and turning 90 degrees into the soil. It may be buried deep, but everything I need to live is here. I hope.
