A journey or destination?

Hope can feel elusive. Not even real. Is it a place one can arrive? Or perhaps something we can obtain?

I'm not sure.

Logic tells me it's real. I hear it in poems and songs, and I see it in young children's faces, but as I've gotten older, I'm not so sure. Experience has taught me it's fleeting and elusive, and often not what I'd expect. It shows up at the most random of times when it's least expected, squeezed out of seemingly impossible situations.

I have experienced it.

So that would seem to suggest it's possible to get to it.

But what's also true is that it's easily turned to sadness, shame, guilt, and even anger—right on the tip of being all-consuming. But not quite.

This is my hope: that it can be experienced, held on to, and shared. That we can, in fact, arrive at it. And when we do, it may very well not look like we expected. It may very well have been about the journey instead.

What do you think?

Shall we travel together?