Recently, I watched with unnatural fascination a saga of nature, starring a persistent, uncommonly ugly spider that decided to take up residence on the review mirror of my car. It had spun a perfectly symmetrical, silver web that I never noticed until I got into the car one morning. I never would have seen it, except that the sunlight hit it just the right way as I pulled out of my parking spot. As I drove to work, I resisted the urge to brush the web away and watched as gnats, flies, and winged creatures of all shapes and sizes hit the bulls-eye, then were eaten. Its method was precise: As the insect would hit the web, the spider would crawl out from under the rear view mirror, grab its prey as it struggled, chow down quickly, then scramble back under the mirror and wait. That day, I drove way too slowly, watching the miracle of death by spider unfold. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived at my office, the web had withered and was stuck to my window, obliterated. Surprisingly, the next morning, the spider had found a way to duplicate the web--just as perfectly--and the feeding process started all over again. This creation-destruction cycle went on for approximately five days, until the spider must have decided that it had had enough and moved on. I kind of miss it if you want to know the truth. I looked forward to seeing that web every morning.
I write this, not because I like spiders, or because the miraculous ecosystem that was going on next to me was just another reason not to wash my car yet again, but because I think I'm trying to find hope. Because I've lost it lately. I keep hoping that the Divine Pattern of Nature, the True Course of All Good Things, will find a way to right itself naturally and make me a happier person. I'm not afraid to admit it--I've even lost hope in myself. My life is chugging along rather quickly and there doesn't seem to be a lot of good things happening to me or to the people I love, quintessential little guys if there ever were any. Bankers are getting richer and the corporations I am fueling with my paycheck are getting stronger. Oh yes, the economy is rebounding (haven't you heard?), and Evil Big Oil is drilling deeper, but no one seems to be listening to their conscience. And its screwing me, and everybody I know, over. And so I'm looking for hope, or a reason not to completely give up on finding it.
So I've taken to observing little things like spiders. I'm hoping to find signs of hope in the every day things, not in big things I have no faith in anymore, like banks. I'm on about Day 30 of My Hope Project, and so far, the Universe hasn't found too many ways to inform my sorry ass that my life is going particularly well. But occasionally I am surprised.
Today, hope came from all things--a water slide. (You should probably know that I am afraid of water slides because of all of the tragedy that they promise: of hitting my head on the way down and drowning without anyone noticing, of someone landing on me on their way down, of losing my swimsuit top, of looking middle-aged silly, oh, the list goes on and on. I hate water slides. Water sliding and skiing are the most dangerous sports in the world if you ask me, but I'll save the stories that explain each of these phobias for another entry.)
Today's hope came from a water slide and my son's wise and mischievous smile, as he held my hand and dragged me groaning and protesting up the 29 concrete steps it took to get to the top. Today, hope came because my son urged me to a race and laughed at my fears. Hope came because he got me to let go today, to remember all the possibilities for happiness that I've been given, even if I'm having trouble finding them right now. Hope came because I didn't lose my top, I didn't drown, and I did let go, even it was for only thirty seconds, on a water slide.
