Jules Bastien-Lepage: Mower Honing a Scythe (1878)

" … and to radiate enough hope to make however I cope feel worthwhile."

Over recent months, my MacBook Air started crashing each morning. Because I became a compulsive saver, I rarely lost anything in these crashes. They became annoying, usually happening at one of the more inconvenient times. I'd be rushing to finish posting my daily story when everything would freeze up, and I'd have to begin that familiar recovery routine. We all know how rebooting under such conditions seems to take a little longer than forever. I'd recover and then finish my business feeling persecuted rather than elated. On a recent trip to Portland, I resolved to buy a new MacBook. I'd diagnosed the crashing difficulty as being caused by insufficient memory. I'd learned that my current machine already has all the memory it can handle, so I reasoned that I needed a new machine. The Apple Store was its usual minimalist purgatory overrun with potential customers. I managed to catch the attention of a representative after spending fifteen or twenty minutes poking at sample display machines. I'd decided what I needed but quickly learned they didn't have what I wanted. I was advised I could order one online but cautioned that the low inventory probably meant some newer models were imminent. I left with a pocketful of complications, knowing that I would not run home and purchase a new machine online.

I started coping better with my situation instead. If I couldn't resolve my difficulty by actually resolving my difficulty, I would have to fix it by coping. Coping involves adapting to essentially unresolvable conditions. Nothing's really an either/or. Considerable middle ground exists between any two alternatives, and coping paves that space between. It always first seems like a clean dichotomy, exclusively an either/or. If I cannot achieve my heart's desire, I might just as well expire. However, discovering the improbability of achieving that heart's desire changes the equation. The alternative often seems less clear-cut in the absence of its aspired-for other. It might seem rash to do away with myself merely because I've been denied my heart's desire. Perhaps I might attempt to thrive on my spleen's desire this time, or my shoulder's. Surviving on one's spleen instead of one's heart's desire exemplifies Coping. Getting by might at least improve if not fully resolve the dilemma. In time, we might even recognize the blessing we received when we were denied our heart's desire. We'd never considered the potential benefits of adopting spleen desire, yet there we are. If not completely satisfied, satisficing.

Rather than purchase that new computer that wasn't immediately available, I adopted an alternative practice to mindlessly crashing at inconvenient moments. I began deliberately restarting my machine first thing. As soon as I sat down to write, I'd restart. The five minutes required to reset everything successfully prevented my machine from crashing every morning. I injected an odd ounce of confidence into my morning routine. It has become my go-to context setting, part of the usual ritual that no longer feels like an unnatural inconvenience. That's a successful Coping.

Since the incumbent took the oath for the office of president, I have been hoping he might somehow rise to the occasion of his second inauguration. He, of course, has not risen, yet I still catch myself hoping. Unrequited, I catch myself coping instead. Friends and colleagues counsel me to stop with the unrequited hoping, since it seems naive. They counsel that if I can reasonably predict that my hope will not be reciprocated with responsible behavior, it might amount to mere wishfulness to continue hoping. I wonder what I might cling to instead, for hoping seems more reassuring than any of the more obvious alternatives. I reject cynicism out of hand because I consider it self-defeating. I can hope without necessarily expecting respite, for hoping seems the opposite of cynicism. It seems self-succeeding in comparison. Even when it amounts to nothing more than warm air, it seems to deliver more than any cynical alternative. Cynicism wallows in damnation, while hope at least seems to attempt to coat itself in something similar to salvation. Even if neither manages to deliver, which residue would I rather have lingering afterward? For me, the answer's too obvious for me to seriously consider its alternative. I remain hopeful.

I do not need to live in denial to cope with hopefulness. Hopefulness might well underpin the more satisfying coping strategies. Even if I'm damned whatever I do, I improve nothing by toppling to any inevitable. I'd rather be naively hopeful than correctly cynical because cynicism starts the punishment before the trial even ends. There is no worse way to blunt a defense than with guilt scribbled all over one's face. I steadfastly refuse to believe I'm fated to crash my machine every morning when I'm still fully capable of preemptively crashing it myself first. Likewise, I am not trying to learn how to live under this administration's continuing repression. I'm warmly anticipating gleefully continuing to try to humiliate its every effort. I think our present situation might just be too terribly serious to take too awfully seriously. Go ahead. Try to tip me over. I'll tip myself over first. I intend to be the very font of CHope in response.

What the Hell is CHope? It's another word I've invented to satisfy current conditions. I intend this word to represent simultaneous coping and hoping. How have I been dealing with the incumbent's continuing clown show? I have been actively coping, by which I mean I have been compensating by shifting my expectations and my contributions. If I cannot always experience what I intend, I can still engage in some alternative resistance. I can maintain my sanity by trying to be the best me I can extend. The alternatives depress me. I can also steadfastly cling to hope while coping. It became too damned depressing to absorb the latest insults every morning. I felt personally attacked. My intelligence felt continually assaulted. But none of that was ever really about me. I had not caused any of this, nor had I ceded an ounce of my best intentions. I might not be able to continue in ignorance, but I need not sacrifice my innate goodness and innocence to resist the continuing insults. I can crash my machine on purpose to reset the registers before continuing computing as I originally intended.

This ragged beginning, then, announces my next series: CHope. Each morning over the upcoming quarter, I intend to deliberately restart my machine so I might head off any otherwise inevitable assault. I will be investigating the many ways I might choose to cope with the continuing insults. I intend to explicitly embrace and reinforce an abiding sense of hopefulness. I welcome you to witness these little transformations. Perhaps my CHoping will inform your own. Maybe we could offer each other heartfelt reassurance without resorting to hopelessly naive or cynical alternatives. The MAGAs will fail through their own ineptness. They hardly need any of us to encourage them, for they seem addicted to their excesses. I intend to tend my garden, defend against encroaching cynicism, and radiate enough hopefulness to make however I cope feel worthwhile. Welcome to this investigation!

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #CHope , #PureSchmaltz