I wish I could write about hope in some sexy, inspiring sort of way.  Barack Obama’s campaign did this exceptionally well.  But not me.

To me, hope isn’t sexy at all.  Far from.

To me, hope is hard work.  It’s  a little voice inside that whispers “get up” when every fiber of your weary being says “lie down.”  Weariness is not sexy.

Hope hides in every corner of this vast, beautiful universe, just waiting to be found. But it’s only ever found once you’re absolutely convinced that it’s lost.  Lost hope is not inspiring.

Hope is the realization that you are something when you think you have nothing at all.  Having nothing at all isn’t all that appealing either.

But there’s something about being weary, losing hope and having nothing that reminds you:  You may have nothing, but you are something.

In fact, you are hope.  And so am I.

Which must be precisely what makes hope so. damn. sexy.