I had a dream last night that I was a Yeoman about the Starship Enterprise (the original series, of course).
Tiny inappropriate uniforms not withstanding, I had a delightful relationship with Spock (obviously).
I understood Spock.
Spock was the only person who made perfect sense to me.
Spock didn’t ask for displays of emotion.
Spock didn’t think expressions of every deep feeling were necessary.
Sure, we were getting married at the time, so expressions of deep feelings wouldn’t have been necessarily out of place, but you can’t squeeze blood from a stone.
I’m struggling a little bit with the whole hope discussion, because if hope is an expectation of a desired outcome, I’m still not sure that I qualify as a hopeful person. As a child, I expected EVERYTHING… now I expect very little, not because I’ve grown bitter and cynical, but because I just sort-of wait and see what happens.
Hope reads like an emotion full of, well, rather sloppy longing, and I’m not sure that I feel that particular emotion very much. I certainly feel it less than I used to, and I’m quite comfortable with that.
I’m struggling because I don’t see this as a problem… but other people seem to.
One only hears stories of massive agonies and glorious solutions, and I’m really not interested in acting that out myself (as I can say from experience that agony is not all it’s cracked up to be).
People have asked me if I hope to be married… and I’m not quite sure how to answer that question.
I would very much like to be married… considering the facts of my situation, my future nuptials (Spock is unavailable, unfortunately) seem rather unlikely… so I’m in “wait-and-see” mode at this point.
If I should suddenly meet an anthropology professor or a long-haired radical who works for a non-profit or my long-term childhood crush decides to look me up (you probably don’t know who you are, but feel free to
call me send me a text message), then I will probably begin to hope at that point, but right now, I’m not sure that such a hope would make sense, and I don’t feel it… and I’m not suffering.
I do expect to officially be a capital W “writer” at some point… of course, considering the fact that right now I need to finish a few projects before official status can be achieved, it’s not really a hope issue, it’s a “step away from Netflix and get back to work” issue. Should I finish a project (to my own satisfaction) and submit it for publication, I expect that I will feel hopeful at that point, but at the moment, I’m just engaged in getting work done.
“Welp, never made it Scotland. Oh, well. Heaven probably looks like Scotland, so that’ll do it for me, I suppose.”
I am not necessarily emotionless (any more than
my beloved Spock was)… I get angry, and I cry during epic Doctor Who episodes. If you put me in a theater during a Rifftrax event, I will clap my hands like an organ grinder’s monkey… but I don’t feel everything that I think I’m expected to at the expected pitch.
Perhaps I’m misunderstanding the semantics, and the simple truth is that everything that I would like to do or have happen is considered to be a hope.
Is that correct?
Can hope be a calm possibility instead of raging vortex of aching, passionate need?**
Maybe the expression of my hope is quirk of the brow, and a sip of the tea, and a “That would be nice.”
I’m assuming that’s okay.