If I am being honest, I think about the future more than I would like to admit. The promise of the future feels like a trap. Some well thought out plot by the architect of our fate to enslave our dreams. The mastermind sits and gazes at us, plotting new ways to use our dreams against us. It all begins with the most innocent of things, hope. After all, what could a little hope hurt. In fact of all the things in the world, hope is by far the most dangerous. Both to its bearer and the thing that is hoped against or for.

Hope means a willingness to try, it means the pursuit of courage, it means you will be brave for it, you will do something silly, dangerous and reckless for it. And you will live for it. That is the promise of the future, that things will be better tomorrow if you just believe. Hope propels that future. It holds our secret desires, which define us better than our dreams or fears. Hope is our truth, the could-bes and neverweres, it is us.

My addiction to hope began on a crisp Sunday morning. The chill in the air was unusual for the time of year, a period usually experienced through varying degrees of humidity. There I stood, at the telephone pole that gave birth to my consciousness. At four years old, my very first memory was of me standing by this weather worn telephone pole next to the wall of the house with the green moss. This was the point of my mind spark, and the birthplace of my first flirtation with hope. There I stood, hoping that despite the chill, I could go swimming, though the words meant little, seeing as I had just been consciously awakened. Because of that day, no matter how dark the night got, I hoped. I was hooked on the concept and there was no turning back.

I tried giving up hoping once. To toss the concept aside and live a life based on facts and measured efforts. Allowing my actions alone to be the guiding compass. Hope wouldn’t let go of me, it’s grip was too tight. I liken it to a lover that has held heart for what seems like an eternity. Even when given back, it still have finger marks and prints all over, barley fading. Just like the prints of lovers past, hope leaves a mark on your heart. A life without hope is loneliness, hope is a burden we must bare. It defines us at our very core. What is humanity without hope?

Hope is the promise that our future is guaranteed. We will always believe in that promise without proof. We will fight for it, sacrifice for it and some of us will die for it. A promise that may never be fulfilled, a promise that makes the journey the mission.

Hope is intoxicating, in the same drugs, alcohol and sex are. It is that intoxication that drives us to take our vitamins, eat our vegetables, and for the really addicted among us, exercise. I take five pills a day, my varying vitamins but Vitamin C is my holy grail. Someone or an ad once told be that Vitamin C cures gingivitis. So now, every time I feel the slightest of discomfort in my mouth I pop a Vitamin C because I think it’s magic. I hope it is magic.

That rush of something creating a possibility is a rush is unlike any other drug, coffee and wine/whiskey being my point of reference. Every time I feel a pain in my chest close to my heart I take the stairs and eat a salad and hope I have negated some illness.

I think about the future more than I care to admit. Admitting to living on hope means you give way to disappoint make yourself vulnerable. But, what is cause without effect?