What if things don't get better?

The question of hope in an uncertain world

Hello friends,

As I write this, horrific fires are wiping out huge swaths of America’s second-largest city, an upcoming inauguration is giving “omg, how is this happening again” vibes, and war, destruction and slaughter continue on the other side of the world.

It’s safe to say that there’s a lot of darkness out there, and a lot of us seem to suddenly be grappling with a new sort of awareness: that things may actually not be getting better.

Illustration by Danika Corrall

I’m sometimes surprised by how surprising this can seem. Whether it was a chaotic childhood that kept me from ever getting too comfortable with the status quo, or reading a lot of apocalyptic fiction at a tender age, I’ve always sensed that things could change in a heartbeat-and that despite how it may seem from the perch of our comfortable homes, we have never been guaranteed anything else.

But I recognize that this position runs counter to what we’ve been promised since we were young children.

We were told, after all, that if we did the thing - if we got the grades, got the job, bought the house in the right neighborhood, had the correct number of kids, voted for the correct candidates - that we would continue further and further down a path of prosperity, peace, and security. That things would keep “getting better.”

It seems that for a lot of us - and definitely a lot of our kids - it’s feeling like that promise was a lie.

So…now what do we do about hope?

After all, believing that it’s possible things are not actually “getting better”, have not been “getting better” for some time, and for some people have never “gotten better” at all, puts us in an awkward spot when it comes to optimism.

A persistent sentiment I’m seeing out there, especially since the election, is that it is time to abandon hope: that it’s done us no good, and in fact has made the world a worse, more delusional place.

A quote from Dante’s Inferno, (poorly) executed with the (dubious) help of AI

I disagree…but I think it depends a lot on what expectations define our hopes.

I’ve been reading a lot of historical books recently, both fiction and non-fiction. One of the benefits of reading books that grapple in one way or another with the past is that, just in case we were thinking today’s world has an unprecedented amount of disease, death, or violent disagreement, historical texts will disabuse us of that notion right quick.

The world has always been a chaotic and violent place. Any “golden eras” of peace and prosperity that exist in our history were “golden” for a short time and to the benefit of a relatively small number of people.

It helps me put the idea of progress, economic and otherwise, in perspective when I remember that the optimistic position to which I was taught to orient my hopes in the 80s and 90s was borne of a worldview that already served some instead of others and improved “things” for even fewer of us.

In other words, “better” is both relative and exclusive. And it’s always been that way.

On the other hand, I think it’s also a mistake to give up on the possibility that some things will continue to get better for some, perhaps many, people. Trading expectation for fatalism seems to me like just another attempt to exert control over the universe; to replace one sort of certainty with another.

I ask the question “what if things don’t get better?” because yes, I think it’s possible - perhaps even probable - they won’t. But I also think it’s possible they will, and sooner than I could guess. The less I try to pretend I know with any certainty what’s going to happen, the more accepting I can be of what actually does.

Either way, “things getting better” is not a prerequisite for hope.

People throughout time have lived rich, full, meaningful, and yes, hopeful lives despite experiencing much less stability, security, comfort and convenience than most of us do today, and will likely continue to for some time, even if things don’t “get better.”

I think it’s important, though, to make a distinction between hope and expectation. If we expect a life of consistent and constant economic growth, security, safety, comfort, and convenience, and if our hopes depend on those things to give life meaning, disappointment and despair are nearly inevitable.

I have a specific spiritual faith that, yes, gives me hope in what lies beyond this current version of the world. Those who share my belief cannot help but see the world differently from those who don’t. But my hopes aren’t all pinned on what comes after the present time - they’re very much invested in what’s happening in this time and place, too.

And the problem with depending on “things” to “get better” in order to live hopefully is that it somehow puts “things” at arm’s reach, outside of us and the impact we have on our communities and, by extension, the world.

If we have to wait for things to get better to experience personal satisfaction in life, to pursue joy, to create, to form and deepen relationships, or to have hope, we are going to be waiting a long time.

Because…we are “things.” Things are us.

That doesn’t mean we as individuals are responsible for everything that goes wrong or that we can single-handedly make the world right again. It means acknowledging that we each have a place, and that each of us matter to the place we’re in.

For me, this kind of hope depends on learning to live with a sense of abundance even if resources become more sparse. It means discovering new resilience in myself and helping others see the resilience in themselves. It means leaning into connection and creativity over the empty promises of scale, efficiency, and limitless growth, in a posture I call “soul survivalism.”

Because, friends… even if “things” don’t get better, we, as humans, still can.

Illustration by Danika Corrall

Further reading on hope, faith, and uncertainty:

Substack is full of thoughtful, kind writers who are working to make their corners of the world better (and more hopeful) places. Here are a handful of my favorites:

• I really liked

  Rosie Spinks
  ’ lovely essay about becoming “collapse aware” and what that means to her; highly recommend it if you want more depth about this idea and how people are grappling with this idea that we have to learn to live within a new reality. The whole essay is fantastic, but I especially loved this line: “Most of the things we need to do to heal the planet and our society are the same things that would heal ourselves. Figuring out how I’m going to live Here makes my life better right now, today.” I also left a comment on her post that helped me shape my thoughts around this essay.

• Katherine May
  ’s writing is always calming and wise, and her recent post about hope spoke to me. She and I may define “hope” slightly differently, but I identified strongly with this line: “I am often asked how I stay hopeful as the world steadily darkens. The answer is that I don’t think about hope at all. Hope is none of my concern. It is not what’s needed for us to survive, and we should not wait for hope in order to do what is necessary. I’ll take groundedness over hope any day, a sense of connection to the land beneath my feet, to the life that grows from it, to the people who walk it.”

• Sarah Menkedick
  ’s work also speaks deeply to me, especially this post-election essay - a call for proactivity and generosity in face of division. “Instead, there is this: what to build? Not, this time, in opposition, but in spite of. In spite of whatever hideous government apparatus is sprouting before our eyes, eating McDonald’s in suits in billion-dollar corporate jets, what can we build? What is there to do, with this? It’s an annihilation, but from an annihilation can come seeds.”

• Elizabeth Oldfield
  writes about truly connecting with others to live fully and well; this post about “soul work” for the end of the world is so spot-on: “…that anxiety is making us more divided and dividable. It makes it harder to turn towards each other and get on with work we know needs doing, whatever the future holds. I’m increasingly convinced that a piece of work which looks unsexy, “soft” and low ambition given the scale of the challenges we face may in fact be the most effective thing we can be doing: neighbouring.

• I’m a huge fan of

  Dr Sharon Blackie
  and a happy paying subscriber to her lovely Substack. This essay, about maintaining faith (which could also be defined as “hope”) is several months old but stands out as one of my favorites. “I didn’t come here to sit around being angry and grieving all the time (although I’m quite sure that anger and grief is a normal part of the human condition) or to shout at everyone else for not being angry and grieving in precisely the same way I am and then for not shouting about it too. That would have been a very foolish thing to come here for. A weak, dark thing without hope, without joy, without heart.”

I would love to hear about your favorite writers and writing on the topic of hope, the future, collapse, crises, and uncertainty. Who should I be reading?

Happy Hot Tea Day!

Illustration by Danika Corrall

Today is National Hot Tea Day, friends, and in my world that’s cause for celebration.

I know, I know; “National Fill-in-The-Blank Days” are typically created by marketers to sell their products; but I wanted to share this one because - did you know? - it’s estimated that 75%-80% of tea consumed in the United States is iced tea. And, especially if you’re drinking commercially-bottled gas-station iced teas (sorry sorry, Snapple and Arizona fans) slurping down an over-sweetened bottle of poor-quality cold tea is just not the same experience as sipping a hot cup of bracing Assam or a complex, milky oolong or a subtly floral white tea.

Here’s what I’d love for you to do to celebrate National Hot Tea Day: make yourself a cup of really good tea.

Make it, if you can, in a teapot or cup that is lovely to look at and feels wonderful in your hand. Please, no paper cups with plastic lids, or stainless-steel travel mugs today.

Prepare it slowly, with intention. Pay attention to the water temperature (black tea loves boiling water, but other forms of camellia sinensis benefit from a gentler temperature.) Watch the leaves unfurl in the cup or pot; watch the water slowly darken. Steep for the right amount of time: maybe a slightly shorter steep if you often find tea to be too acidic or bitter, or a little longer if you often don’t think tea has enough flavor.

Use a light hand with sweetener, milk, or cream at first: taste before you add more. Carry your cup to a comfortable place and revel in its heat in your hands. Notice the way it tastes on your tongue and feels in your mouth as you sip, and the effects on your body and mind as it enters your bloodstream.

For just a few minutes, form a relationship with your cup of tea, and see how magical this experience can be, just one small moment of abundance and peace that you can gift yourself on this gift of a day.

I suppose you already know that I’ll be doing the same.

Until next time, from my (very snowy) Sunday to yours,

Meagan

P.S. Thank you so much to all the new paid subscribers! We’ve been having lively conversations about everything from routines to beans over in the subscriber-only chat area. We’d love to have you join us!