I often ask myself (not expecting an answer) why I keep going despite all the accumulation of grief and guilt and regret I have in my life. I don't have a good answer. I could say its stubbornness or that I don't see another choice, but that is only true to an extent. I could just walk away, throw my hands up and be done with everything I'm trying to hold onto. That has no appeal to me at all.
So what does drive me to hang on, to hold out for that last minute miracle? Hope. The only irreplaceable asset in my arsenal is hope. The chance that something good, some positive change is coming keeps me from giving up entirely. There is no other explanation for the tenacity of my spirit in the face of needless, mind-numbingly complex, endless bureaucratic red tape.
Like the lining at the bottom of Pandora's box, hope springs eternal. Those words echo in my mind when I ask that rhetorical question, why do I keep going. I keep hope alive.
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