A Dandelion in a Pudding Cup: A Story of Hope
Author & Video Narration, Produced By: Dr. Kellie Nasont, PsyD
Valenta Mental Health
Rancho Cucamonga, Ca.
I have spent the last 6 years of my life intensely studying, examining, and creating comprehensive thoughts on Hope.
My journey toward hope started in the first year of my doctoral program in clinical psychology. It was a year that I now look back on with fondness as such a rich time of growth, connection, intentionality, and garden parties with dear friends. But at the time, as I find is often the case in my life, it felt much more as though I was trapped in experiences that would never lead to the end result that I so desperately wanted. During that time in my life I found myself attaching hope to specific ends: If I could get all A’s, if I could date someone for more than 2 months, if I could host the best party, if I could be the best roommate, THEN I would find meaning, happiness, and hope. Looking back now, those efforts were not completely in vain, as they greatly enriched my experiences in a challenging time, but they are not the things that led me to my true experiences of hope. Contrary to what I originally thought, the times that I felt closest to hope were times consumed by disappointment, failure, rejection, and despair.
Hope is a funny thing..
Hope is a funny thing. It does not come out to play on the sunny days where we lazily drink sweet lemonade with friends on the patio. Our most hope-filled moments are not those where we feel safe, content, or even the slightest bit comfortable. Hope is most powerful in the face of impossibility. Hope realizes is strongest power in situations where we think there can be no good end, where we face unbearable loss, or when we feel completely at our end. Hope becomes most powerful when we have no control. Like what we are facing currently in the midst of a mysterious, insidious, and deadly virus that no one understands completely.
On one hand, we are told that Covid-19 is mild or even unnoticeable to up to 50% of the population. On the other hand, every news station has the death toll ticker along the side of the screen throughout the entire broadcast. We are told to not wear masks, to wear masks; to buy enough to last us a few weeks, to not buy more than we need in the moment; to fear contracting the disease, to not worry as it is likely to be mild or manageable in most cases. We have no vaccine, limited testing, and knowledge that is no more than educated guesses. I vacillate between hoping for herd immunity, and protecting myself and my community. This virus is an invisible enemy that I am fighting anytime I leave the safety of my home, and I imagine it lurking on every surface I touch. Face masks, social distancing, and limited exposure seems as though it will be norm for the time being, and it is uncomfortable, new, and scary. And yet in the midst of it, I find myself reaching for hope. Hope that is far stronger than hope for my garden to grow, for the Dodgers to (finally) win the World Series, or for my 7 month-old daughter to sleep later than 6am.
Times of adversity are the fertilized ground...
Times of adversity are the fertilized ground from which hope springs. It is human nature to be hopeful toward the future. It takes more effort to give up than it does to hope for the best, to think of ways things could be better, and to dream of different circumstances. When faced with adversity, our nature is to find ways to make things work. This is hope in action. We have a unique opportunity available to us now. One of the most beautiful things about this particular opportunity is that it is not limited to a group of people, a country, or a belief system, it encompasses all of humanity. We have the opportunity to hope for life in the midst of death, renewal in the midst of heartbreak, relief in the midst of strain, and connection in the midst of distancing. We see this at play already. I have been moved by the amount of intentional connection between families and groups of friends. We have become kinder, more thoughtful, and more giving in the midst of serious threats to individual and community health. Even in the midst of heartbreak, there are people who are making a profound difference. Their hope, and the actions that flow out of their hope, is the light in the darkness, and it grounds us.
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As part of my training, I worked in the forensic setting of behavioral health in San Bernardino County. I spent 6 months working with people who had a criminal record, but were not imprisoned due to mental illness. For many of them, a life of poverty, trauma, and substance-use was the pre-cursor to both their arrests and mental illness (although it is difficult to tell which precedes the other). One of my favorites of the clients I saw was a male in his mid-20’s that for the purpose of this article I will call Henry. Henry was floridly psychotic and had very few moments of clarity in his tortured mind. He lived either in a group home or on the streets. We spent many sessions coloring mandalas or playing card games as I tried to find some way to help him. One day, Henry came into session absolutely beaming. He informed me that he had found a dandelion blooming and was so delighted by this bright yellow little flower that he dug it up and placed it in an empty pudding cup to keep with him. He had no plan for what he would do with it next, but he was so excited to have this reminder of goodness and beauty in his life that he didn’t seem to care.
In that moment I remember thinking that there is no better picture of hope than a dandelion in a pudding cup. It is not sophisticated or aesthetically pleasing. It is unexpected and, if we’re honest, kind of odd. It surprises us and holds us captive by something that we can’t quite name or understand. This is the nature of hope. It doesn’t always make sense, nor does it fit neatly into our sterilized and color-coordinated lives. Hope peeks in during the most unexpected and unwarranted ways and yet somehow strikes a chord deep in our being. This is the beauty of hope. Hope is accessible to everyone, and potentially even more accessible for those who have endured more disappointment in life than those who have known less.
Hope is a dandelion in a pudding cup...
Hope is a dandelion in a pudding cup. Slightly comical, absurd, bizarre, and yet beautifully bright and uplifting. We might miss it if we’re not paying attention, but it is there for everyone. In these days of uncertainty; of sterilizing, distancing, and worrying, where will you open yourself to allow glimmers of hope to peek in? Hope is there waiting for you to notice. Where will you recognize it?