“Hope” is a bit of a catch-all word. We hope for a lot of things, from a text from the cutie we met at the coffee shop to a good parking spot to a lottery win to a cure for diseases. Not the same level of importance or energy, but there you are.

I think it’s a great shorthand term for “optimism that the thing we wish will come to pass.” Sometimes this requires effort on our part. Sometimes it’s supporting the efforts of others. Sometimes it’s clarifying what you want so that you can recognize it when it comes your way. Most often it’s a combination of all of these and then some. Hope’s been a really hard thing for me personally for a while now, and I’ve been thinking about what hope requires of me: belief, action, breaking old habits, trusting others, clarity.

I’ve come to appreciate how physical objects help me hold an idea in my head, so this year I’m forcing paperwhite bulbs for my mantel. It’s kind of an awful-sounding word that just means growing flower bulbs indoors. But it got me to thinking about whether or not it’s possible to force hope. Paperwhites hope

What I’m doing isn’t making the bulb to do anything it can’t or won’t do, left to its own devices. I’m creating an environment that allows it to bloom earlier, in a sheltered place where it can be beautiful and safe from the elements. It requires foresight. And sunshine. And patience. The reward is something beautiful and fragrant and bright during a time that we associate with darkness. And of course, It doesn’t last forever, because nothing does. If you want more flowers, you have to force more bulbs – a seasonal stock of paperwhites requires some planning and nurturance and attention.

Our hope and optimism require the same of us. We need to create for ourselves an environment that allows us to draw on our deep reserves, a place where we can be safe and bloom and make the world around us brighter for our presence. Sure, we might bloom if we just leave things be, but we’re more likely to when we give ourselves some extra love and attention.

When the bulbs are done it takes a couple of years for them to be ready to bloom again. When we run out of energy, we need to rest and regroup; sometimes we need to start with new material, just like a paperwhite display will need new bulbs to continue blooming.

Many people throw away their bulbs when the bloom time is over, but I’m planning to scatter mine in my yard, which is full of failed experiments and things that sprang to glorious life years later. I didn’t fuss over them or make it happen (I consider plants designated as “thrives on neglect” as a personal challenge). I put something in its natural environment out there in the world and let it germinate. Sometimes nothing comes of it, sometimes it becomes a squirrel snack, and sometimes I end up with this glorious wash of color in the spring when I least expect – and most need – to see some sign of the hope of spring.