Dare to Hope, Hope to Persevere

Another day is done, and once again I’m moving both forward and up and down as the ferry I’m on traverses a northwest current. The days have grown longer and my rides home are now through fading hazy sunshine that reflects across the water as I look across the bay, past Angel Island to the Marin peninsula that gobbles up cars crossing the Golden Gate Bridge.

Spirits are up despite the recent week of horrible news: oil drilling catastrophe, floods, terrorism attempts, and locally, a steady increase in violent crime and another dead whale floating near the San Francisco Ferry Terminal.

I don’t know if it’s that we’ve grown accustomed to these stressful times that we are in, or if maybe there is a glimmer of hope that we might come out OK on the other side of our national financial fiasco. A generation was sold on the idea of wealth, an idea that it seems was never truly intended to apply to them. And now it feels as if nobody wants to jinx whatever cusp we are on. The awkward balancing act is wearing, but at least we haven’t fallen off the deep end. For the moment it seems that most of us have learned to be practical, but I can’t help but wonder if it will be a lesson that sticks.

There are incidental signs though that the economy is improving. Retailers continue to display Help Wanted signs, parking at the Ferry Terminal is just a little more crowded, and I’ve noticed an increase in lunchtime lines at eateries near my office. Tourists have also returned to San Francisco unwittingly participating as voyeurs of our everyday life as they pass by in double-decker busses and rented bicycles. It feels good to work in a place and a community that others travel to, to marvel at.

It’s an odd predicament we have come to be in, where we dare ourselves to hope, hope to persevere, and wait for whatever comes next. At least for the moment, I have sunshine on my way home where garden gnomes wait patiently for my arrival.