Hope: You can be skinny. Again. And like the other girls you can eat whatever you want. Magic scales will make you loveable.

Defined: Skinny is as skinny does. Not the issue. Kindness. Kind health towards yourself. That’s the racket.  Choose not the sugar packet: soothe your systems.

Hope: If you buy that (insert: bag, watch, earrings, new wardrobe…) you will feel whole.

Defined: There is no bag in the world large enough to hold the weight of the love you deserve to feel for you (or the sadness you feel so often).

Hope: Someday, someone will see you for real. And it will feel terrific. It will feel like completion. It will feel like arrival. (maybe you?)

Defined: Today see yourself unaltered by the frick-frack of their judgment whomsoever they are.

Hope: I remember the first Rabbi I had a personal relationship with – the first one who wasn’t some davining man who sat on a raised pedestal speaking in tongues while we ate off paper plates catered by Shalom Japan in the New York City basement synagogue. Robert was his name. His wife’s name was Faith. What a confident name; how trusting her parents.

Defined: Hope and Faith. Liberty and Felicity. Charity and Patience. The names of women who live within, faces of kindness turning towards you.

Hope: My days would feel less like a race and more like a threaded needle. Purposeful, belonging, useful – grounded somehow. Somewhere deep. Unrockable at the core even if the surface gets bumpy and thrashy as life can have it.

Defined: Move your body. Every day. Sweat. Every day. I will put you in your feet. That’s the most important contact you have. Ever.

Hope: Magic Wand. Fairy G*dmother. House of Dreams. Abracadabra words to wash me clean. Sand and sea. Sun and warmth. Ease and breeze. Let that be so.

Defined: You were not consulted. You were placed for all the reasons you cannot know. However: this direction, this smoothness, these stumbly-piled stepping stones are yours to ramble through or ransack throughout. Choose with you in mind.

©Gabriella Strecker, 2016