False Hope Springs Infernal

 

Carolyn J. Rose

 If, as Emily Dickinson wrote, hope is a little bird perched in the soul, then false hope could be described as a buzzard pecking at the brain. If hope sings a sweet song of encouragement, false hope squawks with sarcastic delight when things don’t work out.

 

If you don’t indulge in false on a regular basis, chances are you’ve gone to Wishful Thinking Land now and then. Perhaps on election night. Or in a casino. At a sporting event. Or even during a marriage counseling session.

 

Experts say false hope is unrealistic and ignores evidence pointing to an impossible or highly unlikely outcome. But distinguishing false hope from the “real deal” can be as difficult as picking the AI faked photo out of a lineup. One reason is that there are many instances where what seemed to be impossible came to pass. Outnumbered forces won battles. Underdog sports teams triumphed. Dark horses came in first.

 

So if false hope doesn’t always turn out to have been false, and “real” hope can also be an exercise in futility, then why shouldn’t I live in La-La Land now and then? Why shouldn’t I take mental vacations from harsh reality, painful truths, and negative lessons from the past?

 

For example, why shouldn’t I cling to the hope that the refrigerator light, dead for three years, will beam on once more? And why shouldn’t I cross my fingers and hope it will bring the oven light, deceased since 2020, back to life with it?

 

Okay. I know I’m wasting time. False hope hasn’t changed anything. I should buy and install new bulbs.

 

But I don’t bake much and what I don’t see I don’t snack on. Besides, lightning has been known to strike. Maybe a bolt of electricity will light up those bulbs.

 

I’ll give them one more day. Or maybe two.