To me, hope is a dangerous weapon that holds no actual power of its own. The only power it has comes from the person using it.
Hope is just a feeling, it doesn’t actually do anything on its own. It can’t fix problems, make things happen, or change how things turn out. It’s only when we take action, are patient, hold back, get ready, are brave, or make a decision that hope starts to mean something. But that’s also what makes hope a little scary. Sometimes we think that just feeling hopeful is enough, and we forget to look at what’s really going on. We might stay in a situation that’s not working out, just because we feel hopeful that things will get better, even when they’re not.
So hope itself is powerless. We are the ones who lend it power. Because of that, hope can either become an instrument of agency or a mechanism for self-deception.
I remember something my mom once told me about women:
Do not beg. Be your own person. Fight for everything you want to achieve, but do not make your hopes depend on other people, especially to the point of begging. Remember, only you truly know and understand your own worth. Whether you value yourself highly or poorly, only you know what that value is. So never expect other people to recognize your worth if you do not first show it through the way you carry yourself.
I understand that rule now.
Do not beg. Do not build hope on hope alone, because it needs to be backed by proper calculations.
Just because we really want something to happen, it doesn’t mean it will. And just because we believe in something, it doesn’t mean it’s true. As we get older, we learn that hoping for something is not the same as having proof it will happen. We can hope for something with all our heart, but still look at the facts and figures. We can hope for something, but still watch how things are actually going. We can hope for something, but still ask ourselves if what’s really happening is moving in the same direction as what we want. It’s like, hoping is one thing, but reality is another – and just because we hope for something, it doesn’t mean it will automatically become real.
Hope does not have to disappear. It just has to answer to reality. And I don’t think hope moves in a straight line with prayer.
When we pray, it’s not just about hoping for something to happen. Prayer can be a part of the actions we take, a way to connect with something bigger than ourselves as we work towards a goal. We might pray as we’re taking a step, making a decision, or trying something new. And we pray for whatever outcome may come, trusting that our efforts will be guided and supported. This is what makes prayer so powerful – it’s not just a passive wish, but an active part of our journey. We do our part, taking control of what we can, and then we pray, knowing that our efforts can influence the outcome, but also trusting that there’s more at work than just our own abilities. In this way, prayer becomes a dynamic and ongoing process, a way to stay connected and guided as we navigate life’s challenges and uncertainties.
Hope, to me, is just a feeling that something good might happen. It’s like thinking that things could get better. Prayer is different, it’s like saying I know I’m not in control, and I need some help. And then there’s what we do, our actions, which is like taking a step towards making that good thing happen. So, prayer doesn’t have to be about being sure what will happen, or even thinking it all through like we do with hope. It can be okay to not know what will happen, because that’s kind of the point – we’re not always in control, and that’s where prayer comes in.
Prayer isn’t about begging for a specific result, it’s about having faith that something good will come out of it. You don’t have to think too much about whether you’re “allowed” to pray for something or not. You can pray for things that seem impossible, you can pray even when everything looks hopeless, and you can even pray for a miracle to happen. It’s not about the odds or the evidence, it’s about believing that something will work out, no matter what. And that’s what makes prayer so powerful – it’s not limited by what we think is possible or impossible. You can pray for anything, at any time, and just trust that it will make a difference.
The line to acknowledge is this: you shouldn’t build your entire earthly decision-making process around the assumption that the miracle will happen.
While writing this, I suddenly remembered Lana Del Rey’s song Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It. I slightly giggled because it is painfully relatable. How can hope be so dangerous, especially for women?
Lana’s song shows that she has hope, but it’s not the kind that makes her seem weak or too optimistic. Like I said before, hope isn’t really powerful if you don’t think things through. It’s just something that’s there, but it doesn’t actually do anything. Real hope is about being strong and smart, not just blindly believing everything will work out. Lana gets that, and it’s refreshing to see. She’s not afraid to show her hope, but she’s also not naive about it. She knows that hope has to be backed up by action and a clear understanding of what’s going on. Otherwise, it’s just empty words.
What I really like about the song is how it contrasts the fantasy of an easy, polished womanhood with Lana’s actual interior life: the polished, perfect woman who appears effortless and socially protected.
And then, completely out of the blue, she says, “But I’m not.”
She’s not the kind of woman you’d expect. Instead, she’s a complex mix of emotions, like Sylvia Plath’s dark poetry, and a deep sense of chaos. Her life is a tangled web of religion, toxic love, and the scars that never fully heal. She’s also haunted by self-destructive tendencies, and the feeling of being watched by the public eye, while secretly struggling with her inner demons. When she says, “Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have,” it’s a revelation, a glimpse into her fragile psyche. And then she drops the bombshell: “But I have it.” This changes everything, our perception of her, and the way we understand her story. Hope isn’t always a bad thing, but for her, it’s a risky business. She’s been around the block, she’s been hurt before, and she knows the difference between a beautiful fairy tale and the harsh reality. She’s loved things that have hurt her, and she’s felt the sting of disappointment. Yet, she still holds on to hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness, a beacon that guides her through the turmoil. It’s a dangerous thing, hope, but it’s also what keeps her going, what makes her human.
Lana doesn’t overcome despair by becoming optimistic. She doesn’t say everything will work out. She doesn’t even sound particularly happy.
She says, essentially,
don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not. But, at best, I can say I’m not sad.
As strange as it sounds, I relate to that emotional location. I am not healed. Not certain. Still carrying something. But I’m not hopeless. Hope here isn’t sunshine. It’s almost like contraband, something fragile that somehow survives everything that should have killed it.
Lana’s song deals with the emotional risks of hope, but I’m worried about how hope can distort our understanding of the world. It’s like, when hope gets in the way of seeing things as they really are, that’s a problem for me. Lana’s more concerned with the emotional toll of holding onto hope after all she’s been through, whereas I’m thinking about how hope can mess with our perception of reality. It’s not just about feeling hopeful or not, but about being able to look at the world clearly, without hope clouding our judgment.
What we need to do is acknowledge both sides of the coin. Hope makes us vulnerable. If you hope, you have something to lose, but hope can also distort judgment. If you want an outcome badly enough, you may begin treating desire as evidence. And this is where my mom’s advice enters again. Do not beg. Fight for what you want, but don’t base your worth on whether another person gives it to you.
Fight for something? Yes. Hope for it? Sure. Pray for the best outcome? Absolutely. But everything still needs to be backed by proper calculations. Not because life should become sterile, but because hope should not exempt itself from reality.
If you’re hoping a business survives, look at cash flow. If you’re hoping a project succeeds, look at execution. If you’re hoping someone changes, look at behavior. If you’re hoping a relationship heals, look at whether repair is actually happening. If you’re hoping for a particular outcome after prayer, continue acting while accepting that the final outcome is not entirely yours to dictate.
And this is also where what I said about prayer becomes important: prayer occupies a different philosophical category.
Prayer says, “I acknowledge the limits of my control.”
Hope says, “I still see this outcome as possible.”
Action says, “This is what I will do about it.”
The facts clearly show that this is the reality of the situation.
These different aspects of our lives don’t necessarily have to overlap or fall apart together.
And Lana, after one depressing enough song, ends it with: “But I have it.” Because after all the calculations, this is not about killing hope. It is about refusing to obey it blindly. Which, to me, is a much safer place to stand. Neither cynicism nor delusion.
Hope can be a tricky thing – it doesn’t really have any power on its own, and sometimes it can even lead us astray because we’re the ones who are giving it strength and direction. We can look at the facts, refuse to give up, weigh our chances, take action, and have faith. And even after doing all that, we might still find ourselves holding onto hope. Maybe that’s when hope really starts to mean something – not because it’s a guarantee, but because it’s a possibility. It’s like hope is waiting for us to take control, to make our move, and to trust that things can get better. When we do that, hope can become a powerful force, not because it’s a promise, but because it’s a chance for something good to happen.
