Hope, When It Feels Furthest Away: The Power of Simple Acts

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Hi friends,

Today, I’m setting aside the usual focus to speak to something that feels both personal and universal: hope.

I know that today, hope may feel distant, pushed to the far edges of our minds, waiting quietly in the shadows. For many, it’s a moment of disappointment, even disorientation. I’ve been wrestling with my own reaction, even unable to write, before finding myself drawn, repeatedly, to one word: hope. Hope, I realized, is what we all need right now. Hope is a place we can come back to.

But what is hope?

And I’m not talking about the easy, sunny kind of optimism that pretends everything is fine when it isn’t.

Hope does not bow to certainty. It doesn’t promise that everything will go the way we want. Instead, hope is often a quiet refuge, a small recovery, a handhold that lets us climb through life’s winding passages. It doesn’t rely on clear answers, only on our commitment to carry on, to be present in each day, and to find meaning in the movement forward.

Hope encourages us to look toward tomorrow, yes, but not to hold it in a tight grip. In Buddhism, we’re taught to hold hope lightly, as you might hold water in your hands. It’s about faith not in a specific outcome but in the continual flow of things, in the certainty of change. And with this perspective, hope becomes something gentler—an openness to whatever comes, with the belief that we can navigate it.

In my work with leaders, I’m often asked how to cultivate hope in the face of the complex challenges, decisions, and relationships they face, as well as significant life transitions. These struggles can drain our reserves if we’re not careful.

I tell them hope isn’t grand or elusive; it’s something we can all nurture in our lives through small, steady practices. Yesterday, hope found me in its simplest form: two of our closest friends ran off and got married with their beautiful children alongside, a reminder of the power of love amid a complex time. And I had a call with my daughter; hearing her voice and perspective, I was grounded by the beauty of our connection.

When things feel unsteady, hopelessness doesn’t mean we need to search for hope; it might mean we need love and connection. As strange as it sounds, the opposite of hopelessness isn’t always hope—it’s connection, compassion, and kindness, the kind of kindness we can extend to ourselves and others when the world feels out of sync.

Where, then, do we find hope?

We can look within, where hope quietly lives, waiting for us to rediscover it. We can cultivate it through gratitude, counting small blessings—warm coffee, sunlight breaking through clouds, a familiar voice on the other end of the phone. Hope is humble; it doesn’t need big gestures to emerge, just acknowledgments of what we have now.

We can find hope in each other: gathering together, sharing our uncertainties, and going through difficult times side-by-side rather than in isolation. And when we do this, we remember we’re part of something larger than ourselves, a community of people doing their best with what they have. And that—knowing we’re not alone in this vast, uncertain world—is powerful.

Hope, as I’ve come to understand it, is a practice of presence and openness. We can find it in the choices we make each day: to be present, to be intentional, to live from our values and sense of purpose, and to reach out and find joy in the people around us, even when the road is rough, and our aspirations feel out of reach.

To enjoy hope, we must let go of what we can’t control and trust ourselves to handle what we can. When our hearts fill with hope, we realize that every moment of laughter, every quiet act of kindness, and every moment spent with loved ones is a choice to believe in something better. To get there, do your best, reach for the good as much as possible, and recognize that you may not always succeed. But keep trying. Keep showing up. Keep driving positive change.

I’ve got a sticky note posted in my office with a quote by Sharon Salzberg, a mindfulness teacher; the link to the article has long disappeared, but the quote is:?

“In order to work for change—in our personal lives or in the world—we need to find ordinary things that can help us sustain our energy and optimism.”?

A morning walk, a run, a few breaths on the mat, laughter with a friend, the steady beat of good music in our ears—all these small things refuel us and keep us moving forward.

So, if you’re feeling heavy-hearted, lost, or confused, start small. Find a moment of connection with yourself or someone you love. Try a practice that grounds you. Take refuge in hope–not in a hope tied to any outcome, but a hope rooted in resilience, community, and presence.?

Today, let’s let hope be quiet, even fragile. But let it be enough. Release what you can’t control; carry on with what you can. Be here, now, with love for yourself and others.

Thank you again for being here.

Until next time, be well,

I’m Janine Mathó—a healthy high-achievement expert and educator, executive coach, and author of Live Your Opus (forthcoming, 2025). I publish my LinkedIn newsletter once a week. It offers real-life insights, tools, and inspiration to live your dreams without sacrificing your well-being. The format of this letter is evolving as I write my book, so I look forward to your comments and input. To subscribe, hit the button up top and go ahead and connect with me so we can stay in touch. You can also join hundreds on Substack who receive my letters on Mondays & Thursdays. You can learn more about me and my work here. Thanks!