One of the simplest ways to show you care is to ask someone a genuine question about their life. Not to fill silence. Not to check a box. But to really see them. What are you excited about? What are you working on? What are you hoping for? These questions aren’t small talk—they’re small doors into someone’s world. And when you ask them with sincerity, something beautiful happens: people unfold. They soften. They brighten. They remember that what they feel and dream matters. Because thoughtful questions are more than curiosity. They’re an act of generosity. When you pause long enough to truly listen, you’re offering someone a moment of belonging—a moment where their hopes and struggles and in-between places are given space. You’re saying, “I’m here. Your life is worth paying attention to.” And here’s the hopeful part: Every time you offer this gift to someone else, you strengthen it within yourself too. You begin to notice your own sparks of excitement. You reconnect with what you’re working toward. You rediscover the hopes you’ve quietly tucked away. Hope grows when it’s shared. Hope deepens when it’s spoken aloud. Hope expands when someone feels safe enough to name it. So today, let your hope ripple outward in the simplest of ways: ask a question, listen with your whole heart, and allow someone else’s story to remind you that possibility is always alive and moving among us. A little attention goes a long, hopeful way.

Inspired by a beautiful reflection from Catherine Avery https://www.catherineavery.com/blog/ADHDholiday2025 Hope doesn’t always announce itself with big, bold energy. Sometimes, hope arrives  In her recent post, Catherine Avery shared how this season looks different for her. While the world is speeding up, she’s choosing to move more slowly. After the loss of her mother-in-law and a wave of unexpected emotions resurfacing at the ADHD Conference, she realized something many of us forget: grief doesn’t care about the calendar. Instead of pushing into “holiday mode,” Catherine is letting her season be simpler, softer, and more spacious. And there’s so much hope in that choice. Because hope isn’t just about believing things will get better—hope is also what gives us permission to do things differently right now. To simplify. To honor what we’re carrying. To celebrate in ways that feel true rather than expected. I recently had to move my mom to a place where she can get more support. It wasn’t completely unexpected, but I hadn’t planned for this to happen before the holidays either. I’ll still be able to spend Christmas with her and other family members, but it’s not going to be the same. That’s okay even with a bit of nostalgia for Christmas’ past. The Buddhist saying about attachment being the source of suffering comes to mind. Thinking that the holidays have to be celebrated in a specific way or adhering to traditions that don’t fit anymore, it’s the nudge that it’s time to reevaluate.   Hope invites us to choose calm over chaos, presence over pressure, being over doing. If this season feels tender for you, let hope remind you: you’re allowed to pause. You’re allowed to shift. You’re allowed to let this holiday look different. And sometimes, that gentle shift is the most hopeful act of all.

My friend Teresa and I share posts and memes we see online with each other. We have a similar sense of humor, and we also share similar outrage at things that are making the headlines.  Last week she sent a post and her comment was “maybe a little daylight is coming.” In response to a post about current events that had a hopeful list of good things that have happened lately.  I’m an optimist at heart, but I’m not immune from feeling overwhelmed at some of the things happening in the world. There are legitimate suffering, wars and conflicts as well as natural disasters that remind us that at anytime things can go haywire.  Still, the reminder from a friend that a little daylight showed up, some good news among the headlines made me smile.  It made me appreciate having a friend who knows me and encourages me, and it reminded me once again that hope shows up when we need it.  Not when things are perfect, but when we know that things can get better.  Here’s a short, hope-filled list you can use or adapt: The first warm day after a long stretch of cold A kind message arriving exactly when you needed it A small win that reminds you you’re making progress Laughter that surprises you in the middle of a hard week A plan on the calendar you’re quietly excited about The moment you realize something that once hurt now hurts a little less New ideas that make you feel curious again Rest that actually feels like rest Each of these is a quiet whisper of hope: good things are still unfolding.

This is for the one who keeps everything running. The one others rely on. The one who’s capable, competent, and constantly doing… …and also secretly exhausted. If you’re holding it together for everyone else but barely keeping your own head above water, here are 3 survival strategies that actually help.

"The Believer’s Hymn of the Republic" is a poem written by Amanda Gorman for the July 4th celebration at the U.S. Capitol in 2023. It was inspired by Julia Ward Howe’s “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,”

Sometimes, we can’t find hope within ourselves—but that doesn’t mean we have to go without it. Borrowing hope means you can lean on the belief, encouragement, and vision of others when our own feels out of reach. That might look like the friend who reminds you of your strength, the mentor who sees your potential, or the community that uplifts you when you’re struggling.

Today I want to share a few resources that I find hopeful. There's a lot going on in the world at large and most of us are doing the best we can to make good choices and decisions for ourselves and our families today. Big problems require big solutions and there are times when I feel like nothing I do will really matter. Except it does. We have evidence that when we do what we can to stay grounded and hopeful we find solutions and resources and people who can help. Here are a few that are helping me - the hope-bringers. 

One of the things I like best about the idea of holding hope and being hopeful is that it can exist in less-than-favorable conditions. Hope doesn't require perfection or ease or a plan. In fact, when none of those things are around - that's when hope is most helpful. Today I'm covering few examples that came to mind for me when i was thinking about how hope can co-exist with all manner of circumstances. 

Hope is a risk because it's a choice. It's choosing to move forward when we'd rather quit. It's asking for help when we'd rather not. It's saying I'm worth it when the world wants us to devalue ourselves. It's risky to want things, to hope for a better tomorrow, to have faith that things can improve. Because they might not. We aren't guaranteed anything in this life - even tho we'd like to think so. One of the biggest obstacles to hope is the belief that things will always be the way they are right now. We tend to settle into a sense of sameness - even when things are anything but. Change is constant. We know this rationally, but it doesn't mean we always see things that way. When the simple things we rely on aren't working anymore where do we turn? What can we do? 

Why is it so hard for us to admit we need help now and then? Is it a woman thing? I don't think so. I know plenty of men who would rather struggle for hours on something before asking for help. It may be a bit of an American thing. After all, part of being an American is the belief that we can do anything, accomplish anything if we just try hard enough. But we know that effort alone isn't always enough. This concept has always frustrated me. I'm willing to work hard and learn new things, take risks, fail and try again, but there comes a time when the right thing to do (air quotes) is to let someone else do what I cannot or at minimum ask for help.