It Could Happen Any Time

On Anxiety, Hope, and William Stafford's "Yes"

I lived in the Midwest for the first 13 years of my life, and the threat of tornadoes filled me with fear. I've never witnessed a funnel cloud, but I have had to take cover a couple of times because one had been spotted nearby. When I lived in Kansas, a small town just a few miles away from me was decimated by a tornado. Every once in a while, the tornado siren in town would need to be tested. Even if I knew the weather was perfectly fine, hearing that shrill siren would immediately cause dread. The sound still bothers me, even though I live in the Pacific Northwest and only hear it on television or in a movie. I never saw a tornado, but they came close enough to scare me.

Plenty of things have scared me and still do. I've struggled with anxiety for many years. In my early 20s, I went to the emergency room with chest pains, convinced something was wrong with my heart. After an EKG and other thorough testing, my doctor assured me I was okay. Nothing was wrong with my body, but my head was a mess. Looking back, I'm sure I was experiencing anxiety symptoms, but I didn't know enough about it to understand what was happening, and the doctor didn't bring it up. When I finally understood what was going on and saw another doctor, I started an antidepressant that changed my life. I've also learned therapeutic strategies to cope with anxious thoughts that help me stay grounded and calm. I’ve known anxiety, but I also know hope.

Photo by Carl Hunley Jr on Unsplash

One of the cornerstones of my faith is hope. Even outside of religion, the word "hope" is stamped on coffee mugs, embroidered on pillows, worn on sweatshirts, and turned into wall decals. Hope tends to be treated casually, but it's complicated and deserves more thought than it's usually given. We need hope to keep living our lives. We hope for big things, like healing from sickness or the perfect career, but we hope for small things, too, like a good parking spot or a piece of chocolate cake. (I speak from experience.) Hope is essential, yet its very existence means there is a lack of whatever the object of our hope is. If I hope for a promotion at work, it means I lack the job I wish I had. Though hope is good and necessary, it can feel bittersweet. It seems as if there’s a constant battle between anxiety and hope.

While scrolling through Instagram the other day, I came across a poem called "Yes" by William Stafford (thanks to @readalittlepoem for sharing it). Here's what Stafford has to say:

It could happen any time, tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That's why we wake
and look out – no guarantees
in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.

Stafford was born in Kansas, so he knew all about tornadoes. But he probably also knew that the Midwest could be beautiful. Scary things exist, but lovely things do, too. I could feel an earthquake tomorrow, but I could also feel safety and contentment. I've known anxiety and hope and had the blessings of getting what I wanted and, maybe even more importantly, not getting what I wanted. I've longed for things that wouldn't have been good for me. I've pursued paths that weren't mine to travel, frustrated when I hit a roadblock. Yet, as I look back, all I feel is gratitude for not getting what I longed for in the moment. 

Anxiety constantly tries to remind me what Stafford says, that there are no guarantees in this life. That's true, but there are "bonuses." I love the use of that word in this poem, and I appreciate that Stafford includes "right now" as one of those bonuses. There are moments of laughter amid grief. There are new relationships formed when others end. Sometimes, we'll experience hope's fulfillment when we get what we've been aching for. And there will be moments when we don't get what we wanted, and we'll have to grieve and sit with our heartbreak.

Having hope doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain or loss; pretending everything is fine doesn’t serve anyone. But in the midst of grief or heartbreak, I can look for the bonuses. Bad things could happen. The tornadoes might come. My deepest fears might come to fruition. Or I could come face to face with "sunshine, love, salvation." The answer to my most fervent pleas might be "not yet" instead of "no." I don't know the future, and I'd never want to, but I know there is goodness in the world. Even when it's hard, there is hope for better days. "That's why we wake and look out." 

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My friend Mary (who writes a wonderful Substack) created and shared a great playlist recently, and I was both excited to receive it and indignant that I didn’t think of sharing one first. To go along with this post (and to keep up with Mary’s impressive creative output), here’s a playlist of songs that make me feel hopeful. I hope they make you feel the same way. (Also, please don’t listen on shuffle because you will hurt my feelings if you do.) Have a week full of bonuses, friends! What are some bonuses you’ve experienced lately?