“You yourself, anyone in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~Buddha
For most of my life, hoping for something better wasn’t a problem. It was my fuel.
If everything had lined up the way I imagined, it would have looked something like this: stable financial security, meaningful creative work recognized by the world, a sense of arrival—Finally– After decades of effort. I’ll teach or create without flinching, my work is totally worth it, my future is predictable enough to relax.
That image lived silently in the background of my day. I didn’t obsess over it, but I gravitated towards it. “Good” was not a luxury. It was the direction. “The best” was the silent promise I kept making to myself when things felt uncertain or unfinished.
And for a long time, that way of living worked.
Until I noticed what it was costing me.
When hope turns to stress
At first, the concept of “good” seems trivial. It lifts you up. It inspires you. It helps you to bear difficulties.
But slowly, almost imperceptibly, it can turn into something heavy.
Without realizing it, I started using the future as a measuring stick for the present:
This is still not enough. I’m still not enough. I’ll be fine when…
Even moments that were meaningful—writing something honest, helping a student, finishing a creative piece—felt fleeting. Valuable, yes, but incomplete. They always pointed to something else that had to happen before I could relax.
It was then that I began to understand what Buddhist teaching meant lust-Not general desire but grasping. The kind that solidifies around desired outcomes and conditions peace.
It doesn’t sound dramatic. It sounds reasonable:
“I just want to improve things.” “I just want stability.” “I just want it to work.”
But beneath that sentence was something more fragile:
I can’t rest until future cooperation.
The moment it becomes clear
What finally moved me was not a dramatic awakening.
It was exhausting.
I’m tired of being invisible Time limit for happiness. Tired of delaying gratification. Tired of living as if my real life hadn’t even begun yet—especially when time, health, and certainty became less negotiable.
I realized that I was so focused on the future that I was barely living in the present.
That’s when I started to see the difference between going forward and leaning forward too hard.
A healthy effort. The other is clinging.
The Kind of Hope That Doesn’t Hurt
Buddhism didn’t teach me to stop wanting.
It taught me to change Quality of desire
I had to decide which direction was truly important to me if the results were no longer certain.
The direction I choose is: presence, integrity and commitment to service – whether or not following recognition, security or resolution..
It means continuing to write with truth even when it doesn’t lead to immediate validation. Teaching or mentoring one person at a time rather than waiting for the “right” platform. Choosing honesty and focus over the promise of final payment.
Hope has ceased to contract with the future. Relationship with the present.
Direction rather than demand
I still imagine good possibilities. I still care deeply about growth, creative work and meaningful connections. But now I try to hold on to those desires directionNot demand.
Direction asks:
What is important today? What small steps reflect my values? how can i Practice kindness Right now?
Demand asks:
When will this pay off? Why is it still not working? What’s wrong with me?
One opens the heart. The other tightens it.
Want without ownership
One of the most liberating realizations was this:
I want something deeply and can still be at peace if it doesn’t manifest as I hoped.
I learned to ask myself a simple question:
“If things don’t turn out the way I want them to, can I still be present with my life?”
The answer was times yes.
For example, I keep writing and submitting essays wondering if they will be accepted or lead somewhere. I showed up anyway—because the act of writing seemed to align itself, regardless of the outcome.
The answer was many times no.
I noticed moments when I was hooked—compulsively checking results, my bindings self worth Feeling crushed by the response, or silence. When that happened, I knew I had exceeded the demand in terms of.
So I backed off. I rested. I’m back to what I can give Without ownership: Attention, care, honesty, presence.
Freedom lives there.
Imagine without escape
I used to escape into visions of a better future.
Now I try something lighter.
Instead of asking, “How can I get to the perfect version of my life?” I ask, “What would a slightly more awakened version of today look like?”
Maybe listening more attentively. Maybe resting instead of pushing. Maybe it’s writing an honest paragraph. Maybe it’s breathing instead of bracing.
Such imaginations do not pull me away from the present.
This brings it home to me.
You only have to stay
What I keep learning—slowly, imperfectly—is that I don’t have to solve my entire future.
I just have to be.
keep trying Live with uncertainty. Be compassionate. Stay with the messy, unfinished present moment.
This is not resignation. It is devotion.
When the urge arises, I slowly change the language of my mind:
Instead of: “I want this result.” I say: “I am committed in this direction.”
Instead of: “I want it to be right.” I say: “I’ll practice being right when I walk.”
This is a small change. But it softens the longing and makes room for peace.
A different kind of hope
True hope does not promise comfort.
It offers companionship.
It does not guarantee the future.
It teaches us how be present With what comes.
And surprisingly, such hope feels stronger than the old version.
Not because it controls life – but because it finally believes in it.
about Tony Collins
Edward “Tony” Collins, EDD, MFA, is a documentary filmmaker, author, educator and disability advocate living with progressive vision loss from macular degeneration. Her work explores presence, care, resilience and the quiet power of small moments. He is currently completing books on creative scholarship and collaborative documentary filmmaking, and shares personal essays about substacks of meaning, hope, and disability. Connect: substack.com/@iefilm | iefilm.com
