Finding Hope After Dance 1.3
Pondering how to make space for good things in 2026, despite grief and loss.
This year is hustling to a close, and it has me thinking about transitions from one season of life to the next.
After I lost dance and underwent the initial cycle(s) of grief from it, it felt especially hard to imagine that I was still capable of joy, of delight. Even with the other interests I’ve long had (passions, hobbies etc.), such as writing, reading, arts and crafts, this loss was a partial loss of identity, something that required quite a bit of inner work to release, grieve, and heal from. I took my first ballet steps as a toddler and stayed with it for almost 20 years before my injury ended all of it.
It is still possible to find life on the other side of death, and joy after loss. I know, because this has been true for me. I believe it can be true for you, too.
Letting go of cynicism
What will the new year hold for me? Will there be any good things? Questions like these can arise out of trauma. I don’t want to be a cynic, but I can’t deny that 2025 had some painful, unexpected twists I never saw coming:
The loss of a friendship
The loss of my job
Several months of unemployment
Some of these twists left deep scars that are still healing, very slowly.
On the other hand, 2025 also held some profound blessings for me and naming them, I’ve found, is helping heal some of the wounds:
The blessings of strengthened, deepened old friendships this season
The blessings of a few new friendships blooming
The blessings of more time and energy to work on my novel after the layoff
The blessings of good books I got to read this year
The blessings of going to the Grand Canyon for the first time ever!
The blessings of concrete, tangible hope in my job search this Christmas
The blessings of finally having time, energy, and spiritual growth to launch Finding Hope After Dance, six years in the making!
These blessings have been sources of— dare I say it? — joy. Joy that has kept going and going and going. Joy in my life, despite the co-existence of heartache.
Making space for good things
The late poet Wendell Berry once wrote, “Be joyful / though you have considered all the facts.”
Although his poem, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” focuses on resisting Western culture’s consumerism and cruelty, this particular line feels so universal, so transcendent that I beg your forgiveness for taking it out of its original context.
(Please hear me: As a former literature major and a person whose faith includes the Bible, I know how crucial it is to know the context for the text. I also hope you consider reading the whole poem in its entirety— the images and themes are absolutely worth it!)
Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.
What does being joyful look like when the facts have been the loss, grief, death of a particular joy?
Here’s what I’d like to propose:
If “being joyful” feels impossible this season, can I at least keep my heart open to…
The hope that future joy is possible for me?
The hope for inner healing to happen in me?
The hope for good things in my next season?
In my mind’s eye, an image of a hopeful posture includes open hands, with the palms facing up and loosely held, and a soft (if vulnerable) heart.
A grateful 2025 & a hope for 2026
Whatever 2026 may hold, I hope I’ll be able to look back on 2025 with more gratitude for the blessings than heartache for the losses. It’s not that the heartache hasn’t been real or shouldn’t be felt— that’s not what I’m getting at— it’s that I don’t want it to define my year. It’s been real, but it’s not been the only thing I’ve experienced this year.
I’ve experienced so much life in 2025, including joy and so many blessings.
Whatever 2026 brings, I’m going to hope that it will include joy and the life abundant.
For you and me.