Right now, I’m in Austin at South by Southwest, but last year was different. It was the first time I’d ever been asked to speak publicly about my work at Epic Change, and for some reason,  I was terrified. A friend I’d not yet met, Jean Russell sat in the third row, and every time I got even a little scared, I looked back at her. And every time, she looked at me as if to say “you are safe. breathe. let it be.” Funny how a near-stranger could be so reassuring, but she was. That is who Jean is to me: someone who makes bravery possible in the face of fear.

Today, Jean launched her site, Thrivable.org and her book, Thriveability: A Collaborative Sketch, to which I contributed a short essay on hope. I struggled, as I often do, to find the right words and, even in sending them to her added self-deprecating note about how I wasn’t sure it was good enough. She assured me it was.  I wrote:

I wish I could write about hope in some sexy, inspiring sort of way. Barack Obama’s campaign did this exceptionally well. But not me.

To me, hope isn’t sexy at all. Far from.

To me, hope is hard work. It’s a little voice inside that whispers “get up” when every fiber of your weary being says “lie down.” Weariness is not sexy.

Hope hides in every corner of this vast, beautiful universe, just waiting to be found. But it’s only ever found once you’re absolutely convinced that it’s lost. Lost hope is not inspiring.

Hope is the realization that you are something when you think you have nothing at all. Having nothing at all isn’t all that appealing either.

But there’s something about being weary, losing hope and having nothing that reminds you: You may have nothing, but you are something.

In fact, you are hope. And so am I.

Which must be precisely what makes hope so. damn. sexy.

Below, you’ll find the rest of Jean’s book, with a collection of essays from some of the smartest people I know…