It was the end of a very long day of the Glioma Patient Symposium at Dana-Farber Hospital. We had spent the entire day listening to experts and doctors talk about low grade gliomas and the varying aspects of navigating life with that diagnosis. It was an amazing event but emotionally and physically I was exhausted and ready to mentally check out.

Then the social worker said: “Hope changes.”

‍It caught my attention and got my gears turning. Hope – something so many of us believe in – may not be the stationary thing we think it is. 

On the ride home, I started to really ponder that idea. At the beginning of the diagnosis, hope felt urgent. It was wrapped in fear and logistics – making calls, lining up doctors, praying we weren’t missing something. But sitting in that room, hope felt different. It looked like more time, like a room full of people still living their lives years later. That shift brought relief, but also grief for the certainty we’ll never have.

It reminded me how illness or any kind of big life event – like the birth of a child, the loss of a job – makes us look at things we normally wouldn’t. The ground shifts under us and that change affects how we find meaning and fulfillment in our lives. So of course our definition of hope would change. It will evolve, depending on what we are experiencing. 

But how often do we actually stop to ask ourselves what hope means for us? And does it need to be something we look at with more frequency?

In tarot, hope belongs to The Star – often defined as wishes granted, opportunities, inspiration. But now when I look at the card, what I focus on is the night sky. One bright star you can steer by. Its position shifting with the seasons, sometimes hidden, sometimes clear, but the light is always there.

And that light asks us to make space for possibility and the idea that there is “more than” just the moment we are in. 

At the end of the day, maybe hope isn’t so much something we lose, as something we need to let grow, to meet us where we are at. And if that’s the case, then we need to carve out more time to redefine what that means to us. So we don’t find ourselves following a guiding star that no longer fits in our present moment.

When was the last time you redefined hope for yourself – and what message is that guiding star sending you now? 

‍‍Draw a card or journal on it. Feel free to send me an email and let me know and tell me what came up for you.