It has been called to my attention more than once (and not always fondly) that I am always hopeful, always optimistic, always relatively certain that things are going to work out. I would have to agree. I do, more often than not, default to the positive. Hope endures.

Though I have a high proclivity toward sarcasm and even cynicism in my language and humor, my heart remains mostly open and trusting. As I’ve reflected on this for the past few hours, I’ve begun to wonder:

Am I a naive optimist or a bold risk-taker?

I’ll let you decide. To help, some categories for my optimism, my risk-taking, my way of being, my enduring hope:

In Labor (or, “Can I leave/lose my job?”)

I lost my fulltime job nearly 19 months ago. I spent the first months searching for a replacement; a stable stream of income that would provide me some semblance of surety and safety. In the midst, I launched RENEGADEconversations. Birthed in the semi easy-breezy days of living off my separation pay, a few dollars from unemployment, and eventually some solid contract work, I hardly felt risky. I was just doing what I loved. I designed my website. I created language. I dove into social networking like a fiend. And I wrote. Oh, how I wrote. HEAVEN!!!

Now, all separation pay long gone (along with retirement funds, unemployment dollars, and dwindling contract work), the enterprise of entrepreneurship is not nearly so glamorous.

Still, I am doing what I love: writing, speaking, having amazing conversations about topics that matter.

And still, I hope. Still, I believe. Still, I cannot loosen my grip on the reality possibility that I can actually make money doing what I love. Naive optimist? Some would say so.

Some would say, “Get a job, already!” “Be responsible!” “Go back to work and do what you love on the side!” “This is not the economy for such risky behavior!” Naive optimism looks pretty silly when faced with this onslaught.

But what if I’m a bold risk-taker? What if my hope, my belief, my passion is actually what compels my success? What if it’s just not worth it to spend time doing things that suck the life out of me and drain every ounce of creative energy I possess just so that I can keep making mortgage payments?

I’ll risk losing my house. I’ll risk saving my soul. I’ll risk doing what I love over settling for what I merely endure.

For my part, that’s not whimsical, silly optimism. That’s risk-taking that’s worthwhile. Hardly naive, I’m acutely aware of the cost, the potential loss, the ramifications. And hope endures.

In Life (or, “Can I leave my marriage? and other equally-weighty questions.)

In January of 2011 my divorce will have been final for four years. Incredible. Even five years ago you could not have told me that I’d have had the courage to take such a risk. Everything in me said that I needed to remain hopeful, optimistic, and focused on the commitment, the covenant, the vows – no matter what.

But after a while, that felt naive. It felt foolish to hold on to something that drained my hope and depleted my joy.

Risk won out.

Risk won when I ended a 15-year marriage. Risk won when I chose a path that would inevitably inflict pain on my daughters. Risk won when I chose to support myself and my girls on one salary (which then went by the wayside a year-and-a-half later). Risk won when I chose my heart over what was practical, expected, and safe; when I chose life over death.

Hardly a naive optimist on this one. I was (and am) a bold risk-taker.

And it cost me. Still, hope endures.

In Love (or, “Can I leave my safe, self-protective skepticism?)

These days, gratefully and gloriously, I find myself in relationship. He’s an amazing man. Strong. Smart. Wicked-funny. Sassy. And sooooo not afraid of me. I feel the tension between naive optimism and bold risk-taking. Even more, I feel the tension between staying safe (which is blatant naivete) and jumping headlong, headfirst, boldly into love.

My past has taught me that caution is wise; that prudence sometimes is the better choice. But really?

I’m not interested in playing it safe. I’m not interested in protecting my heart. I’m not interested in weighing, measuring, and parsing out my affection, my time, my energy, my stories just so that I don’t give too much away – fearful, tentative, and remaining cautious just in case I’m disappointed or hurt.

I’m willing to be hurt. I’m willing to be wounded. It’s a fair trade for even a taste of 100%-in-it-risking-everything-for-love.

Yes, I feel that way even if it doesn’t last (though I hope it will). Naive optimism? Maybe. Bold risk-taking? Most definitely. And, as always, hope endures.

In Larger Things (or, “Can I leave my logic and just believe?)

Ah, the struggle of letting my internal intellectual battles subside long enough to risk believing, having faith, sustaining hope in this realm of God, theology, religion, and spirituality.

Is it naive optimism to pray; to declare what I desire on my own behalf and that of others to something/Someone beyond my capacity to understand, name, or know?

Is it naive optimism to hope to find wisdom in Biblical narratives that have all-too-often been proselytized and positioned for power and influence over justice and grace?

Is it naive optimism to desire an understanding of and relationship with a God I can’t comprehend, don’t begin to grasp, and struggle to believe in?

Is it naive optimism to believe that there is a palpable, meaningful experience of spirituality that is more than mental ascent; rather a lived practice that compels and transforms?

Or it is bold risk-taking?

My hope endures and emboldens. Risk will win on this one.

It will because it must. It will because it’s the stuff of my labor, my life, and even my love. It’s the larger truth of my life that must be risked for – often, over and over, always.

Naive optimist? Maybe.
Bold risk-taker? Yes.

But more? I am hope-full. Always, always hope endures, defines, shapes, strengthens, and sustains me.

The verse in 1 Corinthians goes like this: “These three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

I don’t doubt it. But hope takes a not-too-distant second; maybe even ties.

Hope. Not naive, but bold. Not optimistic, but dangerously, beautifully, poignantly risky.

I’ll choose that any day.

I’ll risk everything for hope.

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Tagged as: Bible, divorce, entrepreneurship, God, hope, job, labor, larger things, life, love, marriage, money, religion, risk, Scripture, spirituality, theology, trust, vocation