Now why does hope matter?

Hope can seem like an abstract, even silly, concept when life feels unbearably hard.

What does hope do for me if I don’t even know whether I’ll make it to tomorrow—or if I even want to? When we say, “Life is hard and horrible,” isn’t that just being realistic? Rational, even?

Sometimes, it certainly feels that way.

But might I gently suggest that hope carries a slow, deep, and solid power—one that can thaw the ice, turning the endless, lifeless white of winter into the warm green glow of spring?

Viktor Frankl, a Jewish psychologist, endured the unimaginable horrors of Nazi concentration camps. What he witnessed was the worst of humanity, the deepest darkness, suffering, dehumanisation, death, and torture. And yet, in this place that resembled hell itself, he saw something unexpected: hope.

What place does hope have in Hell?

He observed that those who survived and even found ways to thrive, were the people who held onto something unseen, something in the future: meaningful work, loved ones, a purpose to make a difference once the suffering ended. Faith, meaning, conviction.

Whatever it was, it existed beyond sight, yet it made all the difference.

Hope doesn’t trivialise the present. It doesn’t say, “Oh, it’s not that bad.” Rather, it acknowledges the harsh reality with gritty resolve, while holding on to a spark that whispers, “No matter what, I will see the land of the living.”

Hope can feel like anchoring yourself to a stick in the ground during a hurricane. Small though it may be, it is the seed of a life not defined by helplessness or despair, but a life that can progressively bloom—broader, richer, and more meaningful.

Hope takes courage.

It can invite disappointment as much as it fosters growth. But the courage to believe in something better is worth it.

It is the elixir of life.

Hope is the hallway leading toward a life that feels worth living. And hope can be held, even in darkness, like a torch in a cave, it lights the way.

Back home.