What Would Langston Hughes Do?

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

-Langston Hughes

Our unrealized dreams come with an expiry date, a point beyond which we need to acknowledge that they will not feasibly be achieved. No one wants to face that and I don’t particularly want to be the one to tell you, but it’s true. Of course, this date isn’t neatly stamped on the package. And the trick to figuring out exactly when to throw in the towel is one that we spend our whole lives trying to get the hang of. There’s a fine line between too little and too much, too soon and too late, between giving it your all and going down with the ship. And there are no hard and fast rules for discovering this line. Mostly, it’s the process of trial and error, with our own cherished aspirations as the testing grounds (the poignant pain of hindsight has truly launched a thousand literary ships).  And the whole hope thing doesn’t exactly make it easier to figure out when to hang in there and when to cut our losses.

Photo by toddwshaffer

Hope is a hallmark of humanity. Hope is what elects presidents, gets us through the scariest of health issues, fuels those with missing loved ones to never abandon the possibility of a happy ending, or at least closure. But hope can also blind us to harsh truths, keep us running toward a mirage in the desert that doesn’t exist. The idea of the sun coming out tomorrow is a seductive one and we’re sure that if we hang on for one more tomorrow, there will finally be a break in the clouds. We can feel it. But what if it never happens? When is enough enough?