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“You yourself, like any other person in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~Buddha
For most of my life, hoping for something better wasn’t a problem. This was my fuel.
If everything had been as I once imagined, it would have looked something like this: stable financial security, meaningful creative work recognized by the world, a sense of arrival-At the end-After decades of effort. I will teach or create without any hassle, my work will be fully valued, my future will be predictable enough that I can relax.
That picture lived quietly in the background of my days. I wasn’t obsessed with it, but I leaned toward it. “Better” was not a luxury. This was the direction. “The best” was the silent promise I used when things seemed uncertain or incomplete.
And for a long time, this way of life worked.
Until I noticed how much it was costing me.
When hope turns to pressure
At first, the idea of ”better” seems mild. It lifts you up. It inspires you. It helps you endure hardships.
But slowly, almost imperceptibly, it can turn into something heavier.
Without realizing it, I started using the future as a measuring stick for the present:
This is still not enough. I’m not good enough yet. I will be fine when…
Even moments that were meaningful — writing something honest, helping a student, finishing a creative piece — felt temporary. Valuable, yes, but incomplete. They were always pointing to something else that needed to happen before I could relax.
That’s when I began to understand what the Buddhist teachings meant craving-Not simple desire but greedy. The kind of desire that constrains consequences and makes peace conditional.
It doesn’t sound dramatic. This seems appropriate:
“I just want things to get better.” “I just want stability.” “I just want it to work.”
But beneath those sentences there was something even more delicate:
Unless the future supports me, I cannot rest in peace.
the moment it became clear
What finally stirred me was not a dramatic awakening.
It was exhausting.
I was tired of having invisible deadlines for happiness. I am tired of postponing satisfaction. Tired of living as if my real life hasn’t even begun – especially with time, health and certainty being compromised.
I realized that I was leaning so strongly toward the future that I was barely able to live in the present.
That’s when I started to understand the difference between moving forward and leaning forward too hard.
One is healthy effort. The other one is sticking.
a hope that doesn’t hurt
Buddhism didn’t teach me to stop desiring.
it taught me to change quality Of wanting.
I had to decide which direction really made sense for me if results were no longer guaranteed.
The direction I chose was this: to remain committed to presence, integrity and service – whether or not recognition, security or resolution followed..
This means continuing to write truthfully even when it does not receive immediate recognition. Teaching or mentoring one person at a time rather than waiting for the “right” platform. Choosing integrity and caution over the promise of final payment.
Hope ceased to contract with the future. It became a relationship with the present.
direction instead of demand
I still imagine better possibilities. I still care deeply about growth, creative work, and meaningful connections. But now I try to keep those desires intact DirectionNo demand.
Disha asks:
What matters today? Which small step reflects my values? How can I practice kindness right now?
The demand asks:
When will it be paid? Why is it not working yet? what’s wrong with me?
Opens a heart. The other one tightens it.
desire without ownership
One of the most liberating experiences was this:
I can want something deeply and still be at peace if it doesn’t turn out the way I expected.
I learned to ask myself a simple question:
“If it doesn’t go the way I want, can I still exist with my life?”
many times the answer was Yes.
For example, I continued writing and submitting essays without knowing whether they would be accepted or taken anywhere. I showed up anyway—because the act of writing itself felt aligned, regardless of the outcome.
Many times the answer was also No.
I noticed moments when I was stuck – compulsively checking results, tying my self-esteem to responses, or feeling crushed by silence. When this happened, I knew I had moved from direction to demand.
So I stepped back. I relaxed. Back to what I could offer without ownership: Attention, caring, honesty, presence.
Freedom lives there.
imagine without running
I avoided dreaming of a better future.
Now I try something gentle.
Instead of asking, “How can I find the ideal version of my life?” I ask, “What would a slightly more awakened version of today look like?”
Maybe it’s listening more carefully. Maybe it’s relaxing instead of pushing. Maybe it’s writing an honest paragraph. Maybe it’s breathing rather than strength.
This kind of imagination does not pull me away from the present.
It brings me home.
you have to stay
What I keep learning – slowly, imperfectly – is that I don’t have to solve my entire future.
I have to stay.
Be diligent. Live with uncertainty. Live with compassion. Stay with the messy, incomplete present moment.
This is not resignation. This is devotion.
When the desire arises, I gently change the language of my mind:
instead of: “I want this result.” I say: “I am committed in this direction.”
instead of: “I need this to be okay.” I say: “I’ll practice being okay while walking.”
This is a small change. But it softens the grip of craving and opens up space for peace.
a different kind of hope
Real hope does not promise comfort.
It provides companionship.
It does not guarantee the future.
It teaches us how to be present with whatever comes.
And strangely, that kind of hope seems stronger than in the older version.
Not because it controls life—but because it ultimately depends on it.
About Tony Collins
Edward “Tony” Collins, EdD, MFA, is a documentary filmmaker, author, teacher, and disability advocate living with progressive vision loss from macular degeneration. Her work explores presence, care, resilience and the quiet power of small moments. He is currently completing books on creative scholarship and collaborative documentary filmmaking and shares personal essays about meaning, hope, and disability on Substack. Add: substack.com/@iefilm | iefilm.com
