Every human heart knows the lofted hot air balloon sensation of rising hope. Our scope broadens as houses and trees, blemishes and problems diminish far below. A potential hundred-foot drop shoots adrenaline-filled buckets into our racing blood. Fireworks explode in our churning stomachs.
Unable to steer—only to rise or plummet—we grasp the basket’s ropey edge, peer out over 360 degrees of do or die with nothing preventing our doom but a cramped waist-high basket, a flimsy stretch of rainbow fabric, and the flames whipping overhead.
Hope is always a risk. It’s also universal. We don’t all long for the same things, but we all hope…until drudgery finally whack-a-moles us down into our numb little rat holes.
But somehow, it always rises again… HOPE!