Shane
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Portion of Prepared Remarks of President Barack Obama
Back to School Event
Hope, the ideas and energy we have for the future, is the antidote to fear. Through this blog, I will create a discussion that demystifies hope and provides actionable steps for harnessing hope.
When I was 20 years old I was determined to go to a good graduate school (out of Louisiana) and get a PhD in psychology and then a great job. I had good grades, adequate test scores, and strong letters of recommendation. Trouble was, I did not know how to type (makes filling out 15 applications challenging), I was a poor writer (my essays were atrocious), I had rarely been out of Louisiana, and I had never been on a plane. To make my dream come true, I had to take a risk and let lots of people know about my goal. I had to ask folks to invest in my goal by sharing their resources with me. People stepped up by typing my applications (while I was learning to type), helping me answer questions about myself and my future (and proofing and reproofing my essays), giving me the confidence to apply far and wide, and donating an airline ticket.
I was lucky to be surrounded by people who believed in me and in my goal. Over the years I have wondered how other young people with big goals get people to invest in them. It just might help to have a formal way to connect young people with big dreams with the resources from caring adults. What would happen if we opened a HopeBank in every community?
Local HopeBanks would create opportunities for community members to invest in the future of local youth. A HopeBank links young people with clear goals for their future with the resources from community members. Community members invest in young people and their ideas by linking personal resources (specifically time, talent, knowledge, and skills) to the needs of the youth. As a member of a HopeBank, an individual or a small group of committed adults open a HopeBank and solicit investment ideas, or goals for the future, from youth through schools and youth organizations. A representative of the HopeBank works with youth to refine these goals to make them specific and additive, with very clear markers of progress and an attainment timeline. The goal and a list of resources needed are then posted on the HopeBank website which is reviewed periodically by members.
Imagine that a company of 2000 people opens a HopeBank in their community. 50 employees sign up as members of the bank and they solicit investment ideas from youth in schools within a few miles of the workplace. Dozens (maybe hundreds) of accounts are opened by youth by submitting goals that are then refined with the help of the bank manager to make them more attainable; the revised goals are then posted. At that point, bank members (i.e., the investors) attempt to match their resources with the needs of local youth. For example, imagine if a student submits this proposal, “Soon-to-be first generation college student needs help preparing for entrance exams and writing college essays.” The HopeBank manager would help the student clarify the goals, the timeline, and the assistance needed. Upon posting, members could work through the bank manager to offer time, talent, knowledge, and skills needed to help the student get into college. Accounts would be updated online (for members and account holders to see) and return on investment in youth will be tracked over time with updates from young people and members.
Open a HopeBank in your community. Find local kids with big goals and invest in them.
We were at out best. We made the world a promise and delivered. We lassoed the moon 40 years ago. 500 million people watched and celebrated. On July 20, 1969, we had our last big hope moment.
Most of what I know about hope, I picked up from other people. In April 1997, I learned two lessons about hope. With my coursework behind me, I was wrapping up my last few months of clinical training at the Eisenhower VA Medical Center. The staff psychiatrist popped into my office. He had a case for the soon-to-be psychologist. Dr. McNutt (real name…couldn’t make that up) threw me several softballs during my time in the clinic. The case of Paul Carlson (pseudonym to protect client confidentiality) was not what I expected.
Paul was a full-bodied 63-year old veteran who had spent his life in the farm fields of Kansas. He was a pragmatist, from his work boots to his flattop to his no nonsense approach to life. In shock from a diagnosis of kidney failure he had only one fix – suicide. See, Paul had never heard of a farmer running a farm while on dialysis, so that treatment option did not make sense. Not getting treated would leave him too sick to work the fields. Get treatment, lose the farm. Don’t get treatment, lose the farm. Lose the farm, lose all sense of meaning. Paul wanted to avoid losing the farm, by any means necessary. That day, Paul and I completed Lesson #1: hope depends on the quality of our relationship with future.
The next day, he came back to the clinic and started Lesson #2 with a question, “What’s my story?” After fumbling a bit, I was able to grasp the full meaning of what he was asking. Paul wanted to know how talk about being ill, going to treatment, and getting better or getting worse. He hated the question, “How are you doing?” and wanted to have a go-to answer. We spent the next two hours talking about hope as an active process that requires constant attention. At the beginning of the next session, he told me, “I got it. ‘I am working on it’ When people ask me how I am doing, I tell them, ‘I am working on it.’” Lesson #2: hope is active and it fueled by the language we use.
Now, the two lessons Paul shared with me add to my book learning about people and hope.
Hope Lesson #1: We are the only creatures on the planet that truly think about the future. The quality of our relationship with the future determines our hopefulness. Future thinking at its best gives us high hope.
Hope Lesson #2: Human language makes hope infinite. Hope is brought alive by the stories we tell to ourselves and about ourselves. These stories live on, as does our hope.