We use the word hope every day—but do we really know what it means? I’d like to tell you what hope means to me, but before I can do that, I need to talk about where it comes from. How is hope born in a situation that feels as dry and overwhelming as desert sand?

But there is beauty in the desert. Flowers bloom from cacti after rainfall. The sand shifts in color as the sun moves across the sky. I believe hope is born out of gratitude. Even in the most difficult circumstances, gratitude plants the tiny roots from which hope grows—and from there, hope can become something powerful and beautiful. But hope itself needs nurturing.

Hope is action. It is not passive. Let me give a simple example. Imagine you are buried in debt. You tell yourself, “I hope to be debt-free one day.” But if you keep spending, if you take no steps to reduce your debt, your hope remains just a wish. It is not real.

I first understood this truth during my cancer treatment. I was visiting a plant store to buy flowers I hoped to see bloom in spring. The woman at the register looked at my swollen, battered body and bald head, and I knew I must have looked awful. Then she asked softly, “What are you doing?”

I told her, “I’m planting flowers for spring.” And she began to cry. At that moment, it hit me—she didn’t think I’d live to see those flowers bloom. But I hoped for it. And more than hoping, I acted. Planting flowers—something I loved—made hope real. Hope is not a passive noun; as David Orr said, “Hope is a verb with its shirtsleeves rolled up.”

So I live in hope, standing on a foundation of gratitude. And gratitude itself is complicated. It’s hard to be grateful for what you have without comparing yourself to what you don’t have. I’ve never liked the idea of forced gratitude or the mantra, “It could be worse.” But there’s a solidness in being grateful for where I am—knowing that yes, it could be worse, and yes, I could have more—but also recognizing that where I am is okay. Even in difficulty, I can contribute something meaningful to the world. I am enough. And because I am enough, I have something to offer. That is how hope becomes action—hope for improvement, for myself and for those around me.

Hope is not passive. Hope is brave. It is strong. It is powerful.

So I hope you will join me in my definition of hope: a foundation of gratitude, a springboard for action, a source of beauty, power, and change that can shape our future. Take your hope into action—and, if it resonates with you, consider supporting the IBC Network Foundation, helping patients and families facing this rare disease find hope in the hardest of times.