I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the slowdown.

I think that to make things and send them out into the world is wildly hopeful.

Each poem, each book, each painting or film or song is a kind of message in a bottle.

When the maker lets it go, they have no idea what sure it might wash up on, or when, or who might receive it.

With any luck, it will find its way to someone who needs it in that moment.

I feel so fortunate when I encounter a poem or a song or a piece of art that is exactly what I need

at that moment.

It feels like a miracle, doesn't it?

When something finds you at the right time?

It might make you feel seen, heard, and understood.

It might even help you keep going. But it's not just art that gives

us hope and a sense of greater possibilities ahead. Every time you smile at a stranger, or let someone

into your lane in rush hour traffic, or cook someone's favorite meal for them, or text or call someone

you know is struggling, you're offering them a message of hope. Even small gestures can have an

enormous impact. I know hope can be a tough cell when there's so much suffering in the world.

It's easier to notice what's wrong with the world instead of what's right. But in especially difficult times,

we have to look harder for the light. It's there. Even if it's small or flickering or hard to

see from a distance, the light is always there.

Today's poem feels to me like a hand-cuffed around a tiny flickering flame. It offers us hope

in darkness. It reminds us that even in times of despair or rage,

even when life feels impossibly difficult,

we have things to look forward to and to be grateful for.

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