Hope is the thing with feathers--
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words--
And never stops—at all. (Dickinson)
Many are apprehensive about the “changing of the guard” on January 20th, Inauguration Day. Many are remembering another January day just over four years ago when the very foundations of our democracy were challenged.
The New Year, often represented by a baby toting a banner proclaiming the year’s start, parades toward a path unknown and yet unmarred. That baby brings an essential ingredient to our concept of time, infuses us with possibility, and generates hope.
Promising, except, for many, this looming unknown, or perhaps, too well-known, is the Presidential Inauguration and new administration.
We are all afflicted to an extent by the dilemma of having had “enough,” when a personal situation, or a worldly one, has us losing hope. But tuning out does not bring any long-term answers. Engaging, reading, and listening to others’ viewpoints helps us to understand, and this information and awareness are the tools to trigger change. Yes, we will find villains, evilness, and injustice, but we will also discover heroes, inspiration, and hope.
Still these feelings of disempowerment often take root in our psyches and our lives, and hope seems in short supply lately. But hope is not situational. Hope is a choice.
“For such a time as this.” (Esther: 4:14) Esther of the Old Testament risked her life to step forward and save her people. There was then, and there is now, such a time. Apathy turns to action if the moment is seized, and one moment begats the next. Change happens by the stirring motion of such action.
Hope is believing we can use our lives to shape a better world for ourselves and those we share this planet, and this time, with. This promise that we can do better, and the world can be better, exists in each day, in every moment.
From the waving ribbon of the past toward the future road unknown, this moment, this now, marked, or unmarked, dominates. It is the only time guaranteed, the only true place for empowerment and actuality, the only surety any of us have. There is even a wrist-watch sold displaying this truth about time. It has no numbers, only the word “NOW” printed where each number would be.
The countdown minute into 2025 was really no different than the other “525,600 Minutes” in a year, as the musical “Rent” proclaims in its hit song. Sure, numerical measurements tally the ticking clock, months or weeks of a year, or years of a lifetime. But as the song and our hearts tell us, those are not the true measurements. What then is?
Hope, yes. And as “Rent” proclaims, and as we, and the Beatles, know, love. But the Beatles are not right in “all you need is love.” There is yet another intangible, but critical, element to add: faith.
Is all this hope and love and faith stuff too simplistic a solution, too much spin-off from recent holiday platitudes? More likely, the opposite is true.
Faith in ourselves and each other is the foundation of our hope, faith that if wrong choices are made, we can, and will, right them.
Hope, love, and faith, played out in the “now.” Could be a worthy New Year’s resolution, one to be infused, grow, and live. Or perhaps, more accurately, a resolution for “now.”
How better to fulfill that which Flaubert calls the most crucial aspect of living:
“The principal thing in this world is to keep one’s soul aloft.”
Amy Lockard has a Master’s Degree in English Literature from the University of Northern Iowa (1994) and has continued classes at the Iowa Writers' Workshop. She has published several short stories, and poetry.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.