On Hope
Let’s face it, 2025 was a rough year – for science, for medicine, for higher education, for St. Louis. It’s easy to get caught up in the negative. But in 2026, I choose hope.
On New Year’s Day, I read a lovely New York Times article on “Hope in a Time of Cynicism” by Lauren Jackson. She quotes Chan Hellman of The Hope Research Center and says, “While optimism is the belief that the future will be better, hope is the belief ‘that we have the power to make it so.’” I love this differentiation. Jackson goes on to explain that to have hope, people must be able to envision a different, better future, be motivated to move toward that future, and finally, have the ability to chart a path to that future. Importantly, these elements can be accomplished personally or collectively.
So, why do I choose hope? There are so many reasons, but here are a few relevant to our shared mission:
My first reason is the learners.
Each year, I have the great privilege of getting to know a subset of WashU undergraduates, health professional students, graduate students, residents, and fellows – some for mentorship and advising, some through education or scholarly collaboration, some through their leadership roles, and some through our shared clinical work. These young people are amazing, full stop. They are brilliant, compassionate, creative, and committed to making the world a better place. And we, collectively, are helping them reach that destiny. They help paint the picture of a brighter future – both near and long term – and they motivate us to do the work we do.
My second reason is St. Louis.
As most of you know, I am a transplant. It’s been eight and a half years since I moved here. I have lived in the San Francisco Bay Area, San Diego, Colorado, New York City and Sweden. All are wonderful in their own right, but St. Louis is special. It has a history that is difficult and triumphant – etched into its neighborhoods, streets, buildings, Forest Park, and the people that live and work here. It has a humble and resilient history, one that helps us to see potential pathways forward, learning from what has worked and has not, and building on that knowledge in the present.
My third reason is WashU Medicine.
The other great privilege I have in my work is that I get to hear about, and occasionally participate in, the incredible work that happens here every day. We are at the forefront of competency-based education, integration, professional identity formation, and many other areas of education. We are also leaders in clinical care in so many domains, delivering exceptional care to our diverse, and often underserved patient population. Our clinical expansion will allow us to expand this care to even more people in need. And, of course, we are THE place for discovery and growing quickly in our innovation mission. I regularly think about my first year here, sitting in on department strategic planning meetings and telling my husband, “We do miraculous things here.” The number of miraculous things we do has only grown over the past eight years – and it serves as motivation and provides pathways forward to a better future.
At the center of all three of these reasons are people. You.
And so, I leave you with a poem that reminds me of you and why we should all choose hope, “To be of use” by Marge Piercy:
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
With Hope,
Eva