On one of the social media platforms, a woman posted: “One time my dog found a discarded chicken sandwich in a hedge while we were on our morning walk. So every day since, for the past 10 years, we have had to stop and thoroughly investigate that hedge because there just might be something yummy in there.”

Something good once happened, and it forever altered the dog’s worldview. He has lived ever since in the possibility of something good.

We’ve got a similar routine going on with our cats. Just about every time one of us goes into the kitchen — especially if we clink a utensil on a dish, or pour something like cereal into a bowl — all four of them assemble on the stairs for dinner. Even if it’s mid-morning and eleven hours until dinnertime. Even if they just ate dinner ten minutes ago. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll happen again. (Admittedly, our cats don’t bring the same grateful and jubilant anticipation that I imagine that dog exhibits on his daily walk. The cats’ expectancy also includes lots of yowling anxiety.) Even so — they, too, believe in the possibility of something good.

This is hope, right? Even better, it’s hope with real-world experience to back it up. It happened before so it could happen again. Maybe it only happened once, maybe it happens with regularity. In any case, these animals fully expect the Universe to provide. All they have to do is show up and ask for it or look for it.

I think I don’t do this enough. I don’t greet life, generally, as the possibility of limitless windfalls.

I’m more likely to think: if something surprising and excellent happened before, it probably won’t happen again.

Because my jaded side says that everybody knows luck doesn’t last. Once upon a time, I stumbled upon an unexpected good. Emphasis on the “once.” That probably was my one lucky break, my one chance. And too bad if I didn’t savor it enough, enjoy it enough, or use it more strategically to my long-term advantage. Bummer.

The twisted thing is — while I don’t bring nearly as much hopeful anticipation as I might, I certainly bring plenty of worries. Most of us are quite good at applying hard-won wisdom, our real-world personal experience, to justify negative outlooks.

If something bad happened once — in a place, with a person, or in particular circumstances — I’m likely to assume that those places, people, and circumstances are going to be a danger or disappointment for the rest of my friggin’ life. One testy encounter. One embarrassing mistake. One bad time in a restaurant and I’ll do my darnedest never to go there again.

Bad experiences I remember forever, expecting more of the same forever. Good experiences I have to choose to remember. And then choose them again and again — to expect them — rather than rejecting them as a one-off.

Part of this is just how we’re all wired — our brains evolved a negativity bias to protect us from harm. And I definitely don’t mean to minimize the trauma and shame we’ve all encountered along the way, or to dismiss the personal coping mechanisms that each of us has developed to deal with an uncertain and sometimes unfair and dangerous world. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…”

The saying goes — “…shame on me.”  Which sounds like wisdom, like common sense.  But is it really shameful to live with willing, open hearts and minds?   It may commonly be considered sensible to not trust when we’ve been burned before.  Problem is, mistrust shuts us off from all the love, the good, the plenty, the connection, and the joy for which our souls deeply yearn.

Expectations and hope and opportunities and actionable reality are all part of the same creative process in which we’re constantly engaging. We tend to live into our expectations. So it behooves us to mind them. And it all begins with a first impression.

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There’s lots of advice out there about how to make a good first impression — appropriate facial expressions, welcoming posture, the right vocal inflection and tone…   

But I couldn’t find much about how to receive a good first impression.

Which is interesting because while other people (as well as places, and circumstances, and activities) obviously play a part in the impression they make upon us, this doesn’t absolve us of creative responsibility. We’re always participating, too. We’re receiving and projecting and assuming and expecting.

So, I’m thinking about how — as much as possible, every day, in every situation — to get off on the right foot with life.

Certainly, I want to make good impressions, but it may be even more important to practice taking them:

• By giving others and giving life the benefit of the doubt.
• By expecting the best. And deliberately looking for the best interpretation or the best intentions, even when things have gone sideways.
• By remaining open to the possibility of contentment, satisfaction, and fulfillment even though I’ve been hurt before.
• Being un-apologetically hopeful, refusing to fall into the bitter trap of equating hope with naiveté.
• Practicing recollection of when things have worked out in the past, when I’ve been delighted and pleasantly surprised — and allowing those experiences, rather than my wounds, to prescribe the world into which I’m living.

I want to be more like the dog sniffing every shrub because I have faith that I’ll find what I’m looking for. Because something good happened once — my first impression was an awesome one — and I dare to expect it again and again, and not just there but also here and everywhere.

I can’t wait to be with you this Sunday, November 9. With special music by the divine Patty Stephens. XO, Drew

©2025 Drew Groves