Emily Dickinson said that “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers,” a winged creature that takes you to unimaginable heights. Simultaneously, I believe that hope is stationary. It tethers you to the ground, unflinching and unbreaking. It allows you to run and jump and dance, smell the flowers and harvest the fruits of work. You can imagine a beautiful future instead of remembering an awful past. Hope, that thing with feathers, is soft and blustery and pats your head when you make a mistake. It urges you to keep going.

My thing with feathers is music. Solange, Japanese Breakfast and Remi Wolf take dreary days and inject them with sunlight and love. When I listen to optimistic music, I feel empowered to take on the world. This past summer at camp, I helped my friends to paint the blacktop. It was unbelievably hot and water breaks were frequent. But when “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan came on, the work became easier. We painted, weeded and sang, even stopping to dance under the scorching sun. The hopeful music took our minds off of the struggle and the heat and helped us focus on each other.

In a twisted sense, sad music can be hopeful too. Songs like “Brutally” by Suki Waterhouse tell stories of lost loves and mourning, but remind listeners that they aren’t alone. I adore listening to sad music for this reason: it surrounds me with a voice that understands what I’m going through. All genres of music are electric with hope and help me see the beauty in life.