Hope is always a total rejection of This. Hope for something better. We strive and toil to make our lives better, oscillating between transient contentment and hope for something better. There is a constant alternative on offer.
Another possibility in this.
It is that what is being looked for is what is in fact already what is. No hope for something better. This in all it’s beautiful ugliness and pain. This is the first tentative steps of a child. A note found with fingers falling rhythmically on steel strings. A friend dieing slowly in hospital with a tube in his throat so he can’t talk and you not knowing what to say. A longing to be with someone you can’t. Rain on a velux window and only one body stirring.
And a seeing, a seeing that it can’t be any different. It is already whole and what is seeing all of it is beyond any story that arises in it.
There is no separate self and there never has been. A total in loveness with what is arises in your absence.