Hope is hard
Hello, friends!
I am a little behind this week. That's what happens, I think, when I'm on vacation from my job. All the schedules get wonky. I don't think we've gone to bed at a reasonable hour around here in the last five days, often to all our detriment. And in my case, I kept putting off this newsletter to do other things—really lovely things!—and only now realized I'd missed the regular release day altogether.
Two things I want to share today, and both of them, surprisingly, come from Marvel properties.
I know, I know. We're all a little tired of the whole Marvel thing. Phase four is a muddled mess, I keep seeing on the internet. Do I really have to watch these thirteen TV shows and webisodes to understand the newest Ant-Man?
I get it.
We all watched the latest season of Loki recently. It's a nice little bit of TV. I won't spoil anything, of course, if you haven't seen it. It isn't perfect. We all found the first half or two-thirds of the season to be a little confusing, admittedly. But it really does come together and sing in the final couple episodes. By its end, it really leaves a mark on the whole Marvel Cinematic Universe. A big one, I think.
The bit I want to share comes from the fourth episode of this second season. Two characters are disagreeing about what to do next. (See, I'm not spoiling anything.) One of them wants to write something off; the other doesn't want to give up yet.
And Loki, whom we've all known to-date to be a conniving, self-centered trickster, a glory-seeking sonofabitch, says this:
Sure. Burn it down. Easy. Annihilating is easy. Razing things to the ground is easy. Trying to fix what's broken is hard. Hope is hard.
I love words. It doesn't matter how simple they are, or how obviously they state a point. The writing is only half the job of experiencing words; the other half is what the listener (or viewer, or reader) brings to those words. How they land has as much to do with the audience as with the artist.
And these ones really hit me hard. After this year, after all the struggles of trying to understand myself and what's next in this life, Hope is hard hit me like a brick. I'm trying to start every day in a hopeful place, but there are some days I fall down, get crushed by emotions I'd rather didn't even exist. When that happens, I have to fight to believe that there is better ahead, growth ahead, expansion of love and life and joy ahead. Hope is harder than quitting.
What I love about Loki's rather simple bit of dialogue is its unspoken implication: Sure, maybe it's hard, but I can do hard things.
I am doing hard things.
The other Marvel property we watched, more recently, was Spider-Man: Across the Spider-verse. I say "Marvel" loosely, as I know there are complicated IP relations between Marvel and Sony, and maybe Spider-verse is more about Sony than Marvel. But Spider-Man is a Marvel character, so I'm leaving it at that.
Again, no spoilers. But in Spider-verse there's a moment when Miles Morales and his mother have a conversation. They've been on unsteady ground. I won't say why. And of course Miles is struggling, as all superheroes in these stories do, with whether to reveal his truth to another person.
Miles's mother, Rio, gives the most beautiful little speech. It's thematically linked to the story, but without all that context, it's spoiler-free. So here we go:
For years I've been taking care of this little boy, right? Making sure he's loved, that he feels like he belongs wherever he wants to be. He wants to go out into the world and do great big things. And what I worry about most...is they won't look out for you like us. They won't root for you like us. So here's the deal. Wherever you go from here, you have to promise to take care of that little boy for me. Make sure he never forgets where he came from. And he never doubts that he's loved. And he never lets anyone at those big, fancy places he's gonna be in tell him that he doesn't belong there.
There's a lot more, but it's all a little mildly spoilery. And that's the important bit, anyway.
I recommend therapy for anyone. This year I've resumed therapy, and the deep work there, perhaps unsurprisingly, is all about that inner child, and caring for the things that he learned, and rewriting some of those lessons now, as an adult.
Take care of that little boy for me.
That's what we're all trying to do, really, isn't it? Engage in a bit of conversation with the little person inside of us, remind them that they're okay, show them that the big things they feel don't have to overwhelm them.
Reminders like this come from all sorts of places, even superhero movies.
This week here in the U.S. it's Thanksgiving, and we have a complicated relationship with this holiday. If you're here, I hope you're sharing some time with those who love you. If you're on your own, I hope you're reminding yourself to love yourself.
I wish you all a lovely, powerful week.
✏️Until next time,
Jg
Thanks for subscribing to Letters from Hill House! You're reading the free edition.
- The Edge of Sleep is out now! Get a copy here!
- If you'd like to also receive The Dark Age letters, here's how to do so
- If you're enjoying the newsletter and would like to buy me a coffee, here's how to do that
- My web site has more writing, and info about my books
- I'm designing book covers again, and I'd love to design yours! I'm also selling ready-to-go covers!
- I'm back on Instagram, too
- If you just want to say hello, just click Reply, or email me
Note: This newsletter may contain affiliate links for which I earn a small commission from qualifying purchases.