Moving towards better
Well, hello, there.
I’ve had a lot on my mind the past few weeks. I mentioned in a previous newsletter that I’ve been in the midst of a sort of season of change, or something. Growth? Striving toward growth? And the thing I find is, when you want to intentionally work on improving yourself—your patterns of behavior, your choices, your mind and body—you can’t do it without confronting the things about you that you want to change.
Which is why, I think, when Felicia and I watched the series finale of Ted Lasso this week, one particular scene just sort of cracked me wide open.
Spoiler warning for what’s ahead!
All right. Still here?
A little context: Ted Lasso, if you aren’t familiar, is the story of an American football coach who finds himself hired to manage an English football team. Ted’s a man who, as a way of coping with some pain in his personal life, has adopted the world’s sunniest persona. He transforms the people he works with just by being who he is. His vulnerability and his empathy aren’t the sort of thing you see on TV very often.
Around Ted a circle of confidantes forms. His fellow coaches, other members of the staff. The group calls itself the “Diamond Dogs,” for reasons I can’t remember, and their sole reason for existing is to provide a safe space to help each other solve their problems. (Again: Have you ever seen anything like this on TV before?)
Last spoiler warning now…
Okay. Here’s the scene that wrecked me. Ted and all of his fellow coaches are gathered in the office, just hanging out. There’s Coach Beard, Ted’s unusual assistant coach. There’s Nathan Shelley, who has completed a journey from villain to humble ally again. There’s Leslie Higgins, the sage older fellow who runs football operations. There’s Trent Crimm, a journalist who has been covering the team this season, and who has been invited into the inner circle. And there’s Roy Kent, a former player turned coach who is known for his abrasive personality.
Roy Kent: (Out of nowhere) Can I be a Diamond Dog?
(Disbelief from the room)
Ted Lasso: Okay, hold on one second here. Wait, wait, wait, wait.
(Everyone looks around the office, inspecting phones, nooks, crannies)
Roy: What the fuck are you doing?
Ted: Uh, I assume we’re all looking for cameras ‘cause we think we’re on a prank show.
It might help to mention here that, since the Diamond Dogs’ inception, Roy Kent has refused to participate, often leaving the room, unable to bear the sappiness of it all.
Roy: I’m not fucking around here.
Ted: O-Okay. Diamond Dogs, mount up. Let’s go.
(Everyone barks and howls)
Ted: Uh, okay. Mr. Roy Kent. Uh, you know, um, bark away. Please.
This, now, is where I realized the scene was going someplace both familiar and uncomfortable for me:
Roy: (Reluctantly) For the past year, I’ve busted my fucking ass trying to change. But apparently I haven’t done fucking shit, ‘cause…I’m still me.
(Everyone exchanges glances)
Ted: Uh, wait. Did— Did you want to be someone else?
Roy: Yeah. Someone better.
Shit.
Then Roy asks his big question, just lays it out on the table, and it’s the same question I’ve been slamming into for the last couple of months.
Roy: Can people change?
It’s important than when Roy asks this question, he looks at Nathan Shelley. Nate left Ted’s coaching staff last season, and spent most of this season operating as a pure villain. His long, subtle (maybe too subtle?) journey back to a place of goodness was a major arc for the show in its final season.
Trent Crimm: I don’t think we change per se, as much as we just…learn to accept who we’ve always been, you know?
Roy: (Not satisfied) Hmm.
Nathan Shelley: Oh, no. I— I think people can change. They can. You know, sometimes for the worse, and sometimes for the better.
Roy: (Grunts) Not me. I’m still the same fucking idiot I’ve always been.
And here Ted does what he does. He grants Roy the benefit of the doubt. He shows Roy what he sees, what Roy himself cannot:
Ted: Mmm. Agree to disagree, big guy. I mean, come on, man. You just piped up out of nowhere and finally asked to become a Diamond Dog. Pretty big change, if you ask me. Right, fellas?
For the next few minutes the group digresses, talking about perfection and why it’s a fool’s goal.
Coach Beard: Change isn’t about trying to be perfect. Perfection sucks. Perfect is boring.
Ted: I mean, except Shawshank. That’s not boring.
Beard: Yeah, I mean, there are perfect films. Back to the Future.
Ted: Jaws.
Beard: Jaws, yeah.
Leslie Higgins: I would say Trent’s hair is perfect.
Nathan: Oh, god, yeah.
Trent: Oh. Thank you.
Ted: Not at all boring.
Beard: Sure, you know. Attributes. Grace Kelly’s eyes.
Trent: The other side of the pillow.
I wholeheartedly agree with Trent on that one.
Ted: That is absolutely perfect.
Beard: There are perfect analogies.
Nathan: Jacket potato, cheese and beans.
Ted: That sounds perfectly yummy, yeah.
Beard: Perfect foods. Spaghette Bolognese.
Roy: Billy Joel’s The Stranger album.
Ted: Yep, no, that’s perfect.
Beard: Yes! There are perfect works of art. There’s— Perfection is all around us, everywhere we look. The mighty redwood. But I was talking about perfection in people.
At this point, the wise old fellow in the room, Leslie Higgins, steps in.
Higgins: Human beings are never gonna be perfect, Roy. The best we can do is to keep asking for help and accepting it when you can. And if you keep on doing that, you’ll always be moving towards better.
The scene meanders on for a moment or two longer. When it ended, I had to excuse myself for a moment. I’m never embarrassed about getting a little emotional at something I’m watching; I don’t mind if my family or anyone else catches me with damp eyes. So I’m a big softie, so what? But this wasn’t that. All the raw feelings about myself, and whether I was worthy of what lay on the other side of change, were right there on the surface. This wasn’t a single-tear moment, it was a bury-my-face-in-my-hands kind of moment. And that’s not something I wanted to subject anyone else to. That’s just something I needed to…release.
(Also, I’m well aware that the scene I’ve just shared is utterly sappy. You just have to be willing to let that go to enjoy this show.)
Let’s not quite stop yet.
In The Dark Age—which I’ve just sent off to my agent, fingers crossed—I tell the story of Horatio Spafford. Do you know it?
Spafford was a lawyer and businessman, born 1828 in New York, died sixty years later in Jerusalem. He was a lawyer and partner in a big-time Chicago firm, and heavily invested in real estate in the city; he lost most of his investment during Chicago’s massive fire in 1871.
Two years later, Spafford and his family—wife, Anna, and four daughters (Annie, Maggie, Bessie, and a fourth whose name I couldn’t turn up), ranging in age from 18 months to 12 years—planned a vacation to England. Spafford got tangled up in some last-minute business, and so he sent his wife and children on vacation anyway. Perhaps he planned to join them later.
On November 22, 1873, Spafford’s family was aboard the SS Ville du Havre steamship, somewhere in the midst of the Atlantic crossing. The ship was struck by the Loch Earn, an iron sailing vessel. More than two hundred passengers and crew died in the accident…including all four of Spafford’s daughters. Anna Spafford survived, and when she arrived safely in Cardiff, she sent a telegram home to her husband.
Saved alone, she wrote. What shall I do.
Spafford set out for England to reach his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic on a ship of his own, passing the location where his four children had perished, he wrote a hymn.
When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know It is well, it is well, with my soul.
It is well, (it is well), With my soul, (with my soul) It is well, it is well, with my soul.
I referenced this story in The Dark Age for a character who, like me, was raised in the church and who, like me, later leaves the church behind. But at a critical, tragic moment in this character’s life, when they feel all is lost, they remember this hymn, and find peace.
I think about this story often. Any time I’m feeling overwhelmed, I remember the words to the hymn, particularly the refrain, and I wonder: How does a person who endured such pain find peace? And I think: Spafford survived unimaginable tragedy and still found an inner calm; surely my own comparably small problems shouldn’t prevent me from searching for peace.
Still, it isn’t easy. Every day brings with it tidal waves of doubt, or a storm of inner voices arguing against hope. It helps, as Higgins said, to ask for help, and to learn to accept it when it comes. I’m doing that, too.
I’ve been writing down little mantras and affirmations that help me navigate the negative thoughts, the pessimism that comes so easily to me.
I have value simply because I exist.
I am strong and getting stronger every day.
I am enough.
The one I like best, the one that feels like it might guide every choice and every behavior, is rather simple. I’m no good at implementing it yet, or at least not as good as I hope to be, but I’m working on it.
Just be love.
Roy: Can people change?
Yes, I think so. Don’t you?
✏️Until next time,
Jg
Thanks for subscribing to Letters from Hill House! You’re reading the free edition.
- The Edge of Sleep is coming June 2023. Pre-order 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
- 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.