Self Worth

Meditations on Hope

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Curated thoughts on the nature of hope and why we will always need it.

in context: Faith, Hope and Love

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.” 1 Corinthians 13v13

What’s so special about faith, hope and love and why do they – of all things – remain? It’s intriguing. The surrounding chapters of 1 Corinthians partly answer this in talking about Completion. That when completion comes – when all is resolved at the end of days – faith, hope and love will still be there, even as other things have faded away.

Somehow faith, hope and love materially endure. There’s no sell-by date on them, no need to throw them out – they will always be valid, always be needed. So much so that they will be essential to the ‘completion of all things’ to come.

So faith, hope and love are not ephemeral ideas. They’re real things, that have substance and can be evidenced; for now and the age to come. So with that in mind, let’s consider the second of these three things. Hope.

Hope is an Anchor

Hope and anchors have a long association. I’m sure I’m not the first to have come across a pub called the ‘Hope and Anchor’ and the reason might well be this verse from the Bible.

Hebrews 6v19 says: “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”

What’s an anchor like? It’s really weighty – often being made of iron. It’s dropped into the sea, usually on a heavy metal chain or rope, attaching to the boat or ship. The anchor hooks onto the sea bed and stops the boat drifting, making it immovable. Ships without an anchor or anything else to fasten or moor them, are in trouble – if they can’t anchor they’ll drift. In choppy waters or storms especially they could come to harm, smashing up on rocks or against the cliffs. If a boat’s engine dies, or the wind suddenly drops there’s absolutely nothing to hold them fast, leaving the stranded.

And we ourselves have an anchor – which tethers the soul, attaching us to something rock-solid, immutable and immovable.

I’ve often felt God speak to me through ships. When I moved from Bristol – which is a maritime city with a harbour and docks – back to London, it was through ships that God confirmed that I needed to move. My old flatmates even got me a small piratey-style painting – drawn like a sailor’s tattoo which said ‘Homeward Bound’. This was true of our ultimate destination – heaven, as well as my home town of London! 

Hebrews 6:19 is one of my favourite verses in the Bible. I had it as the background on my old most-beloved MacBook Pro which I ended up having for 13 years! That’s 13 years of seeing that verse every time I opened my laptop – almost daily.

In this passage God is setting in stone the promise that he made to Abraham: “I will surely bless you and give you many descendants”. He had sworn an oath – swearing it by himself because there is no one higher – imagine that: “When God made his promise to Abraham, since there was no-one greater for him to swear by, he swore by himself, And so after waiting patiently, Abraham received what was promised…People swear by someone greater than themselves and the oath confirms what it said and puts an end to all argument. Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs [that’s us too] of what was promised…he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged.” Italics mine.

Hebrews 6 goes on to explain that: “[This hope] enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain where our forerunner Jesus has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever…” 

This hope is in Jesus. It is Jesus, who has accomplished all things, and ended the old covenant which required that people made atoning sacrifices for their sin. He became that himself, a once-for-all sacrifice — removing the curtain which separates us from the Holy of Holies where God. And so restoring our relationship with him. This hope anchors us fast, so that we won’t drift. Firm and secure – the confident expectation of eternal life and salvation in Jesus Christ.

I imagine standing just outside the Holy of Holies in the tabernacle, pulling that really heavy curtain aside, feeling the weight of it, never having seen what’s behind it – not knowing what to expect, but still pulling it aside with confidence to find Jesus standing right there and being welcomed in. And of course, when Jesus died on the cross we’re told in the gospels that this very same curtain was torn from top to bottom. Forever ending our separation from God. This cannot be undone.

So this hope is an anchor for our souls.

Song Inspiration – The Anchor by Crowder

Hope is Future-Oriented Faith

I find ‘Hope’ quite difficult to articulate – it’s a feeling but it’s more than a feeling. It’s a sense of wishful thinking but it’s more tangible than that. It’s optimism but that’s insufficient to describe it. It transcends circumstances and yet it’s entirely connected to them. It’s aspirational, it’s the life we dream of – that we long for. But it’s hard to quantify and understand.

A common dictionary definition is that hope is “a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen”. But as we’ve already seen Biblical hope by contrast is more than a feeling – it is actual confidence: it’s a sense of certainty that something good will happen.

It’s hard to know where faith ends and hope begins. I had to really do some digging as to why hope is mentioned independently of faith in 1 Corinthians 13:13. Because hope is really similar to faith, but it is distinct from it. A really helpful way to think about it is that, faith is like an umbrella term. It provides the broader context relating to our belief in God, our trust in the person of Jesus and the finished work of the cross; the faith that things exist, or happened or can happen.

While hope is part of this, incorporating many of the things that faith is, it is still separate from it. Uniquely, hope points towards the future. It is future-facing. You could think of it as future-oriented faith. While faith is substantial, hope is directional. And we’d be lost without either. So we can conclude from this, that if ‘these three remain’, future-facing faith (as in hope) is of particular importance to be named alongside the broader context of what faith is. And as part of our existential reality even in eternity, it is an important orientation and posture for us to live by.

Another way to put it is that ‘biblical hope is biblical faith in the future tense’.

Hope is in the Suffering

Hope is an unseen guide as we navigate uncertainty. When all seems lost, it is hope that intervenes; to be rewarded and fulfilled in the realisation of one’s dreams. Equally there will be parts of life where hope isn’t fulfilled – yet.

Proverbs 13:12 says: “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life”. God wants to fulfil our hopes, dreams and desires. And if I have faith, that’s the substance of what I’m hoping for and those things yet unseen. It’s the evidence that they will happen.

Hebrews 11 opens with “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not yet seen.” More modern translations put it like this: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.”

And in the midst of terrible suffering, illness, bereavement; or when people have been kidnapped, held hostage, or held prisoner they often talk afterwards of how important hope was to them. For those going through famine or war or any number of dreadful, painful circumstances; hope is all you have often to enable you to keep going. Hope enables us to bear suffering and to persevere through – for the promise of what’s on the other side. And when hope is lost – it’s catastrophic. 

We saw amazing scenes at the end of January on International Holocaust Remembrance Day. During the holocaust, hope literally helped to keep people alive. It enabled them to keep going and not give up. In his book, ‘Man’s Search for Meaning‘, psychiatrist and holocaust survivor Victor Frankl observed the necessity of hope during his time as a prisoner in several concentration camps during WW2. He remembers in one camp how much they were hoping – however naively it proved to be (he acknowledges), that they would be home for Christmas, and it would all be over. When it became apparent that this wasn’t the case at all, their hopes were dashed. And seeing no reason at all to continue in the horrendous conditions, all hope was gone. At that point many gave up and died.

Hope is a Choice

Hope is a choice. It can sustain life in the most desperate of circumstances. As Victor Frankl discovered, and one writer commented: “While every external factor may root against you, one single act of internal defiance can counteract it all.” Hope is an act of defiance. Even though it has no bearing on the outcome per se, it is a vital internal shift and an attitude which arms you against things that could otherwise destroy you through despair. 

Hope can even save you but it’s based on your disposition, not whether or when it is fulfilled. It could even be called a type of stubbornness. Making the decision to choose hope is powerful. 

While hope can literally mean the difference between life and death, it can also affect all sorts of outcomes – recovering from illness or injury, or from losing someone or something, like a job. Hope is dignifying. In Victor Frankl’s own words: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

And though hope is fragile, it is indomitable. There are many who cite hope as a reason they survived through the worst of circumstances. Even a whisper or a glimmer – if there is still the smallest flicker of hope, God will not extinguish it.

Isaiah 42:3 says: “A bruised reed he will not break, a smouldering wick he will not snuff out.”

Emblems of Hope

This poem by Emily Dickinson conveys the fragility of hope – likening it to a bird. 

Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Birds are known to be symbols of hope: as they fly freely, survive the harshest of conditions and sing as the dawn arrives day by day they signal fresh possibilities, freedom and renewal.

In her book ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings’, Maya Angelou tells the first part of her own story – of growing up in an abusive home, how she was raped at a very young age and how the trauma caused her to suffer from selective mutism. But also how she found her voice and sense of agency and freedom to become a recognised writer, speaker and poet. Through that sense of Hope she burst out of the ‘cage’ to find her own voice, liberating herself and inspiring others to do the same. Her poem ‘Caged Bird’ from which the novel takes its name also captures the sense of hope that even a bird in a cage can sing of freedom can inspire others.

Caged Bird by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind   
and floats downstream   
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his wings are clipped and   
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
|and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.

Someone else who became an emblem of hope for others was Corrie Ten Boom, a watchmaker who lived in Haarlem in the Netherlands. When WWII broke out, and Germany invaded; as a Christian, she and her family took God’s word over the word of the occupying forces. They gathered stolen ration cards and hid Jews in their home. When an informant tipped off the Nazis about their work, their home was raided and the family was taken to prison.  

In prison they received word via the resistance that “all the watches in your cabinet are safe”. To their great relief, those they had been hiding had been transferred to other locations and were safe.

While imprisoned, she held worship services in the camp she and her family was held in, and shared from a Bible which had been smuggled in. Corrie Ten Boom writes about this experience in her book, ‘The Hiding Place’. She consistently spoke of the hope she had – sharing it with fellow prisoners and with numerous people through her subsequent writing and speaking after the war.

Song Inspiration – Oh Hope by Joshua Luke Smith

Hope is for the Unseen

Hope wouldn’t be hope if it we could see what we were hoping for. This is a really important aspect of what hope is. Hope is contingent on us not having what we are hoping for – yet. 

Romans 8v18-35 reveals the power of hope on a cosmic scale, Paul says: “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first-fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”

Hope itself is a state of anticipation. Still, it can’t be separated from waiting and expectation. It is tied to waiting, and waiting patiently for what is unseen. If you have hope you will wait patiently.

Hope in the Waiting

In the Bible there are several Hebrew words which are used to describe hope. The Bible project explains these:

Yakhal – to wait for (as Noah waited for the waters to recede to reveal land while he was in the Ark)
Qavar – describes a cord, or a sense of tension while you wait, followed by release.
Elpis – describes living hope – based on Jesus resurrection, we can be reborn.

In the Old Testament, the prophet Hosea chose hope – in a time when there was nothing to be optimistic about. Israel was being oppressed by foreign empires. Like Hosea, choosing hope is part of the prophetic voice that Christians can have in society. Remembering what God had done in the past, to bring his people out of Egypt during the Exodus, Hosea applied it to the future, saying: “God could turn this valley of trouble into a door of hope.” God’s past faithfulness motivated hope for the future. We look forward by looking back – trusting in nothing other than God’s character.

Similarly, Joseph was a man of hope. For him his faith in God, translated into hope for his future. Having been sold into slavery he never gave up hope through the ups and downs, and numerous mistreatments that he suffered. And when God raised him up to be in charge of Egypt, it also had a great purpose. He had so many false starts – possibly the worst was being forgotten in prison, leaving him there even longer until – when the timing was right God had need for him. Genesis is very clear that despite his misfortune: “the Lord was with Joseph”. So hope in the waiting is also recognising that while we may not understand any of what is happening, and why, it is serving a greater purpose. Joseph saved his family, and by extrapolation, the twelves tribes of Israel.

Waiting is exhausting, both physically and emotionally. But this difference with hoping in God is that it renews our strength. And gives us supernatural strength too. It’s counterintuitive. The paradox is, as Isaiah 40: 31 says that as we hope, as we wait: “but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

Hope is in the Planning

Jeremiah 29v11: “I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope [a better life] and a future”.

A plan is a method or strategy for achieving a goal. And here Jeremiah is reassuring Israel that there a plans for a hope and a future. That hope as a tangible thing, is premeditated. It’s planned. The ball is already rolling even if nothing appears to be happening. God has a plan. Think about your last holiday – what plans did you make, to make that holiday a reality? Plans are evidence of a future reality. When you see an architects drawings, a blueprint or a business plan – that’s evidence of the future existence of the thing that you’re creating. It’s like an inheritance. There’s intention. Hope can be imagined, and imagined. 

So while it’s fullest realisation exists in the future, it also exists now as the things God has planned. God has planned our future with him. In Jesus death and resurrection – our ultimate hope was planned – it had to be. It wasn’t an accident, or an afterthought that is trying to fix a botched job. It was planned. So if you hope for something, if you have faith for it you can take is as evidence of those things: “now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not yet seen”.

My Hope is in You

Throughout the Psalms there is a refrain: “My hope is in God” and a phrase which urges: “Put your hope in God”. The Psalms talk a lot about hope. And it’s often hope in God. David often encourages himself and others to “put your hope in God” It is for God himself that they are waiting.

Verses of hope from the Psalms

“May your unfailing love be with us, Lord, even as we put our hope in you.” Psalms 33:22

“My integrity and uprightness protect me, because my hope, Lord, is in you.” Psalm 25:21

“But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you”. Psalm 39:7

“Be strong and take heart, al you who hope in the Lord”. Psalm 31:24

“For you have been my hope, Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth”. Psalm 71:5

“As for me, I shall alway have hope; I will praise you more and more”. Psalm 71:14

“Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my saviour, and my hope is in you all day long”. Psalm 25:5

“Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God”. Psalm 43:5

“Blessed are those whose help is in the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God”. Psalm 146:3

Living Hope

And so we find that Biblical hope is based on a person. It’s different from optimism, and positive thinking. It’s not focused on circumstances and not based on things getting better.

This brings us to Living Hope –  that hope is indeed built on a person, the person of Jesus.

1 Peter 1:3 says: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead”.

The Resurrection is central to our sense of hope as Christians. The risen Jesus is our ultimate hope through his death on the cross and his resurrection from the dead.

At the end of the day biblical hope, that which remains is established on the finished, settled work of Jesus Christ.

Song Inspiration – Living Hope by Phil Wickham

And Hope Does not Disappoint

Romans 5:4 – “we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame [does not disappoint us], because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Jesus himself suffered on the cross because of hope: “for the joy set before him [he] endured the cross”. Have you ever imagined that Jesus was a man full of hope? Hope enabled him to endure the worst suffering on the cross. In order to become hope itself – for us.

Song Inspiration – Cornerstone by Hillsong Worship

© Alexandra Noel – All Rights Reserved. February 2025

A New Approach to Feedback

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The Creative Act: A Way of Being – written by music producer Rick Rubin – is not only beautifully designed but a unique and enlightening perspective on creativity.

Image courtesy of Penguin Press

It was also great to listen to Rick being interviewed on Jay Shetty’s On Purpose podcast. I found it inspiring stuff (also providing me with some useful thoughts for a content strategy I’m working on for a client). During their far-ranging conversation I was really pleased to be reminded of one of the best approaches to FEEDBACK I’ve ever heard.

Enabling you to “play Big”

I first came across this approach reading Tara Mohr‘s brilliant book Playing Big a few years ago. (I love these connections). The advice she gives, which Rick Rubin echoes, is this:

“Feedback doesn’t tell you about yourself. It tells you about the person giving the feedback. In other words, if someone says your work is gorgeous, that just tells you about *their* taste. If you put out a new product and it doesn’t sell at all, that tells you something about what your audience does and doesn’t want. When we look at praise and criticism as information about the people giving it, we tend to get really curious about the feedback, rather than dejected or defensive”.

Tara Mohr

Reframing Feedback

Reframing the purpose of feedback in this way makes ALL the difference. Tara offers further advice (see below) on navigating feedback in this article and in her book.

“1.  REFRAME the feedback: The feedback doesn’t tell you any facts about you; it tells you something about the perspective of the person giving the feedback. Reframe the feedback as information about them. What does this tell you about their priorities or preferences?

2.  Is the feedback truly RELEVANT? Women forget to ask this, and instead feel they have to incorporate all feedback. We need to ask: is this feedback essential to incorporate in order to achieve my goals? Those goals might include professional ones (like getting work published) or personal ones (like a loving relationship with family members.) If the feedback is not truly relevant to your aims, you have permission to not attend to it.

3.  REVISE your approach. If your answer to #2 is yes, then you can think about how you can revise your approach to work with/relate to this person more effectively, now that you know more about their needs and perspective. Going back to #1, the feedback isn’t a verdict on how you measure up – it just tells you how to be more impactful in your relationship with them.”

Photo by Annau00eblle Quionquion on Pexels.com

Allowing IT to Serve You

Ultimately feedback needs to serve you. So by getting curious about the person giving the feedback, and taking on board the aspects of their feedback that best serve you, you’re less likely to invest so much weight in their opinions. Effectively you ‘unhook’ from the power that either their praise or criticism might have, and you’re able to determine how best to utilise it.

© Alexandra Noel – All Rights Reserved 2023

A (Not So) Little Life

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A Little Life, the book by author Hanya Yanagihara and now the play, directed by Ivo Van Hove, have acquired not a little notoriety. Both are sure to divide opinion and have definitely got people talking.

A Little Life promotional image, with James Norton.

It was with some trepidation that I agreed to go and see the play of A Little Life over Easter weekend at the Harold Pinter theatre.

The friend who invited me gave appropriate disclaimers and warnings about the content. This included the fact that the seats she’d managed to get for us would be right on the stage, front row. We would almost be part of the play ourselves.

In the name of being culturally brave I said yes. And in the face of reports of the book’s traumatising effect, which would only be heightened in the play, (plus a lot of nudity – apparently) I decided that it was All Art Anyway, and the best way to approach it was as an opportunity to have a significant life experience. Neither of us had read the book yet, so we committed ourselves to that too. We formed a book club and read the not-so-little, A Little Life. Mainly as an exercise to prepare ourselves for the play.

To my surprise I absolutely devoured the book. In spite of its size, I finished it in a little over two weeks, utterly compelled to keep reading. A Little Life is an irony; for the book is well over 700 pages long, and the story is one of enormous scope. Initially daunted I found myself skipping through the pages at pace, keenly drawn into the world of the book’s main characters; JB, Willem, Malcolm and Jude, as early 20-somethings (the book spans their lifetimes)… their flat-shares, first jobs and friendships. Seeing their lives and the self-sustaining world they are creating for themselves evolve, in a forever-noughties New York. 

The World of New York

Despite the city looming large over the book, there is nothing to anchor this story to any specific time or era as defined by the events of the wider world. These are absent and it’s only through scarce references to phones or emails (or certain expressions they have) that you have any idea as to when exactly this story is set. Even so it all feels very relatable. You can see and feel Hanya Yanagihara’s New York – as timeless as it is, thanks to the visually rich and evocative prose. In some way this insulation from the outside world reflects the insularity of the group’s story and their experience together. It sets the stage for our players. 

The narrative landscape at the outset is broad; it warmly opens windows into the lives of this circle of four young male friends. Their characters, thoughts and relationships evidencing themselves as they talk, socialise, and daydream on trains. On moving to New York, they party together, begin projects, move houses and start new jobs, all four of them firmly on a path towards success. Their lives revolve almost exclusively around each other. We see them all at various times through one another’s eyes; Jean-Baptise (JB) the painter; Willem the actor, Malcolm the architect and… Jude. 

Jude, the mystery. While his three friends are knowable – their backgrounds, ethnicities and demographies as unavoidable as open books, they in turn know nothing of Jude and his origins. It frustrates them more than it concerns them. At one point JB takes this to task saying “…we don’t know what race he is, we don’t know anything about him. Post-sexual, post-racial, post-identity, post-past…”, christening him “The Postman”. This is a postmodernist accuracy, and yet arguably wrong of Jude for whom all these are very present, as we will discover.

Jude. The ambitious and talented lawyer; working first for the US Attorney’s Office and then later ‘selling his soul’ and moving to a prestigious corporate law firm. There he develops, over time, a reputation of being both ruthless and brilliant. As notable as it is; it is not this impressive professional life that comes to matter here, but the emerging shadows and secrets from his past. And the growing dichotomy of the man he is and the man he isn’t. At one point, Harold (his adoptive father) notes that he has never known anyone so bifurcated. It is around Jude whom this story comes to revolve. Initially told from multiple perspectives, the narrative shrinks decisively as the book goes on. In concern for one very central figure, sidelining the others, it focuses its attention on one defining story. That of Jude St Francis.

Early Observers, the Artistic Eye

JB’s attention is an early portent of this. His artistic eye recognises early on the hypnotic centrality of Jude’s character to this group. He holds the role of the group’s observer, capturing and documenting the interactions between his other three friends. The photos he takes, and the paintings he makes from them, are enigmatic and wistful. While featuring his friends, they are insatiably focused on Jude. JB’s lens begins, inevitably, to expose what Jude is desperately trying to hide, much to his chagrin. Despite his ongoing attempts to keep them at bay, the shadows are creeping, and his trauma is seeping through the cracks.

Admittedly, the success these friends experience between them: Top Attorney, Celebrated Artist, A-list Actor and Brilliant Architect is rare to find in any one group alone. And yet, rather than these achievements, it is the shadows in Jude’s past that come to define them all, as it does him. He can never outrun them. Nor does he try to for his own sake, he copes, he manages. He will only attempt it for the sake of others – his best friend, Willem especially. He has imbibed his past so completely that it has become him, and despite so many good people telling him otherwise he cannot help but internalise its messages. That he is worthless and fundamentally flawed beyond redemption. The shame, and his belief that he was somehow complicit in the actions of others towards him, to the point of deserving them, have soaked him through. He is so utterly a victim of his past that he cannot separate himself from it. Not able to find even a millimetre of perspective. Or to see himself and his experiences with a modicum of self-compassion. He is subsumed and it is the trauma within him that holds everyone’s gaze, even though they don’t realise what they are looking at.

His past, we discover, is horrifying. It is relentlessly abusive. And wholly traumatising. You find yourself asking, ‘How could one person be so unlucky?’, ‘How could he attract so much malicious intent from those charged with his care?’ And ‘how could so much abuse happen to one single person’? Jude’s trauma is extreme, and dare I say it, clichéd. Yanagihara has said that Jude came to her fully formed, (and admitted that she didn’t really research his character). His trauma is equal and opposite in its extremity to the love, friendship and success he experiences with the friends around him. ‘How could one person be so fortunate in such dedicated friends?’ It would seem that this more than adequately atones for the pain and trauma in his past, but it doesn’t. Because to him it is still present – in the chronic pain and shame. And in the very identity he has formed. The resultant trauma itself is an ongoing abuse. 

The book has its share of familiar tropes, which makes it feel unreal at times. Yanagihara has commented to say that the extremes were intentional. Because of these it would almost better succeed at being a fairytale or allegory, if allowed. Good versus bad. This idea did help to reconcile what at times could feel so clumsy and far-fetched as to lack any of the nuance of real life.

Fixing Tendencies

Be warned, this story will draw out any tendencies to ‘fix’. It will simultaneously appeal to, and deeply frustrate anyone who likes tidy endings and neat closure, but isn’t that all of us? Whether a problem presents itself in the form of a person or an issue – we want to solve it. But what if it turns out to be a ‘gravity problem’ – a grander, more complex issue beyond our control? This is somehow the nature of Jude’s trauma. In truth it is beyond the experience and control of any of his friends, but somehow they keeping trying to fix it. They’re at risk of becoming enablers – his doctor, Andy, is a case in point. Stretching the boundaries of professional responsibility again and again in the name of loyalty and friendship, in the hope of being the one to offer Jude redemption.

We all long for redemption – it’s key to so many narratives. It’s so expected that sometimes we take it for granted. It is the concluding resolve we expect to hear at the end of a piece of music, or the neat conclusion at the end of a film, or a familiar bedtime story. But A Little Life has no resolution, no redemption – and this anticipation will simply not be satisfied. It is the discordant note hanging in the air. And it’s this that really makes this book get under your skin. It’s shocking and uncomfortable. As is the play – it’s exposing. I’m sure this is part of the reason for its popularity… it can’t help but divide opinion, to get people thinking and talking. Just take a look at the reviews. 

It is so tempting to think ‘If Only’. If only things could be different for the sake of Jude and his friends. If only he could make different choices, if only he could see how much he’s loved, if only he could find something worth living for. But this is not where the story is going, and as much as you try to hold it back, there is a desperate inevitability about the trajectory of Jude’s life. The reader, the viewer – this audience watching Jude’s life unfold, unwittingly find themselves colluding with his friends in their sense of defensive hope.

As much as this is a story about Jude and how his past trauma defines him, it is also about his friends. It emerges through their own stories that there are significant reasons why they are so drawn to Jude. And why they stay. This includes Harold; losing his young son due to a rare genetic condition, he has experienced a loss he has never recovered from. And in Jude he gets to make right the failures he sees in himself and attempt to change what happened. Jude himself becomes increasingly disabled as the book goes on, both because of the chronic pain he experiences and the damage done to his body by a deliberate car accident, as well as an undefined disease he lives with. And then there’s the psychological pain, and the deliberate and brutal self-harm he inflicts on himself as much as a coping mechanism as a way to act out his self-hatred. Harold holds him through all of it, never able to make it go away.

Luke Thompson and James Norton as Willem and Jude in A Little Life.

Willem, Jude’s closest friend, his confidante and later in the book, his partner, grew up with a disabled brother, who also died young. In the absence of his parents (first emotionally absent then physically) he cared for his brother, forging the strongest of bonds with him. Only to be told, tragically whilst he was away at college that he had died. It becomes clear that it was the needs of his brother that had held his family together, and linked him to his parents. Without his brother, he is cut adrift. He partly relives this connection and bond through his friendship with Jude.

We see this most poignantly in Willem and Harold, who remain closely connected to Jude’s main narrative as the book goes on, but there are other figures, always helping, always finding a way. For without the pasts they are trying to correct, there is no story. It’s a double-edged sword, they evidently love Jude and care for him, they rescue him again and again. From himself but also for themselves. He is fulfilling a need in them. How otherwise, could they have the patience or compassion to give so much to him. As he continues to reject their help and advice, while stubbornly refusing to help himself – whether unwilling or unable to do so. And so it is that the codependencies we see in this group were already formed before they met Jude. The pathways were already trodden, through other, earlier experiences that in some way they are all revisiting and attempting to resolve. 

In the end it is JB who has seen it all clearly – observing with the distance and perspective of the artist over many years, producing a vast body of work in the process. And it’s interesting that it is JB who frustrates and challenges Jude the most. He sees through him. And he won’t let Jude be a victim, he won’t pander to him. At times it seems cruel, but in doing so he just might be the one who loves Jude the most. He sees that Jude is complicit in his own suffering. Clinging to his own narratives, his own beliefs and the conclusions he has formed about himself to obscure the truth. The truth that he is valued and loved and redeemable. As a result he remains a victim and prisoner of his past. Never transitioning to become a survivor and overcomer. Either because he won’t or just can’t, and we will never know. This is the greatest tragedy of A Little Life.

Seeing the story living and breathing on the stage added solidity and shading to the characters. Sitting on the stage brought the story to life even more and dispelled some of the extremes of the book. It brought out the subtlety and nuance. These could be real people. All with their own stories, hardships and traumas. It was invigorating to be so close and feel part of it – the action so near you could reach out and touch it. The actors’ skill in portraying these characters was unmistakable. They were captivating – incarnating and inhabiting the characters, and embodying their pain and frustrations. No more than James Norton as Jude, but also Luke Thompson as Willem and Zubin Varla as Harold. While unfortunately more peripheral, but no less present; Omari Douglas as JB and Zach Wyatt as Malcolm shone in their roles too, as did the rest of the cast. The staging, and clever touches which included cooking on stage added to the sensory nature of everything happening in front of us. Which ran to the scenes of abuse which couldn’t appear more realistic.

A Little LIfe cast members. L-R Elliot Cowan, Nathalie Armin, Luke Thompson, James Norton, Omari Douglas, Zach Wyatt and Emilio Doorgasingh.

Art and The Viewer

Here was a piece of Art. If treated as such, A Little Life becomes less about the integrity of the narrative and character arcs; or about the wondering Why and If Only. And more about the place and response of the ‘viewer’ in interacting with the story and its themes. Could the book be designed first and foremost to elicit a reaction, to unsettle and to cause the viewer to become uncomfortable, agitating those deeper questions and frustrations? To hold up a mirror.

In this it reminds me of artist, Anish Kapoor’s work. Marsyas, his 2002-2003 Tate Modern installation, monumentalised the disembodied sinews caused by self-flagellation. Stretching out across the huge space of the Turbine Hall, were taut ribbons of red resembling huge pieces of muscle and tissue. You could almost feel it in your body. Later his retrospective at the Royal Academy featuring malleable sculptures of red wax moving through the galleries in negative space, so viscerally representative of blood and tissue. They produced a strong, almost guttural reaction in the viewer. The associations were many and varied. A pellet of red wax fired periodically against a wall – evoked a sense of shock and associations of bodily suffering, war, death, atrocities and pain.

Is this the purpose of A Little Life? Primarily as Art, to evoke such a reaction, so visceral and bodily, to the painful results of a life of trauma that has no resolve, no possible redemption. Being beyond escape it leaves a desolate, empty aftermath where all efforts have counted for nothing. Are we in the place of Jude’s friends as they are reduced to powerless observers? Their good and desperate interventions only ever delaying the inevitable, never stopping it. The hopeless trajectory is set and in the end there is nothing they can do. There is no redemption.

A Little Life at Easter

Seeing the play over Easter weekend highlighted a poignant contrast for me. In the Christian faith Easter Saturday is traditionally the darkest day of all. Jesus lay dead in a tomb, all hope was lost. He had been whipped brutally and repeatedly, the skin ripped from his back. He had been ridiculed and abused, to then be nailed to a cross and left to die, hanging by his hands until his lungs were crushed under the weight of his own body. Crucifixion was reserved for the most despised and maligned in society. Jesus’ followers and disciples had been so full of hope, but they were left standing bereft in the bleak reality of his death – how could this be the end? So desolate, so empty, so pointless. 

In the case of A Little Life, that is the end. It offers us no redemption. And forces us to confront the reality that there are some things that cannot be rescued or redeemed, such is their inevitability. And that is true. It just makes the tragedy of Jude’s life even greater.

By contrast, Easter offers us hope and healing. Easter Sunday marks the day that every seemingly inevitable trajectory towards death and destruction was turned around. Jesus, who had died on the cross, was resurrected to life, transformed and renewed by God’s power. And because of that it fundamentally shifts the end point of our past pain and trauma. And the power it has to rob us of the goodness of life now and in the future. This may surprise you to hear but it was an unavoidable connection for me to make between the play’s conclusion and the good news of the Christian message being celebrated that weekend. 

The irony of Jude’s suffering – which served no ultimate purpose, was so jarring against the passionate death of Jesus. Who chose to suffer and died willingly, giving up his life for our ultimate redemption. Then against the odds, rising again, carrying us with him in his resurrection to renewed life.

© Alexandra Noel – All Rights Reserved 2023

The Break-Up Letter

Navy blue background, with Spotify player buttons. Text says 'Big Mistake' with drawn artwork for the Break-Up Letter.
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Remember that break-up letter you wrote (or thought of writing) but never sent – which served as catharsis and closure, more than as a means of communication? After that bad relationship ended (badly) which you knew you never should have been in.

And remember that feeling you had deep down, that told you so clearly that something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t quite prove it. Literally it ‘told you so’.

All the things you wish you could have said with calm certainty at the time but couldn’t. Well, here’s how that might go…

Dear Ex,

I’ve seriously wondered whether I should write to you, but I’ve decided it’s important to bring things to light. I’ve realised that I was intuitively aware at the end of our relationship, and with increasing clarity since we broke up; that you had been seeing other women while we were still together. Obviously I can’t know the details without you telling me but my guess is that it started in early December and culminated with our break up. I was highly conscious that the dynamic between us was changing during December and that things increasingly didn’t add up. Then the energy and connection suddenly disappeared in early January, of course this was because you had rejected me and become involved with someone else or were in a new relationship – before we had officially broken up. 

As part of exploring a relationship and dating I thought I had been completely honest and upfront about communicating my values and expectations. While you did indicate your own approach, I didn’t receive the same level of openness from you. We always seemed to find communication difficult, and we often got caught in a cycle of talking about our opposing perspectives, with no resolution; rather than being able to openly establish if we were compatible and a relationship was viable. In hindsight it now seems like this was a smokescreen to avoid dealing with any sensible talk and exploration of compatibility and commitment. 

You turned on me after Christmas, pushing me away, provoking me in order to force a break up and then finally using the argument we had where I laid reality for us on the table, against me. You blamed me for your withdrawal of affection, using me as a scapegoat – rather than taking any responsibility for yourself. In the few weeks that followed you used your new involvement/relationship to taunt me and deliberately wound me – you wanted me to know that I had been replaced. I not only found this incredibly devious, but also cruel. I never meant you any harm, and in fact against my better judgment I chose to think the best of you right up to the end. I now realise that this was a big mistake.

Navy blue background, with Spotify player buttons. Text says 'Big Mistake' with drawn artwork for the Break-Up Letter.
Spotify artwork (edited by author) for ‘Big Mistake’ by Tim Fite.

We were probably both aware that a relationship between us wasn’t going anywhere, and that as well as having little in common, we also had very different values and perspectives on life and relationships. With this in mind I find it even more difficult to understand why you didn’t simply end things when you realised it wasn’t going anywhere for you and had begun to explore other options. For my part, although I was still hopeful something might change, I could have acted sooner to end things. I just had so much on my plate with a new job, moving house etc that I couldn’t really face a break up as well until the new year.

However, all this would have been nothing compared to the sting in the tail that it was to realise with absolute clarity that you had cheated on me, had overlapped me. The fact that things weren’t going well anyway doesn’t serve as an adequate excuse and although this might be normal for you, I see it as cowardly to end a relationship in this way; it goes against basic human decency, maturity and respect. It was deeply hurtful.

I hope that in future you can find it in yourself to treat the women you date, and break up with, better. But I also want you to know that despite the pain you have caused me and the lack of closure it produced, I forgive you, and in all sincerity I hope you find what you’re looking for, and can be happy. Given all this, friendship isn’t an option, so I respectfully ask that you don’t contact me again, unless it is to apologise.

Wishing you all the best.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 11th May 2022

Look at His Noodles

A hand holding a cup of Kabuto noodles with the text 'When the character of a man is not clear to you look at his noodles'
| flexanoel

This article was originally published in 2016 as ‘The Two-Timing Texter’ for Girl About Town on Threads UK. Read on below:

Photo by author of Kabuto Noodles advert circa 2015, and the inspiration (partly) for this article.

I was fairly late to the dating game. For a long time I believed that my future husband would just pitch up at the right moment, without much action needed from me. Not much action that is, apart from focusing on being faithful and good, and waiting patiently for Mr Right, without complaining too much.  I wasn’t hung up on it, but if I’m honest, deep down that’s what I believed.

After years of Not Much on the man front, apart from a few flirtations and a bit of heartbreak, something in me snapped. I was totally disillusioned, [as a Christian this was] mostly with God, who I thought should have brought someone along by now. I’d been good, I’d made sacrifices! And He’d let me down!  I felt disempowered. I hadn’t felt permission to try, fail, and then do better next time. I wasn’t a complete rooky, but I’d never learnt how to make confident decisions in this area of life, and I wanted to get experience. I wanted dating to feel more ‘normal’.  

So in protest I rebelled – against waiting, and against being faithful and good. It was a bit chaotic at first, but I got something out of my system. Then I became more intentional with my dating. And so I went online. I filled out my profile, then held my breath and watched to see what would happen.

I got in touch with a guy who’d sent me a great first message: a bit forward perhaps, but I liked his honesty. After a couple of failed attempts to meet up, we arranged a date for after work the next week.

I was on holiday with a big group of friends at the time, and mentioned my date with this guy, let’s call him ‘Jonny’. He even lived round the corner from my office – fancy that?!

Later that evening, a woman I’d only met that week on the holiday drew me away for a chat.

“This guy you’ve got a date with next week, he wouldn’t happen to be called Jonny Smith, would he?”

Um, yes. Why do you ask?

“Um well, I’ve been dating him for the last two months.”

Oh.

The small size of the Christian dating pool had exposed this guy’s two-timing. So what to do now?

I texted him the next day, and after a lot of excuses and wrangling I received a grovelling apology written in excellent ‘Christianese’. Words like ‘sacrifice’, ‘integrity’ and ‘altar’ featured heavily. Needless to say, I didn’t go on that date with Jonny. But he did contact me a few months later to say that he’d now broken up with the other girl, and would I meet him after all? Not a chance.

There are more stories I could tell; but after my first foray into online (Christian) dating, I’ve definitely learnt a few things and gained valuable experience. Here are a few things I’ve figured out:

• Although it’s important to get experience, dating for experience-only is not a good idea. You’re likely to make compromises with who you date, and what you expect from them. Date people who you genuinely fancy and could see a future with.

• If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t. It’s important to listen to your ‘gut’. How we feel about things is valid, and can even be a warning sign. Listen to yourself and trust your instincts.

• Involve your friends. We need community – one of the catches I found with online dating is that although you get to meet a wider group of people and create more opportunities, it’s as if this takes place in a vacuum. You often only have a profile, some photos, and your limited experience of someone to go on.

• Even though someone ticks the ‘Christian’ box, and plays guitar in the worship band, and says grace before a meal, they can still lack one major thing. Character. When it comes down to the way someone behaves towards you, how much they value you, and what you can expect from them, it takes character to set someone apart from the rest. It really is as important as they say it is. Oh, and a whole lot of chemistry.

There’s a lot of good Christian teaching on this subject, but some of our understanding isn’t always 100 per cent biblical. We may have absorbed a mixture of Christian culture, interpretation and Church rhetoric as well, which has shaped our values. It’s always worth questioning things, and with the help of the Holy Spirit, weighing them against the Bible. I’m really struck by the stories of women in the Bible, and how Jesus empowered them, even if their culture didn’t. There are lots of stories of women being audacious – for their culture and their time – in their boldness. If you feel disempowered, and find yourself obligated to take a passive role in dating look again at those biblical stories.

© Alexandra Noel / Threads UK – All rights reserved. 2nd March 2016.

Where Should I Go?

A drawing of the Cheshire Cat in a tree from Alice in Wonderland
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That’s the question Alice asked the Cheshire Cat in Wonderland. And it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself over the last few months. Where should I go? The Cat’s reply to Alice was, “It depends on where you want to end up”. And it’s the same answer I’m getting – which has in fact become my true question; Where do I want to end up?.

A drawing of the Cheshire Cat in a tree from Alice in Wonderland

I’ve always dreamed of doing work I love full time. By work I love I mean something that makes the best use of my favourite skills, that feels valuable, that I lose myself in, and that has meaning and purpose. Don’t we all? I’ve had jobs that have allowed me to do some of the things I love, and I’ve worked on projects that I’ve really enjoyed. But mostly, my day to day work has felt increasingly like drudgery, an endless list of tasks that need to be carried out as quickly and as efficiently as possible, a type of work that ultimately drains me and is mismatched with the core of who I am. It wasn’t that I was bad at it, in fact I was good enough, but it became clear that I would never be brilliant at it.

This is not the first time I’ve been here. Quite a few years ago I took the step of applying to do an art foundation. I’d already done a degree, but I longed to discover more about my creative side. It was a decision based on the logic that if I didn’t do it now, I’d still be wanting to do it in ten years’ time. I walked in off the street, got an interview at the college the following week and was offered a place on the spot with no portfolio to speak of. I absolutely loved it and finished with a distinction, but at times I experienced an almost crippling fear – fear of failing but also fear of being brilliant. What would happen to my world if I could actually shine at something?

Do any of us actually ‘get there’ and find that life? I think many people can and do. I certainly want to. To that end I’ve embarked on a quest to change my career and find work I love. It’s been a journey in itself even to begin, to regain a sense of value and empowerment. This blog is part of that beginning. In fact it’s one of my action points from the first of four career change workshops I’m attending at the Escape School (run by the brilliant Escape the City). There are so many people who grow up with expectations put on them that amount to jumping through a series of hoops – school, university, corporate job etc etc… a treadmill. So many of us live with unrealised dreams, and potential that we have progressively denied and squashed. As Seth Godin wrote in Tribes: We need you to lead us, ““Life’s too short” is repeated often enough to be a cliché, but this time it’s true. You don’t have enough time to be both unhappy and mediocre. It’s not just pointless, it’s painful. Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you ought to set up a life you don’t need to escape from.” 

There comes a point when you can no longer deny who you are, and you owe it to yourself to at least try to realise that person, and to allow yourself the full expression of your unique set of gifts and abilities. Anaïs Nin puts it so aptly, ‘And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom’. Here’s to blossoming.

© Alexandra Noel – All rights reserved. 8th October 2014.