Scratch that, this week has been rough.
After some rough months.
I mean this all in the completely first-world sense, mind. Emotionally rough would be a better description, considering I'm not scrambling for food to eat or clothes to wear or shelter to live under.
There's just College and Jobs and Money and Scholarships and Somehow Finish High School and Things I Want and Things I Need and what if the two can't both happen?
In times like this, when I'm crying over songs that remind me of the college I love and can't afford or over pictures of people I love in a place far away and things I'm missing...
I just want to go to that Technicolor world...
|Robin Hood & Marian Fitzwalter in the 1938 Robin Hood|
It's not just the trappings of it, what makes it a fun flight of fancy, but it's the virtues at the core, where you are just courageous and good-hearted and know how to laugh at yourself. It is carefree, but it's not fluffy. It's a good, solid, strong world of bright color: the Robin Hood legend.
But then I think.
I looked at and fell in love with this wonderful world, but then I wrote about this boy:
And she rejected him. Betrayed him.
He let her. He went back to the man who broke him. He lost someone he loved. He thought he would die. He thought he had failed her.
But in the end, he showed her what what Love was--who Love was. She saw the Truth and she finally accepted it.
Their story didn't end there, of course--his story didn't end. More trials came, but through more trials, more beauty.
There's nothing wrong with the legend of Robin Hood how it is--it is inspiring, and I still love it dearly. But writing and discovering my Robin's life (for he is the boy) I've discovered more beauty then I ever encountered in the stories I love.
I think of this, and then I think of that good, brightly-colored world of the original legend and I remember how his--Robin Hood, man of legend--story ends. He's murdered. If he had done less, said less, been less, his story wouldn't have ended like that. But the way it ended was worth it because of the things he did.
Just as my Robin's life was worth it because it made him who he is.
Just as my relatively small troubles are worth it because they're preparing me for who I am to become--and what I am to write.
Because if I lived in the world of The Adventures of Robin Hood, I don't think I would have ever told my Robin's story.
And I wouldn't give up that experience for the world.