The Last of Us and Finding Purpose

In struggling to return to writing, I have to ask myself why I do it. As I have gotten older, I assumed it was because it’s something I have always done. Now, it was time to get paid to do it and try to reach the widest audience possible. I started to believe in the commodification of writing. I am realizing that I was wrong.

That’s never why I wrote before, so why should I start now? No, this isn’t some claim to hope that I am destined to be someone who is unappreciated in their own time. I don’t give a shit about that. For such a long time, I was driven to keep cranking up the heat without ever checking if the pilot light had gone out.

Even as I sit down to write this, it’s about finding my way back to something I now think I lost. I never necessarily lost my zeal for writing. I always loved sitting down and letting the words pour out. Even when I’ve felt pressure to meet expectations like at work or in my wedding vows, it nearly always has an invigorating effect (writing also makes me want to die, but there’s no need to unpack that right now). For a long time though, I have written non-fiction. Specifically, criticism. This is where that two-headed monster – money and relevancy – rears its head again. It’s not that I am done aiming for either of those things. But in exploring actually getting better as this writing thing, finding something worth saying, and maybe along the way figuring out my own brain, those two things can’t define my writing anymore. I can’t be frozen in time because I didn’t get a piece out when everyone was talking about the show that just hit Netflix.

I can point to one moment in time that I’ll never get back. One that I think that has been the cause of paralysis around my writing for the last six or so months. The Last of Us television show premiered earlier this year. I was certain I wanted to write about it. Then I never got around to finishing the game, so I abandoned the initial piece I wanted to write about the parallels between the adaptation and its source. But I still watched the show. I had this fleeting thought as that season finale wound through its scorched earth end that the most precious thing in this entire world was a girl. That thought has been stuck in my head since I had it. Not because I am certain its true. Not even because I know what it means. But precisely because I am not certain and I don’t know. As I sit here months later, I can still interrogate the thought. But I can’t get that feeling back. So why did I let it go? I don’t know. There isn’t a good reason. I am a perfectionist. If I do something, I want to do it right. (I can hear my grandpa burning this into my brain right now, which had never occurred to me until this moment, so I am also going to leave that alone for now). But I couldn’t get it perfect. I couldn’t figure out the angle to write about the show. Then the moment passed. Everybody moved onto Succession just like I had.

And I left it on the shelf until months later (about a month ago now) where I tried valiantly once again to conjure something around that thought. I never got there and I abandoned it again. It’s emblematic of what writing has been like for me for years now. In a lot of phases of life, I struggle to get out of my own way but none more prevalent and mind-numbingly frustrating than this one.

So, let me make that attempt – on the fly – here one last time. When the finale for The Last of Us aired, it inspired a conversation not dissimilar to that when the game first came out. The discussion around the ethics of what Joel did in that hospital (and lying to Ellie afterward). I found myself avoiding that question altogether. Not because it isn’t a worthwhile question or even one that can be talked about endlessly. But that it’s perhaps the least interesting question about the situation. It’s not a question of should. Joel did it. He can’t undo it. So, perhaps the better question is ‘who does that make Joel now he has gone to these lengths to make sure Ellie survived?’ and ‘how does their relationship continue to evolve or devolve based on a lie?’ The latter is a hypothetical question, so it’s likely even less interesting than the original ‘should or shouldn’t’ because it can’t be answered by anything other than posturing. But that first question. That’s one you can answer. And it’s one that won’t depend on which school of ethics you believe.

I realized that the fleeting thought of ‘the most precious thing in the world is a girl’ was an incorrectly attributed one. In that finale, there’s a moment where Ellie pets a giraffe upon seeing one for the first time. That’s a real giraffe that Bella Ramsey reaching out for in that scene. There’s a natural playfulness from them in that moment that broke me open. With each successive episode, The Last of Us often felt a descent further into the heart of darkness. There are moments in that show where you hold your breath certain that you are about witness something else that is guaranteed to destroy you. Then Bella has the ability to pull you out of that hole in a moment’s notice. It’s not just the playfulness but even the tenderness with which they approach the darkest moments of the show. It wasn’t a girl that was the most precious thing in the world. It was life, feeling, and humanity. Maybe it’s also because Bella identifies as non-binary that guided me to where I was in that moment. It’s not a secret that humans are horrific creatures. We are also built with a remarkable amount of resiliency. In that resiliency is a light that shines. Bella Ramsey tapped into that light throughout her performance in that first season of The Last of Us. It’s the kind of artistry that makes me grateful to exist.

That artistry is the place I am trying to find. That’s why I write. It’s why I have always believed in the power of writing. There’s not a direct analogy between an actor’s performance and my own writing. But that act of capturing life, finding ways to understand it like you never did before, and approaching it all with a curiosity and love that grows each day. That’s the feeling that keeps me coming back for more. I forgot that. I am terrified I am destined to lose it again. But this exercise in trying to find it again isn’t just cathartic, it is life-affirming.