We’re college kids. Our day begins at 10:00pm. We’re spontaneous, emotional, sleep-deprived specimens of university academia. We respond to T-shirt giveaways, free Wifi, and complementary food. You can bank on the fact that we will refer to our professors by last name, to each other by nickname, and to our academic buildings by abbreviation. If we had our way, working out would be easier, failing a class would be harder, and our right to vote would decide actual matters of national importance, like the selection of the patron saint of Netflix and Ramen. 11:59pm deadlines would become a thing of the past, and real jobs would become a thing of the future.
I am one of them. I play tag in airports, hide and seek in the DMV, and I’m a firm believer that pretending not to understand English in grocery store check-out lines can make for an unforgettable experience. Before “rebellious” is a term loosely slapped upon our reputations (one we would welcome, given the fact that university students regularly allow ‘rebel’ a rare positive connotation), I’d encourage you to recall the last time you played. When was the last time you can admit that you fully shunned your schedule full of screaming priorities and unchecked societal boxes, swapped your tie for your running shoes, and played? Had fun without a reason to stop?
My father would arrive home from work and take my brother and I to the park. He’d load the trunk of our car with baseball gloves, tennis rackets, basketballs, footballs, soccer balls, and frisbees, and two hours later we’d arrive back at home, dirty and laughing and alive. Our washing machine paid the price for our filth-ridden clothing, but our personalities reaped the benefits of activity-facilitated smiles. Somehow, that time was replaced with societal insecurity, agendas, and questions that concern my future instead of my present. To this day, I wish more of the dark circles under my young eyes came from baseballs I didn’t see, than from deadlines I saw far in advance. All of those things have their place. But they will never belong in the creases of my face reserved for my smile.
This is not, nor will it ever be, an attempt to postpone what I only hope will be an impactful future in a world that desperately needs real work, especially in a depleted sector of Catholic influence. This is a plea to never, ever allow your head to hit the pillow without once leaving what you have to do for what you want to do. Steal from the list of things you know you’ll regret never accomplishing, and get it done.
Genuine play: side effects include authentic happiness and a renewed understanding of the difference between identity and activity.
College kids have a lot to learn; we certainly don’t have everything figured out, as evidenced by the fact that we still spend hours a day scribbling notes in major-specific classrooms. One thing we absolutely understand? How to play. We know how to have fun. They say that if you can survive your entire life without losing that spark of fun, then the world will be a better place for it.
“Spark”? Please. We’re setting the world on fire. And sometimes, ourselves.
