“Tell me, where is the road I can call my own, that I left, that I lost so long ago? All these years I have wandered, tell me when will I know, there’s a way, there’s a road that will lead me home?” I distinctly remember singing these lyrics of Stephen Paulus’s “The Road Home” at a spring choral concert my freshman year of high school as the seniors in the department bid a tearful farewell to the family that had nurtured their love of music for four years. Little did I know, this very song would eventually serve as a powerful metaphor for my own journey back to the arts after making what seemed like a mature and rational decision: to appreciate them from afar upon my graduation from high school.
Most people who knew me in high school are generally aware of the fact that the arts played a fairly large role in my life. At any given time, I was most likely preparing for a choral performance, stressing about an audition, incurring (minor) injuries in musical rehearsal, or toting obscure items in my car for the sake of a chorus social. Despite the stress that this sometimes caused, participating in the arts filled me with a kind of confidence and vitality that I never believed I could have. Spending long hours perfecting complex musical phrases and difficult dance moves taught me to dedicate myself wholeheartedly to any task at hand. Delving into the beauty of each piece I performed taught me to embrace my humanity in all of its brokenness. Forging relationships before and after rehearsals taught me to see the best not only in others, but also in myself. Feeling breathless at the end of a performance taught me to cherish every moment of frustration and hardship that led to the final result. These lessons made me who I am today, and I know that I owe a great deal of my strength to my artistic experiences. In spite of this, I felt that my transition to college would leave little time for me to pursue one of my greatest passions. In order to make time for “more important” pursuits, I made the decision to leave the arts in my past, but in recent weeks, I’ve found it more and more difficult to imagine my future without them.
Although my college years are just beginning, I’ve reflected a great deal on my experience thus far. While I’m certainly enjoying my classes and making wonderful friends, I’ve felt a certain emptiness without an artistic outlet. I can’t help but feel more than a bit nostalgic when I hear a piece of familiar choral music or see pictures of my high school theater department preparing for an upcoming show. I feel a stifling envy when I hear friends talking about upcoming dance workshops that they’re attending. My stomach turns a little every time I pass the campus auditorium because I know that there’s a beautiful stage I have no plans of performing on any time soon. These feelings have led me to a very difficult, yet very important realization: the arts are an indispensable part of who I am. Pretending otherwise merely inhibits me from finding the person I hope to become.
So while my head tells me to push the arts aside and devote every waking hour to rigorous academics and other practical activities, my heart tells me to screw logic and devote at least some waking hours to doing what I love. I’m not exactly sure what this will look like yet, but I’m hoping it will mean a minor in a to-be-announced arts-related area. I would love nothing more than to study influential ideas about a fine art and put them into practice in new and challenging ways. Will this help me achieve my professional goals in the long term?Probably not. But will it anchor me in crucial character traits like discipline, creativity and perseverance? Most definitely. And what could be "more important" during these next four years than that?
Exploring the arts on my own enables me to see the world in a completely different way. Creating art with others enables us to achieve a certain level of vulnerability and empathy that isn’t easily found elsewhere. I urge you to look past logic and practicality and pursue at least one thing that enables you to become your most thoughtful, determined and compassionate self. Something that you just simply aren’t the same without. Something that makes you feel like you’ve found a home away from home.
As I turn back to my love for the arts after a (very brief) period of wandering, the final stanza of Paulus’s work means more than ever, and I hope that it will also resonate with you and inspire you to hold on to your passions no matter the cost: “There is no such beauty as where you belong. Rise up, follow me, I will lead you home.”
My most human fears, trials and aspirations have found a forever home in the arts. I couldn’t be more grateful to be on the road back.
