Once upon another time, we danced in the splashing colors of a fading sunset. Cloaked in pinks and yellows, we reveled in the our momentary kingdoms, made from flashes of sparklers and populated by our tri-colored imaginations. Our people bowed as we passed, all creatures safe from harm, and monsters vanquished by our radiant smiles.
Trilling yells, peals of laughter, and pattering of feet crafted a small humming beat that only we could hear. Melodies and nonsensical lyrics were added, providing a small glimpse into a world of freedom that only we could see.
Once upon another time, we hummed the simple song of childhood.
But songs change and life marches forward.
Once upon another time, our sparkling kingdoms were traded for things we could actually see. We had traded our clothes derived from sunbeams for outfits derived from outlet stores. Unchoreographed dancing for soft swaying. No longer did we hum with words unknown. Our murmuring of freedom and imaginary ideas had been swapped with soft, mumbled words of recognition. A mixture of dreams and reality, a volatile swirl of idealism characterized with a sharp tincture of actuality. Our monsters lost their transient visage and became outlined, a sketch of something almost real.
However, even as the song began to shift and new movements were added, even though we had lost our castles, we continued to sing of freedom, of imagination, of love.
Now, as we carefully place our feet on blacked out foot-shaped spaces, our song and dance has once again changed. Swaying has been exchanged for tentative waltzing, mumbling for singing, although not completely clear. At this stage of youth, we are cloaked in our armor, our easily exchanged defenses and beliefs against a world that is no longer colored by our imaginations. Monsters have become fully fleshed realities and the idealism of our younger years has taken on a new form.
We, now college-aged, have begun to walk the tightrope. A gentle swaying between a pool of what seem like unchangeable realities and our passions that drive us ever forward, in chorus with those who also walk the line. Sometimes our dancing causes us to tilt toward that abyss, feeling the warmth of the sunbeams becoming fires that slowly lick our heels. Other times, we waltz in the opposite direction, creating new ideas out of thin air, reveling in the world that inspires us, breaks us, and molds us together again.
It is at this stage of our song in which critics begin to question our motivations. Do they not see how their dancing is naive? How their movements cause no change? Can they not understand that their youth is only a folly, a type of idealism in itself?
In response, our steps only grow stronger, our chorus only grows louder. The world has forgotten that with youth, one is gifted the power to craft kingdoms, to dance without restrictions, to fully transform.
Once upon another time, we sang our songs uncertain. Now we sing our songs with pride. We strike fire with each step we walk. Our youth does not blind us. It does not hinder us. It empowers us.
We feel the passion of life pulse within us. We run our hands through the tendrils of opportunities and feel the heat of love and loss. We sing: Life is to be lived; to be burned. We now make kingdoms from the ashes left behind.
