A LETTER TO FUTURE GENERATIONS
4Humanities Shout Out for the humanities , 2nd Prize Winner!
CHARLYNNE CATHER 4HUMANITIES SHOUT OUT CONTEST
“Childhood ambitions don’t make good careers.” That’s what they told me. They told me I could just do that in my free time. They told me it was a hobby, not a skill. They told me it wasn’t worth anything. They would look the other direction; divert their eyes. “Oh.” They told me. But what they meant to tell me, “There’s no future in that.” But let me tell you something that they didn’t tell me. It’s so much more than just words. It’s not just about the career. It’s not just about the money. It’s not just about your future. It’s about what was, about what lived, about what breathed. It’s about what will be, what should be, what could be. What it gives to you is worth so much more than what they told me. Let me tell you what I’ve learned; what I’ve experi- enced; what I’ve come to know. It’s a fragile art, so gentle as a whisper that cracks in the wind. It’s the leaves that beckon the wind or wait to be carried away. It’s the leaves that hope to soar as wild as the air does turn. It’s the clouds of wildflowers breaking with the wind. They all crowd to the top of the hill to be lifted off their feet. Rooted, they bleakly watch the leaves dance down below in the valley, carried off to the rhythm of the wind. This scene may be quiet and hard to find, But let me tell you something, the gift you have will deliver you there. It’s the secret an artist delicately hides on the canvas between the shadow of the barren tree, crippled by age and bad fortune and the tombstone where its bet- ter years were laid to rest. There’s a secret buried there only you and I are skilled to see. On the crook of a sinister branch, twisted curi- ously towards the moon, reaches a seed to the most beautiful flower. Its hopes are tossed in the wind. No
one knows how it got there, but only you, I, and the artist know where it’s going. You are able to paint the destination vibrantly in your mind. It’s the broken heart, erupting into pieces, exploding from my chest, searching for anywhere else to be. Longing to be heard, not silenced, it falls to the page. Splattering blues, violets, fuchsias, and maroons across the page, shaping itself into words. Colors you’ve never seen, will never see; colors you can’t de- scribe, but damn it, you can feel them. You feel my heart resting, exhausted. You see me at my weakest. Barely breathing, but held together by the strings of a vision. Now with your eyes, you can see that vision, too. I laugh. Relieved to have it out of my chest. You cry. We both cry. You look everywhere for answers, be- cause no matter what, you can’t shake this feeling. It’s contagious. It’s poisonous. It stings, but most of all, it’s nurturing. You want it there because you know, a feeling like this is as random as a treasure found at the bottom of the ocean. As rare as a seedling among darkness. It’s the music of your soul, pouring into the ocean. Each note, each key, each beat. Each rhythm mov - ing along to the waves, conducted under the might of your hands. You tell it where to go, when to stop, when to pick up. Only the musician knows the song it’s playing. We all hear it, but only you and I know how it feels. What you see and feel and hear may be different, but what you know to be true is what defines your prac - tice. Please listen to me, here’s what I want you to know. It’s every smile you see, every tear you witness, every drumming rhythmic laugh you hear, every heart you touch, every heart that touches you. Because, without the study of humanities, humanity itself would cease to exist. Your skill may not be worth it to them, but to me it means all the world. It’s important that you do it. That you use it and that you never let it go; never let it wilt; never let it stop beating.
“Childhood ambitions don’t make good careers.”
That’s what they told me.
Arts & Humanities
Don’t Leave College Without Them
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker