The Wake

My friend Moxy loves the taste of Opera in her mouth. She took a course this past semester to further tickle her tonsils. She has no delusions of ever becoming a famous Opera singer, herself. She believes only in the pure experience and practice of the art for enjoyment. However, the conundrum that has
roosted on her laugh lines recently is this: that indulging in an art personally, without aspiration, is impractical and unnecessary. To her, Opera is a beautiful waste of time, but it is that word - beauty’ that has plagued her mind. Shouldn’t she forget her ridiculous fantasies and think realistically? From
that ever-expanding heart of hers, she has arrived at the conclusion that without self-sacrifice, there can be no progress in the world.

“There are so many people out there suffering, how is my singing going to help them? How is art without social connections, political affiliations, or a ‘statement’ meaningful? How can beauty ever be considered legitimate in practice?” I couldn’t answer her immediately.

I grasped at that moment. This exchange had stunned time still. To me, that is beauty. Beauty is the pure moments that holistically engulf us, moments when every inch of the universe is accounted for and aligned with every last cell and breath in our being. Beauty is like losing your virginity, gaining
your driver’s license, turning 21, or any of those other “firsts” that hit record highs and lows on the
Richter scale of life. In my definition of beauty, there is no box or packaging whatsoever.

Moxy didn’t agree. I rose to defend beauty and its bastard child, the arts, with a vengeance. I am not an ‘Arts’ major, but there I was, clawing tooth and nail in defense of an ideal that I didn’t even realize I believed in.

You see folks, it’s those little moments of beauty that keep me from jumping off the Washington Avenue bridge. I believe life is a gift. Yes, I could have been born in this country or the next, unable to focus on anything other than starvation. Yes, I realize that the world runs on a fuel called money and that I need some, everyone does. Yes, I do understand that I am blessed and that I shouldn’t take my comforts for granted. But these are not reasons for stagnation, nor should they contain who I am or where my pleasures lie.

Instead, it is beauty, whether deriving from nature, a pronounced purpose, or that meaningless goop of a thing we call the mind that inspires us to propagate the species. So that one day our future generations can look at the style of a house, a Van Gogh, or that one, gnarly tree in the public park and realize that, “yeah, this IS worth it.” Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. So take the time to tease out that battered song and love every minute of it. All work and no play should never become the American way.