An Icarian Dream
On the worth of aspiring beyond your years.
Someone recently asked me if it’s worth aspiring for something when you are too young for it. It’s not a matter of deserving it; rather, it’s not the usual course of time. I couldn’t articulate my thoughts then, as the complexity of “it” did not have a simple explanation. But then, I recalled a boy who carried a similar “it” within him.
It was the spark in his soul, whispering the heights that he had yet to conquer. It was the warmth that promised freedom and euphoria. It was his dream, the fire in his heart and the light that danced in his eyes as he ascended. It was the invisible wind beneath his wings, guiding him towards his destiny.
It was the fragile hope that bound his wings, yearning to touch the heavens, if only for a fleeting moment. The sea watched his audacity and daring spirit, bearing witness to his ascent. It was the calmness in the storm’s eye, a peace that came from embracing the inevitable. It was the bittersweet realization that some dreams are worth the rise and the fall.
It was the essence in his legacy, the proof that he had truly lived and not just existed. For in that glorious ascent, he was everything and nothing—all at once. In that truth, fully aware of the fragility of his wings, he was eternal.
“It” is Icarian. He was Icarus.