I’ve always looked back at my kindergarten self with a degree of reverence. I would come home every day with stacks of written stories and coloring pages. Vibrantly creative and viciously feisty, I was a natural disaster in a 3-foot-tall body. A pink-clad force to be reckoned with.
The world felt like a completely different place then. I remember vividly how my five senses blended a little. Fancy neighboring apartments sang arias, my dad’s lullaby sounded like a sea of goldfish, the shower tiles looked like the Greek gods I knew from my picture books. I miss how cupcakes in bakery windows and thunder at the swimming pool filled me with wonder.
I still call college students “kids.” Saying “the man in my lecture” sounds so much more bizarre and frightening to me than “the kid in my lecture.” Maybe that’s just what I’m used to linguistically, but I still feel reluctant to let go of my childhood. It’s uncomfortable knowing that we’re not kids anymore, and I’m never going to view the world from the same colorful, textured, musical perspective that I had back then.
As I transition into adulthood, one of my greatest fears is that the unique qualities that defined me throughout my youth will fade. I’m hesitant to replace my flip flops with high heels.
What now? When in doubt, I’ll defer to the only inspirational wall quote that’s ever truly stuck with me. Robin Williams said, “You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”
I often get the sense that at Northwestern, creative careers are viewed as less worthy of respect than their STEM or corporate counterparts. The push for reputability and maturity can alienate valuable pieces of ourselves deemed too childish to squander our time on. It bothers me how dense numbers are viewed as serious, while expression is seen as self-indulgent and frivolous.
I’m not advocating for everyone to pursue a creative career, but I believe that individuality, the kind that thrived in us as children, is undervalued in the adult world. Everyone should make a conscious effort throughout their life to nurture the creativity and sense of amazement that sustained their childhood, both for their own satisfaction and to keep the world colorful.
My dad’s creativity surfaces when he improves melodies on his guitar. My mom’s sense of whimsy emerges when she grows vegetables from seeds. And that’s why I began writing this column — I want to ensure that my spark of madness doesn’t flicker into ash.
We need to find ways to keep our voices alive, to nurture the kindergartners within us. The ones still playing in the dirt and scrawling on a page.
Allie Deutsch is a Medill first-year and author of “Two Cents.” She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.
