I know of no better life purpose than to perish in attempting the great and the impossible”
― Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
We laugh at Icarus. We laugh at his audacity to think he can fly, to think he can coat his wings with sticky wax and jet for the stars.
Dreamers like Icarus are served up on dinner tables as objects of our collective ridicule. Their misguided ambition, the sheer audacity to think they can look god in the face, stokes a flame of jealousy we choose to douse with laughter.
And you can’t blame us. We come from a place where standing out, or even daring to dream, painted a glistening bullseye on your back. The flap of young, unfettered wings is a threat to us, the elders who were too scared to leap off the porch.
To us, Icarus is a spit in our collective faces. Because hidden beneath the ridicule is a sobering acknowledgement that we let time happen to us. We let fear shrink our horizons to that which is familiar, to only the things we can reach.
Icarus and his wings of wax represent the child who we once told, “I will do everything to put you in your place,” but refused to listen to us. He is the opposite of us, the ones who clipped their own wings to fit in.
So now, as we gaze upon the figure of Icarus making his way towards the sun, and the rays from the blinding light obscure our vision, our collective heart rates spike. Our laughter slowly fades into a worrying scowl.
Icarus is getting closer to the sun.
His winged silhouette now casts a massive shadow on our table. The laughter has given way to an eerie silence.
…
Icarus peers into the surface of the sun. It is beautiful. It is something no one he knows has ever seen.
For a brief moment, Icarus thinks about the elders. The ones who followed him everywhere with a bell, chanting memento mori.
How he wishes the elders could see through his eyes, to feel the warmth of the sun on his face, to relish the blissful ambience of soaring between clouds of rain.
But the moment is brief; the waxed wings are starting to melt. A calm essence comes over Icarus as he starts his fall.
…
When Icarus lands on our table, he has a single tear in his left eye and a smile on his face. My nervous chuckle drowns in the sea of laughter that breaks the silence once again.
As I sit back down, I feel a solemn sense of pride in Icarus. Love him or hate him, I watched Icarus all the way. That’s all I could do.
“Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?”
― Hunter S. Thompson
