Summer of Interlochen

We were confined to four invisible walls: nature, creativity, nurturance of ability, and mandatory knee socks. These walls were called Interlochen, Center for the Arts, and within resided a cornucopia of culture, passion, and imagination. We came from all over the world: from Namibia to Iceland, California, Australia... yet despite the differences - as a cabin-mate from Poland turns to me, eyebrow raised, and inquires: "What means pee-pee?" - we shared a common goal. We all possessed a certain drive toward cultivating talent, whether we worked with our hands, our bodies, or our minds. Despite four walls confining us, we gamboled from hall to hall, through the forest, by the lakes, searching for a sense of self, for meaning in our art, for perfection in our work. We had dreams. Big dreams. In a place where everyone was so different, where there existed abound individualism, we were uninhibited. We all possessed that same passion.

Music wafts through the air from morning until night, as if an opus has replaced the singing of the birds. On my way to class, my shoulder bag beats out time against my hip. There are watercolor paints in the grass, and at lunchtime, the musical theatre majors burst into an impromptu performance of Orphan Annie’s "Hard Knock Life." I lie supine in the grass, laptop propped on my stomach. A Macedonian cellist croons in a language that I do not understand. I stare directly into the sun and listen. I am inspired.