Paint Me As the Sky: A Letter to Rush

Written: August 15, 2o21

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Paint Me as the Sky

I am not normal.

Don’t you dare label me beige.

I am no paint swatch

you can just throw away.

My spirit is bright,

a color beautiful to behold.

Lollipop yellow, no even more bold.

Closer to a periwinkle as perfect as the sky.

Don’t you have a clue, I could never be so cut and dry.

Not a squash brown.

Nor a color to bring you down.

My inner flame as passionate as the fire in a tiger's eyes

So no,

I am not normal.

I couldn’t be labeled that if I tried.

My precocious pansy purple radiates from inside

You’re walls my colors too will cover,

because soon enough you’ll discover,

I’ll never be a paint swatch

You can just throw away.

It can be assumed that the hope of every writer, student, and human in general is to accumulate a wealth of knowledge from life's mistakes and moments, which in turn grant insight into future endeavors. Such blossoming would imply the leaving behind of what was used to create the "new", whether that be idea or self completely.

The poem above directly entirely contradicts this idea of leaving the past behind out of necessity personal growth from such moments. A piece written nearly three years ago, at a point where the words were more so formalities for an assignment than punch-you-in-the-face inspirational phrases, turn out to perfectly encompass the message of this past week I have attempted to relay to the 17 girls I mentored:

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"Girls, I don't know what this morning will hold, but I do know your worth is not going to be based on the colors you wear Sunday but on the goodness of your hearts and the kindness you show others. Please remember you are loved and always enough."

These sincere yet hollow-feeling words left my mouth in nearly a stutter as I passed around paint swatches addressed to each girl I was tasked to lead this week. Each one a sightly different shade of the rainbow, but all relaying the same message; everyone had a different color that matches their "vibe", but at the end of the day it's not the color that matters but the name on the paper and who that person truly is. We are not defined by what color we wear on bid day but on the person we become within that house.

16 sets of shimmering, naive, false-eyelash-covered eyes reflected pleads of fright and the seeking of compassion from my sunburnt shoulders, which felt as though they carried the weight of the 16 worlds circling me.

17. It was 17 girls in my circle on that first day where I introduced "the paint swatch idea", but the release call I had made just 30 minutes prior to this morning's meeting had humbled me down one sorority-seeking soul. The remaining poppy-red paint swatch in my sweaty palm reminded me of the weight of the week.

The absence of the "class clown" in our morning circle was felt with a heavier tone than I expected from my remaining 16 girls. In all honesty, I expected somewhat of a relief to fill their minds, knowing it wasn't their phones that had rung at 6:00 a.m. asking them not to return to the row because no house had extended an invitation back. However, their silence drained any morsel of thrill from the air. They hurt for the girl that was released in a deeper way than they rejoiced in the thrill of returning for a third recruitment round.

9 deep, flat rings of Denny's chimes echoed across the row, and it was only the hairspray filled locks atop the 16 heads around me that moved as we awaited phones to buzz with information on sisterhood round schedules.

My helpless, optimistic self could merely pray that schedules would be returned to my girls as they had hoped, leaving me tear free. However, realistic me understood the only hope is that my stupid paint swatch they had each stuffed at the bottoms of their bags would one day resurface at just the right moment and remind them no matter where they go, they are always enough.

***

As the piece from my senior year of high school explains, our worth is not based on the outward appearance we portray nor the labels others lay onto our skin. Rather, the power granted by our true worth is founded in the contents of our souls; the small, thankless acts we complete simply because we can, the smile we offer strangers, the sincere hug, the confidence we exude onto others when courage lacks.

Our definition of success is not based on any color, size, gender, or way of thinking we possess, but rather on the characteristics we live by. No two people are alike, and for that no two beings can be expected to have the same "colors". Just as my 16 girls found, no two young women went to the same sorority house because no two found common interests in the larger aspects of chapters, e.i. philanthropic interests, social expectations, hometown connections, etc.

Although my group specifically found their "colors" differed, they each located a single house that met their color's "vibe", allowing them to find a place that could push them to become their truest selves in the coming years in areas which touched their hearts.

And as my senior year's poem professes, the worth in our color is not a power to be underrated. We are all unique, presenting every life we enter with the qualities we possess. We need not forget the importance of who we are in the process of comparing our colors to others.

So, I end this drawn out metaphor with a request from those participating in recruitment, whether that be from inside or outside a house, as a parent, or even as an alumni writing letters of recommendation, please don't allow yourself or those around you to forget the worth in their unique color. Every girl has a house that is perfect for the color pallet they portray, so long as each girl remembers the importance of being unique and being yourself throughout the week.

The color of your bid day jersey does not dictate your worth, you are loved and always enough, no matter where you run home to.