icarus reborn

was he a fool?

hiiii—come closer, sit. warm your hands a bit. this feels more like a story meant for firelight, not fluorescent bulbs. i watched a video on Dee.’s story yesterday, and it’s been sitting in my chest ever since.

it said:

“you didn’t search for this video, it found you.

do you remember why you started?

the test was never the fall —

it was whether you would get up and stand again.

you were built for this, icarus.

God works in those who refuse to stop.

it’s all on the line.

relentless pursuit.

icarus reborn.”

and it made me think.

i’ve always wondered what real ambition looks like, because it feels like i’m a little off—maybe even way off the mark

so let’s take icarus.

he was trapped with his father, daedalus, who carved wings from wax and feathers so they could escape. the rules were simple: don’t fly too low or the sea spray will ruin the feathers, and don’t fly too high or the sun will melt the wax.

icarus agreed.

at first.

but then he felt the sun on his face.

the wind in his hair.

and in that moment, the warning stopped sounding like protection and started sounding like possibility. the instructions— the safety net — turned into his trampoline only propelling him higher. the sky wasn’t an escape route anymore—it was an invitation. he realized he could climb simply because the sky existed. so he did.

he wanted the sun so badly he dared to reach for it.

he flew too high.

the wax melted.

he fell.

tell me—if that isn’t ambition, what is?

he knew the danger. maybe he whispered, “but… what if not?” maybe it was greed. and maybe i’m greedy too, because i’m fascinated by people who hang their whole life on a thin what-if thread. how do they trust something that fragile? aren’t they terrified it might snap? what if they fall straight into the sea?

why not just play it safe?

maybe because, for them—for me—playing it safe feels like mediocrity. but i’m terrified of flying too high. terrified that the wax on my own patched-together wings will soften. terrified of being burned before i even reach anything worth touching.

some people have wings that look real—strong, white, unburnable. they juggle school and work and friendships effortlessly, like the altitude never changes the air around them. i look up to them from below, mine feel… held together. stitched. unstable.

so i stay on the middle path, like daedalus said. not too high, not too low. safe. steady. survivable.

but i still want more.

the sun calls anyway. it always does. i breathe in the air down here and wonder what the world smells like from a height i’ve never reached. i wonder what everything looks like above the treeline.

and still, fear holds me down. fear always holds me down. it tells me that one wrong move could cost everything.

unlike icarus, who forgot he was escaping, i think my goal has always been the sun. but my wings feel fake—wax-stuck and trembling. what happens if they burn? what happens if i fall?

but that video said the test wasn’t the fall. it was getting up afterward.

so i keep thinking… what if icarus could swim? what if he hit sand instead of sea? would he try again? i think he would. he was reckless, yes, but he knew exactly what he wanted.

God works in those who refuse to stop.

that part stuck with me.

icarus reborn, it said.

and then there’s me.

i don’t think i’m that great.

i know i won’t stop—but is that enough for God to work in me? am i really putting everything on the line? am i willing to be consumed by what i want? has my pursuit been “relentless”?

some texts say icarus was happy as he fell— laughing, some say he wailed his father's name asking for help. whichever one it was i think he achieved his goal or at least got close enough it could burn him, sending him out like a fallen star.

"oh what a privilege it is to suffer from something you once prayed so hard for"

maybe it is, maybe that's why icarus was so happy, because regardless of the consequences, he got what he wanted and i think that's cool.

most people say icarus was stupid. well I think he was just human. willing to give everything, all of him for what he wanted.

“he should’ve listened.”

“he shouldn’t have wanted.”

but that’s it, isn’t it? want.

i said before that wanting is human. i’m not saying you should burn for it, or become icarus entirely. his ambition came without caution, and that’s both inspiring and insane.

you should weigh your risks.

but you also shouldn’t carry wings and never test the air.

wanting is human.

but how do you approach it? how do you make sure your effort lifts you instead of setting you on fire? how do you satisfy that thirst for more? do you dive toward the flames? do you stay low and drown? or do you hover forever in the middle?

maybe it's not about the wings, but about the courage. the courage to taste higher wind. to soar above the clouds, to take that leap even if you're being held by a what-if thread, because what if it works out? what if you don't burn? what if you make it? you'll never know unless you try.

from now on, i’ll try to be a little bit like icarus. not to destroy myself, but to tilt toward the sun—just enough to see what the sky might offer. just enough to rise above mediocre, even if the wax trembles.

i hope i can.