*Realize that this essay calls for extended length, thus the "extended" before "essay". There is no recommended length for UChicago's extended essay, and most accepted extended essays had around 750-1200 words. Also, if you do intend on reading this, please please please do not just say it was "nice" or "good", or that you "liked it", I won't believe you, nothing is perfect, what really shows you liked it is that you payed attention in critiquing it all the way through, and that's what I really am asking for, genuine criticism. Say pretty much anything, as long as it's not simply hate for no purpose towards constructive criticism, you won't break my heart if you say something bad about it, well, maybe just a little, but still, go to town on it. Thanks!*
Since 1987, in the United Kingdom, people have been searching for Waldo’s primogenitor, Wally, however, our search for “Waldo” really began ever since we developed a degree of sentience and rationality centuries ago. The American version of Wally, Waldo, dons a red and white candy stripped long sleeve, a bobble hat, and a pair of blue jeans, with a ardent affinity for backpacking and time travel. With his iconic and magical walking stick in hand, he travels to majestic castles and ruins, on a journey not yet named nor realized, and yet, somehow, Waldo always loses focus, and gets caught up in the immense crowd of characters, of which span two full pages of sublime color and activity. Suffice to say, this makes our childhood barbershop pole a rarity among all the faces and bodies of knights, astronauts, cavemen, and dragons. Truly, one might find a day at ye barber shop of olde, letting blood with the help of the all too grateful leech, less tedious than finding good old Waldo and his cast of companions that join him in his adventurous endeavors, such as his friend Wenda, his nefarious reciprocal Odlaw, furry friend Woof, the mystic Wizard Whitebeard, and even a red and white shirt toting fan club.
As children, searching for these near indiscernible entities provided countless hours of twiddling our eyes searching for that classic puff ball hat, or that sly and duplicitous dog tail, however, what was more enjoyable, searching thorough the zany crowd of times past, or actually finding Waldo and friends? When sifting though the masses of comical characters, that perform absurd acts, convey universal emotions, and tell magnificent tales without uttering a single word, we giggle, and understand things on an incommunicable level. We learn that some things are not always as they seem, and that there are astounding and magical microcosms in that seemingly massive two page spread, yet, when we do find Waldo, if we ever do, what’s usually left to do is simply flip the page and leave some of the oddities of that two page universe undiscovered. As depressing as that may sound, there are many Waldos to be found on the other side of the page, and in each of the numerous Where’s Waldo? books.
With all this exposition out of the way, one might beg the question, “How does a diluted and callow version of the more sophisticated word search hold anything which may constitute meaning in the grand scheme of things?”, well, the answer proves to be quite simple, just as this book series appears to be at first glance. Our own individual journeys carry much synonymity with our desire to discover Waldo. We strive for purpose, and have many goals, and after attaining these goals, we lose purpose, and must find new feats to strive for. Just like when we find Waldo, we turn the pages of life after reaching a certain personal milestone, ending that scene and its contents, whether they are like bizarre fairy tales or sandy bazaars, going on to another chapter, another two fold spread, to search for our new, current, Waldo. It may take a paltry seconds to uncover our red and white sly guy, or an entire lifetime. We may be searching for love, for a soul mate, for a Wenda, for romance or companionship, or maybe the perfect career, a certain lifestyle, fame, fortune, or justice. We may be searching for Woof, some sort of barely noticeable uncharted ruin or a minute natural phenomena, literal or abstract. We may be searching for Wizard Whitebeard, for mystery, magic, and the ethereal, for a higher being, a God, or to answer the simply difficult question of “Why?”. Or we may be looking for trouble, for an Odlaw, for someone to debate with or conquer, to lock horns with, for our polar opposite, maybe even the puzzle piece that will fit our own. Whatever our aims encompass, we shall always search for our friendly red and white striped pal, there will be the apexes and the nadirs, times when we find him with celerity, at the snap of our fingers, or times where everything seems to just fall apart and we simply fail to find Waldo, we are unable to realize a goal, and must turn the page on it or double the effort.
For some, the Waldo they seek proves to be quite vague, and for me, this rings true. I know I have some sort of desire or motivation, something to strive for, yet, the future is quite blurry, and I can’t quite grasp this silky phantom of a Waldo. What am I looking for? What do I want? Sometimes, these questions are the hardest to genuinely answer. As an aspiring writer, possibly one that constructs novels, or one who writes columns for newspapers (I’m not even certain on what sort of writing I want to do), I see the demands and ideologies of my time, and frankly, the creative types come up short in the eyes of the majority as unsuccessful dreamers, wearing rose colored lenses, who are too lazy to become lawyers, doctors, or engineers, and instead lay around on the sofa, spouting paradoxical philosophical ideas that perpetually come up unanswerable, instead of getting their degree from Harvard Law or Yale, like they obediently should. Instead of reading a novel by George Orwell or an essay by Nietzsche , or contemplating obscure thoughts on the symbolism behind “Where’s Waldo?”, they drop their skill, craft, ability, or passion, after much subtle coercion from society, which whispers in their ears, telling them there is no benefit to be found in art or creativity in any realm, making the potential Cicero, or even a future Martin Handford, become a droll CEO or municipal waste worker. Nowadays, there must be a certain pedigree for success, or a certain equation to follow, frolicking jovially away towards creativity is a no no, and failure is the brand of the dunce and untouchable. One must attend the best school. One must get the proper grades. One must follow orders. One must not disobey. One must obtain the desired end, success, at all costs, with great efficiency and speed. I believe this is a completely ludicrous and outlandish idea. If one finds Waldo, on each two page spread of the book, instantaneously, utterly disregarding the other characters and sceneries as tomfoolery, as just a pathetic diversion from the ordained path towards success, then they are truly misguided and miserable creatures. “Where’s Waldo” isn’t about finding him, it’s about the search, the hardships of frustration and the joys of seeing colorful characters along the way. This scouring creates who we are and what we represent as individuals, and frankly, I’d rather be known for a poem or story I’ve written, than be another person who’s nametag reads their GPA. Yes, I’d prefer tangible academic success over failure, however, if I learned and flourished intellectually more through failure, then I’d gladly take a B+ over an A, I’d gladly develop creativity and new ideas browsing a “Where’s Waldo?” book during Pre-Calculus class if it meant that I would better myself (not to say that I ever would defer Pre Calculus for a children’s book…hyperbole…you get the picture).
I suppose what I am trying to say is that my Waldo is to be as much of myself as I can be. I want to read, write, and create. I want to learn all I can feasibly handle, without the constraints of a predestined track of what is success and failure or right and wrong. I want to do what I love and I want to be appreciated for it. My Waldo is to prove that success isn’t based upon a formula or numbers and letters on a spreadsheet. My Waldo is to not become another lawyer living the lie of current justice, but to become a writer, fighting for my viewpoints, ideas, and morals. I hope my journey to find him proves to be long, bountiful, and well spent. I hope I find my Wenda sometime, so we can read poems together while drinking coffee and roasting chestnuts on an open fire. Whether I become renowned writing about individuality and the mind, or am stuck as a homeless person writing limericks on toilet paper, I know where my dream lies. Always remember, Waldo is directly in front of you, really.
