I suffer from Tunnel Vision
A cool English name to attract attention? Maybe. But that's exactly how I realized that I had lived from January to the moment I laid my butt on a lawn in Trentino. Everything around me has regained boundaries, very clear, falling on me from the top drawer where it was closed.
Welcome back Among the Notes, a real pleasure to return here after 2 months of break, to continue to tell what it means on a personal and professional level, to create a company at 30 years old, Open.
Oh yes, at 30 years old, and this is precisely one of the objects of heavy and sharp thoughts that fell into my head when I went on vacation, but now we are getting there.
Let's start with the fact that since I've been working, I've been suffering from summer vacation. But wait and comment, not in the kickback sense of the term, but because with the Italian concept of vacation, I find it an obligation to submit to more than a pleasure: for two weeks everything stops, what if I don't want to? It's your turn anyway.
How do you have to overpay for a deckchair on a crowded and certainly not Caribbean beach because of the social status to which I belong, in order to finally disconnect.
Unplug? It is said to work like this,
but not for me.
Returning to Tunnel Vision, a Metaphor Borrowed in Verses Caparezziane with which he shied away from society's standards of entertainment, in my case the first 6 months of Open, made my peripheral vision fogged up:
I just saw the next thing to do.
Instead, I put on the sidelines, in the blur of movement and speed, many topics, which were not about him, but about me. But these have not disappeared, extinct, time has not canceled them, they have remained there, ready, to come back up, like a regurgitation of poorly digested dinners and dinners. Nice picture.
Excuse me.
The slowness and the stasis were the perfect fuse to bring everything back to the surface. Boom.
And instinct has tried to blur my eyes: let's take the camera and the phone notes to create a photographic project, which can fill my evenings with editing so as not to leave them empty and full of thoughts. And part of it worked.
But it was insincere, it wasn't just a personal expression, but an immune response.
And one day and one night after another the return comes, things start again and slowly, even the blurring on the sides starts again. But not really everything.
The 30-year-old tollbooth is getting closer, on the other hand, houses are being bought and weddings are being held, there in line, it's hot and no, I don't have a Telepass or UnipolMove.
Sorry Gassman.
And this year more than others have lined up with me and many other people leading as many lives. And I've met a lot of different ones, driving lives that don't look like mine, and that apparently, fooorse, I like underneath and under.
In my family we have always had Fords.
No wait, we've always had a Ford, Focus, Station Wagon, gray mouse.
Different models over the years, but she has always remained, ever since I can remember her.
I've always liked it, you know, maybe someone was driving something better around me, but I've never suffered, and I've always used it even a little, freeing myself from thoughts thanks to my moped. Which, however, is not useful for long trips.
Here is this thought, put there in the drawer, unhinged by the summer stagnation, hit me straight in the forehead, at the edge, on the sign of sunglasses.
OK.
Who do I want to be at this stage? In this next chapter, can I be able to insert in a comfortable compound and square frame, which I have always used to enclose myself, extraordinary elements of people other than me who today know good things, smell of news and colors?
Often when I talk to open customers, in branding processes, I always ask for the effort to think how their brand thinks, and not themselves.
I had not realized that I had been plunged into the opposite error for some time.
What it is, who it is and what is right for Open, we have it clear in our heads. Now it's time to speak with me.
And if you do find yourself there, you should do it. You too.
See you on the next note,
Marco.
