thirties
January, a beginning that smells of reflection, willingly or violently.
Thirty, a number that says nothing, but seems to say everything.
Years, a unit that only makes sense in the past.
I'm not sure how to define them. They are not a point of arrival, but not even a point of departure. They are simply another stop, placed there, which seems to suggest: “You should have understood something.”
Instead, no. I don't understand.
Should I feel different? Maybe yes. Maybe not.
Should I have felt like I had arrived? But where, then?
Or maybe I should feel lost? Tutto it's in its place.
buts everything What? But what does it mean to be lost? What does it mean to search for? Look for what, then?
I feel like I've always been looking for it. One step after the other. Always ahead. Always looking for a way out. Search, knowing that you won't find it.
Soon you understand that there is no way out.
There's not even a point of arrival.
So what am I looking for?
Perhaps, to lose myself.
We like to think that there is an ending to the chapters. A unique moment, in which everything makes sense, in which we can say: “Here, I have arrived. It's all here.”
But that time never comes. It doesn't have to come.
It is a path that lengthens as we walk it, a curve that never stops bending.
What if that's the point? Search.
Search knowing that you will never find it.
Search knowing that the goal does not exist.
And yet, I'm trying. Something that tells me to continue.
I wonder if I'm really lost, or if I'm simply where I need to be. I don't have an answer, and maybe that's okay. I keep walking, I keep looking, even though I don't know what I'll find. Because, after all, this is what keeps me awake:
the idea that there's something, somewhere, worth discovering.
Even when I don't know why. Even when I don't know what it's for.
Because stopping would be worse.
Stopping would mean accepting that there is nothing.
And I can't accept it. There must be something.
There must be more.
Maybe I got lost. But maybe not.
Maybe I am exactly where I need to be.
And that, perhaps, is all I need to know.
Until the next note,
Marco.
