Equilibrio
La vita ti porta a cambiare, in meglio, in peggio, ma inevitabilmente ti trasforma in una persona ansiosa. Ansia per il futuro. Per trovare un lavoro. Ansia per l’amore, rigorosamente a distanza, s’intende, perché tutti hanno ansia per il futuro e per il lavoro e finiscono dunque nelle parti più recondite del mondo sperando di non avere più ansia per il futuro e per il lavoro. Ansia di guadagnare, ansia per fare un preventivo, ansia di essere pagato. Le bollette, oh che ansia! Ma signori e signore ansia anche se un lavoro ce l’hai, e già. Insomma giovani-vecchi di tutto il mondo la vostra vita è appesa a un filo, e voi cercate di rimanere in equilibrio. Alcune volte questo filo si strappa, o ci scivolate sopra o mollate la presa. E cadete. Boom! No non finisce così, perché altre volte su quel filo si improvvisano delle acrobazie bellissime, altre volte riuscite a piroettarci sopra con una tale grazia che è impossibile non rimanere a guardare. Mille fili sottilissimi che insieme diventano un’autostrada, una pista d’atterraggio, anzi da ballo, diventano una pista da ballo con altrettante mille persone che girano, danzano, restano in equilibrio, ognuno a proprio modo.
Life leads you to change for the better, for the worse, but inevitably transforms you into an anxious person. Anxiety about the future, about finding a job. Anxiety about love, long distance love, of course! Because everyone is anxious about the future and the job and as a consequence ends up to live in the most remote places in the world, hoping to no longer be anxious about the future and the job. Anxiety about earning, anxiety about making a quotation, anxiety even about getting paid. The bills, oh how stressful they are! And yet, Ladies and Gentlemen, you have anxiety even if you have a job. For an illustrator, a profession at random, a fixed salary is non-existent, maybe one month everything goes well, but the next one around you there is only desolation. So you have to take everything, a thousand jobs, have no time, sleep three hours a night, and this, needless to say, increases anxiety. And in any case, if you are an illustrator, a teacher, a musician, a mathematician, an archaeologist, if you are under forty, you are anxious too. Are you an archaeologist? There are no funds to spend to discover anything new. Are you a teacher? You will be precarious until retirement. Are you a musician? Needless to say, playing the trumpet takes your breath away and your salary in one fell swoop! To be a plumber or a mechanic, that would be a good job! Sooner or later everyone will be missing some screws and no longer will know a thing (that’s a pun… due to performance anxiety). In short, young-old people from all over the world your life is hanging by a thread, and you try to be balanced. Sometimes this thread breaks, or you slide over it or let it go…and fall down. Boom! No it does not end like this, because other times on that thread you can improvise beautiful acrobatics, other times you can manage to pirouette on it with such a grace that it is impossible not to stand there staring. A thousand very thin threads that together become a highway, an airstrip, or rather a dance floor, they become a dance floor with as many thousand people who turn, dance, stay balanced, each in their own way.
La vita ti porta a cambiare, in meglio, in peggio, ma inevitabilmente ti trasforma in una persona ansiosa. Ansia per il futuro. Per trovare un lavoro. Ansia per l’amore, rigorosamente a distanza, s’intende, perché tutti hanno ansia per il futuro e per il lavoro e finiscono dunque nelle parti più recondite del mondo sperando di non avere più ansia per il futuro e per il lavoro. Ansia di guadagnare, ansia per fare un preventivo, ansia di essere pagato. Le bollette, oh che ansia! Ma signori e signore ansia anche se un lavoro ce l’hai, e già. Insomma giovani-vecchi di tutto il mondo la vostra vita è appesa a un filo, e voi cercate di rimanere in equilibrio. Alcune volte questo filo si strappa, o ci scivolate sopra o mollate la presa. E cadete. Boom! No non finisce così, perché altre volte su quel filo si improvvisano delle acrobazie bellissime, altre volte riuscite a piroettarci sopra con una tale grazia che è impossibile non rimanere a guardare. Mille fili sottilissimi che insieme diventano un’autostrada, una pista d’atterraggio, anzi da ballo, diventano una pista da ballo con altrettante mille persone che girano, danzano, restano in equilibrio, ognuno a proprio modo.
Life leads you to change for the better, for the worse, but inevitably transforms you into an anxious person. Anxiety about the future, about finding a job. Anxiety about love, long distance love, of course! Because everyone is anxious about the future and the job and as a consequence ends up to live in the most remote places in the world, hoping to no longer be anxious about the future and the job. Anxiety about earning, anxiety about making a quotation, anxiety even about getting paid. The bills, oh how stressful they are! And yet, Ladies and Gentlemen, you have anxiety even if you have a job. For an illustrator, a profession at random, a fixed salary is non-existent, maybe one month everything goes well, but the next one around you there is only desolation. So you have to take everything, a thousand jobs, have no time, sleep three hours a night, and this, needless to say, increases anxiety. And in any case, if you are an illustrator, a teacher, a musician, a mathematician, an archaeologist, if you are under forty, you are anxious too. Are you an archaeologist? There are no funds to spend to discover anything new. Are you a teacher? You will be precarious until retirement. Are you a musician? Needless to say, playing the trumpet takes your breath away and your salary in one fell swoop! To be a plumber or a mechanic, that would be a good job! Sooner or later everyone will be missing some screws and no longer will know a thing (that’s a pun… due to performance anxiety). In short, young-old people from all over the world your life is hanging by a thread, and you try to be balanced. Sometimes this thread breaks, or you slide over it or let it go…and fall down. Boom! No it does not end like this, because other times on that thread you can improvise beautiful acrobatics, other times you can manage to pirouette on it with such a grace that it is impossible not to stand there staring. A thousand very thin threads that together become a highway, an airstrip, or rather a dance floor, they become a dance floor with as many thousand people who turn, dance, stay balanced, each in their own way.
