It’s not really a matter of leaving some footprints behind you, change the flow of the world and stubbornly spend your days trying and shaping the fraction of future in your power. We are guests in this nomadic and illogical ground, we own things produced by precise hands of unknown crafters from the four corners of the world, speak languages some pioneer decided to ideate hundreds of years ago and let the market label our interests until we can all relate to each other – no boundaries, no geography, no racism applying.
We call ourselves citizens of the world, endless addiction to learning more and more, our bulimic head singing us to sleep stories from faraway ports, about places yet to be touched, tasted, and you helplessly tell your reflection in the mirror that there is no rush, that there is still time and other motivational sentences taken from some books found at some street vendor’s canton. But you don’t feel the days passing so fast, one sunset after the other, expiring on your skin, your legs adapting to a lazy routine where there is no space for getting lost in your thoughts, catching details of the people you share a bus ride with, the smell of freshly cut grass and the music of the wind in the trees on the walk back home.
I have no tips on what your next move should be in this chess game played against your impulsiveness, but what I can tell is that if you never lose your balance, if you never feel the breeze playing in your ears once you take a step in uncertainty, then can you really consider yourself alive? Fuck prepaid phone contracts and cv templates that don’t look appealing enough to be shortlisted for the infinite psychological experiments strangers play with your confidence, fuck etiquette and the idea that swear words are for the rude and all those other social layers we feel comfortable in, fuck the preconstructed thoughts, dress codes and all those forms to impress people we don’t care about. This is not to make you get on a plane to white beaches and margaritas for brunch. I am just a girl with ideas cultivated in the silence of her shyness and perpetual fear of never being enough for the environments she was in and then decided to turn the whole thing upside down, and asked herself a single, small question. What if it’s not you thinking too big, but this place being too small?
Maybe we should stop focusing on trivialities – what strangers may think if you’re wearing patterned socks, if your accent is still there or if you don’t suit sexual standards –, erase all these landmarks you’ve been watering ever since and start doodling without feeling the pressure of imaginary audiences of social media friends, followers and other names given to the reflection of your insecurities.
One of the best advice I was given when I felt stuck in an impasse was
- Take a piece of paper, blank
- Write down a list of the things you like – no matter how dumb they look on paper, how abstract
- Connect them with lines and let your mind draw a way you can turn your days into something similar to what you like, cutting more and more space for these good moments
There are not many things I can call myself an expert on, but impasse is something I got to know quite well and if there’s something I learnt is that when you feel your breath is short, your room too small and the food tasteless, you just need a moment to turn the whole thing upside down and consider the fact that it may not be by doing what you’ve been taught was good that you’ll achieve a life that you can’t wait to wake up to in the morning. Take your ideas, put them on a blank sheet and get started with whatever gives you elation.