We wildly complicate life


By Alessandro Baricco / Not that it's pleasant, of course not. But if I reflect upon what I have perceived to be particularly wildly and idiotically complicating the lives of men, I see their tendency to attribute a very high gravity to those circumstances in which, through their own negligence, through the intervention of chance or at the initiative of others, one must give up something, or even someone.
What seems to happen is that part of the load of the building where people find shelter disappears overnight, shaking the stability that was being achieved. And here you can already see the absurdity of the thing. Since, as is well known, no stability is permanent and no recovery is ever sufficient, nevertheless it is accomplished, realized. We are always dealing with construction works, with temporary systems, so much so that the belief that many people have to have a roof over their head, at least at night, belongs much more to a daily narrative than to the reality of the facts.
It must therefore be understood that, in such a context of uncertainty, the loss of things and people must represent only one arrangement among others, which in any case is the sliding of a wall that was never really built; ultimately seen as the usual redesign of a complex, ever-changing system.
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But instead, human beings tend to cling to what is slipping away, firmly believing that what they are losing is essential to their survival. Occasionally, even a sliver of time, a stolen purse, or a quarter of an hour wasted waiting in line can mythologically take on the stature of a mortal loss. Fear, when we see something stolen from us, is so instinctive.
This is complicated, or taken to an extreme, by a cult of belonging that is a historical phenomenon, a cultural influence, an ideological flaw, but no less difficult to face. We are driven by the idea, crazy in itself, to own something or even someone, being punished by constant police work and obsessive surveillance. We live lives built of vaults, anti-aircraft guns, alarms and drawbridges. So, instead of living next to things and people, we make them our property, point of no return, an acquired status: do you understand what an anguished existence we are destined to fill our days with? Whoever owns will be robbed.
Pasojat e kësaj prirjeje për të mbivlerësuar humbjen e sendeve dhe të njerëzve janë, siç e dimë, të tmerrshme. Dhe ndikimin e shtrijnë në vite të tëra. Ka raste të panumërta jetësh të riformuluara nga tronditja e një humbjeje, dhe pastaj vihet re se humbja nuk e kishte atë rëndësi në të vërtetë. Ashtu si vdekja e një njeriu të dashur mund të kthehet në një ferman dënimi për gjithë jetën, humbja e një mundësie pune, ose një nderimi, ose një gare, mund të mbulojë me një hije të zezë gjithë jetët rrethuese për vite me radhë.
Nëse kërkohet brenda disa pakënaqësive që shfarosin familje të tëra, do të gjenden lehtësisht kotësitë e një mundësie të humbur shumë kohë më parë, ose shpërfytyrimi i një humbjeje të diktuar nga rasti apo nga qëllimi keqdashës i të tjerëve. Është zemërthyese të mendosh se çfarë drite dhe sa jetë mund të ishte krijuar nëse vetëm dikush, një njeri, do të kishte qenë në gjendje, në atë moment të saktë, t'i linte gjërat të shkonin, në vend që të mbivlerësonte tragjikisht pasojat e boshllëkut të tyre.
Do të thuhet se ta gëlltisësh humbjen, zinë, apo vjedhjen, nuk është një gjë e thjeshtë dhe se në përgjithësi nuk e zgjedhim ne se si të reagojmë ndaj marrjes së jetës, pasurisë, dashurisë: ne thjesht vuajmë dhe kaq. Rebelohemi. Marrim hak.
But this is not so true. The ability to allow things to be lost and people to escape starts far away, is a way of being in the world, and is something that can be nurtured in everything we do. It is not true that it is foreign to us, it is just culturally distant. But it belongs to us and, if only we avoid giving in unconditionally to fear, we can find it in the most spontaneous movements of our soul. We have an instinctive ease within us, or at least we had it before we were educated to fight it.
*Alessandro Baricco is an Italian writer, screenwriter and director. His books have been translated into many languages, including Albanian. He is the winner of many literary prizes, among which "Premio Viareggio" or "Premio Cesare Pavese".