~This is a translation to English of an older article of mine that was in turn the translation to blog of an even older - I was about 20 at the time - letter of mine.~

In the light of a late night's darkness, instead of admiring the stars as more appropriate, we stumbled blindly on a mountain of incompatibility. Perhaps the stars themselves were not what they used to be¹ but we clearly shared the blame for it all since we found nothing better to do under the stars than talking about the ideal world. The problem with two idealists in the moonlight is when they don't quite agree on the very same ideal.

'Ideally, there would never be any sort of problems', you said. 'Everything would be perfect, round, without faults, without crises, without tumult or tribulations, without needs.'

'Ideally, all problems we encounter would have wonderful solutions that we find and can put in practice right on time, each and every time.', I said.

The gaping abyss thus uncovered unexpectedly but quite definitively between us, I just walked away silently that time for there wasn't anything left to say really. But since you called after me and kept asking for an explanation, it had to be said: you see, I'd have always undermined and resisted your efforts towards sheltering yourself at all costs, even at the very cost of reality itself, as I purposefully looked instead for problems difficult and meaningful enough, hence interesting enough so that their very solving would keep me entertained for years to come.

I always collected solutions looking for their corresponding problem and I collected problems that held within them the seeds of such a wonderful solution that it's worth it indeed to spend all those years required to make it grow and bear its fruit.

1. Where are the stars of yesteryear? Well, there, those in the distance! ↩

Category: Conversations, Lyf

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