C.Ara Esther,
I’m back after a year to write to you again. In my last one, I complained to you because it seemed to me that I was unable to build a relationship that would last, despite all my good intentions.
I tried to listen to you. Some time after I wrote to you I met a boy. I noticed right away that he had a lot of thoughts on his mind: stressful work, a new house to fix. In short, you have already guessed the ending, I’m sure: after a while he gives me a long speech in which he tells me that he feels overwhelmed and that he has no energy to devote to a relationship, despite the time spent with me is nice. We greet each other serenely. It also happened that we exchanged a few messages in the following months.
After breaking up I usually ended up destroyed, it always became a kind of act of pain that lasted for months in which I took the blame for being unlovely, unfriendly, not very special, etc. This time, however, something different happened, I was simply STUFF of being sick. Hell that I do another three months to complain and curse fate. It was summer, and it was a beautiful summer: I went on vacation, tried surfing, went to parties, met guys to flirt with and never see them again. I have had a steady job since October, and now I’m buying a house to go and live alone. Every now and then I see a guy (known for his many achievements), I spend some fun evenings there and I don’t care about anything else. I have a lot of ideas about things I want to do: travel, volunteer. I feel full of energy.
Every so often that thought still arises: I would like a family one day, having reached the threshold of 30 should I start to feel the biological clock that reminds me to hurry up? But I don’t want, I really don’t want this thought to ruin my best years. It is a privilege to be alive, shouldn’t we honor it by trying to enjoy what is there as much as possible? That’s the way it goes for now, if I collapse again in five years or less, I’ll go back to my therapist. And I am writing to you.
A hug,
M.
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Ester Viola’s answer
Ester Viola
Dear M.,
If everything goes as it is going, you will no longer need to write to this address. Or it will serve but to pass on new anecdotes, foolish troubles, books to read, good restaurants and discounts for pieces of furniture.
You finished your exams, M .. Crazy and suffering love has become a glittered disco dress, a platform shoe, the youthful stunt, that time you stole the car keys from your without a license, if laughs a lot. In short, the epic has evaporated. And what a liberation.
You may have noticed that the sentimental economic policy after you’ve been through some decent rip-off becomes lax to the fullest extent. Everything is valid, we already made the list:
If you want to search until you find someone who is really cool and who you are really in love with, that’s fine.
If “really in love” has broken your balls and then you put yourself in the first place that happens, okay.
If he’s not too normal either, but you keep him because you want to keep him, you’ve trained your peace of mind not to depend on love so much by now, that’s fine.
If you’ve got involved with someone who lives with someone else and you say you love each other because you write to each other every night, that’s fine.
If you’re the cuckold in the room over there and you’re reading a book while the other two sides of your triangle are writing a lot of chat es et in chat reverteris, that’s fine.
If you’ve been crying at home for ten years, the children and husband are an unbearable misfortune, but all in all it’s not a tragedy and you don’t want to leave, that’s fine.
If you want to leave, that’s fine.
If you’ve got yourself one you’ve never wanted, that’s fine.
If you took someone who never wanted you, that’s fine.
If in the name of fossil delusions you no longer care about anyone and you have no interest in changing your mind but you keep it to yourself, that’s fine.
If you don’t keep it to yourself, by now you are convinced that they are all the same and you have decided to devote yourself to sentimental sarcasm and sit on the river bank until you see the self-proclaimed happy friends getting divorced, getting old and seventy confirming that they are all the same, All right.
If at the age of thirty you feel that the needs for reproduction and stabilized relationships are vital and priority, that’s okay (proceed with serious research).
If around thirty you feel nothing, no child calling you in a dream, that’s fine.
Wouldn’t it do us good, wouldn’t they all be better lives, ours, if we told ourselves that love does not miracle anyone? What does everyone do as they like? And especially. that happiness and unhappiness are two unstable variables, very close, that love is not the only joy in the world and that everything is doing our best, every day, not to think too much.
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