C.Hi Ester, this is my biography of love: I am A. I am 35 years old, and I live in my country of origin, in the province of Bari, which I sometimes consider “my prisons”, sometimes my happy island.
I’m been engaged for 10 years. 10 years of letting go, living together and then finally breaking up, when I had the maturity to understand that the routine of a sick story was not normal.
After him only passing stories, ghosting as if there is no tomorrow, and the realization that in this Age everything is going too fast. In the last year I went out with: “the narcissist”, “the loner”, “the tindersita”, “the teetotaler (may God free us)”, a boy from “a night of fire and away”, “the betrayed”. And then I finally felt love again, that feeling of butterflies in the stomach, a stolen kiss in the rain, looking into each other’s eyes and understanding each other, and all those other things there. It’s a pity that this story too has come to an endbecause we have a job that completely absorbs our days, we live 500 km away and he is separated with two small children to look after.
Now, in light of all this, I live serene in my life, made up of a job that allows me to always know people, I have a lot of friends and I went back to travel (as was customary before 2020), I practice a sport competitive, I live alone, in short, I don’t miss anything and I’m happy. All this happiness, but I wish I could share with someonethe advice I ask you is: I keep waiting for love to arrive what stuns you a little (and this is what I hope), or I realize that maybe it is better to settle for a basic relationship, that allows me to wake up in the morning and not feel often having to fight in the world alone?
A hug, A.
Ester Viola’s answer
Ester Viola
Dear A.,
Without some solemn nonsense it is not life. First of all this.
Then, having reached a state of relative peace, around the age of thirty, with a few exceptions of technically perfect families who flaunt on Instagram to show us what wells of happiness life gives them, all the ninety-nine percent of the world, after a fair number of rip-offs and when the last wound has stopped bleeding, the same question is asked.
And now? what do I do? Do I still fall in love all over the place or am I satisfied?
5 things to understand about love
What the Loving Subject understands in his thirties:
1) There is no “I am capable” when it comes to being loved.
2) Enlightenment (the respite) more or less comes when you realize that being happy with someone rarely has anything to do with what you were looking for.
3) You realize that the best sentimental successes – you and those you don’t like – depend more on how you deny yourself than on what you give.
4) No justice in between.
5) Love doesn’t work with patience, still less with haste, it doesn’t work if you don’t care, it doesn’t work when you are too applied. It doesn’t work to be overly good. Love does not work in the hands of the wicked, even when they are the most intelligent. It does not work. It is the only certainty.
The alternatives on love
When it comes to this, one sums up to conclude that anyone, if he has a certain ability to give little, becomes a god. It is withdrawing, which makes the difference between the desirable and the others. It happens because people, when they are not there, you are forced to imagine them. The less you see them, the more you invent them. The more you invent them, the more they turn out perfect.
So the two alternatives:
1) wait wait wait. That? To become the happy and settled ones, I will find someone made just for me.
2) settle for a little bit smaller.
Read here all the bad relationships of Ester Viola
What do we know for sure about Love
We live too much towards an apex. We can never just feel happy. We have to feel either desperate or over the moon, and these are two moods that are difficult to achieve in a stable relationship.
What if he’s right Nick Hornby?
O Tolstoy: happy loves exist only by reflection, but they are something that can be done when one is already mad. It’s like scarlet fever, you have to go through it.
Like scarlet fever, you have to go through it.
Because in the end you will have noticed, A., that for love the happy and the unhappy do not count, there is only those who leave and those who do not. And all this, largely by chance.
Then I remember that one day in my youth I started looking for what could be my clinical definition of being in love, and it was this: who decides how I am is someone else. For all 24 hours. It decides how I wake up, if I will sleep that night or not, with what dreams, if I will be hungry.
Who decides how I am is another. And I liked him less and less, less and less. Less and less.
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