For the medieval imagination, places were charged with a positive sense of thickness, stability, and indivisibility. Space, by contrast, was nothing but the empty “in between,” something that only came into existence as the distance separating two places, two significant points of reference. – Ricardo Padron
The ‘space’ in between where we came from and where we want to go, its nothing else than life itself.
And the only way to get to the next point, is living the now and creating in the now our lives.
There will always be a next stop, another goal, a new dream. But while we reach each one of them, our minds are fix on the next one, and the one after that, and so on.
I moved to Amsterdam a bit over a year ago. Run away from the chaotic (yet beloved) Rome in search of stability. Because back then I thought it was something I could get externally. No clue that stability, the same as every other feeling, starts within ourselves. Nothing can ‘give you’ something if you do not give it to yourself first. Right?
Well, unsurprisingly, I still feel the same way I felt a year and a half ago. Unstable, confused, in a rush to leave (yet again). Every day I feel I am falling down the edge, holding on with all my strengths to the border. Like when in a movie the character is about to fall down to the abyss, and the thin rope is all the hope it has to save him. That rope takes different shapes for me, it could be a person, a goal, a degree, a trip. But at the end, it is always a thin rope. And a different edge, Buenos Aires, New Orleans, Rome, Amsterdam… but the same abyss: The unknown.
Should I just let go and let myself fall down into the unknown? Stop trying to control every movement, every situation I am not comfortable with? I once let go of all known and uncomfortable life in New Orleans and adventured myself into Europe. Maybe now once again, if I let go and jump I will find the road to fulfillment.