I’ve decided to shut down the blogs.
For several reasons.
The first is that more and more often the protagonists of the stories end up being bothered by some detail in my accounts. Almost never because of something I actually did, but always because of some free interpretation, some embellishment used to decorate the story.
All of us, every day, have hundreds of fleeting thoughts. Imagine ending up in court and having to defend yourself for each one of them.
Most thoughts are shadows and reflections of emotions in the moment. They’re blurred plays of light that caress (or sometimes punch) our minds. Putting them on paper, even digital, makes them solid, heavy, three-dimensional. And so what started as a random fluctuation of some neurotransmitter immediately becomes a fact, something to weigh, to reflect on.
It can happen, therefore, that those who read themselves in the words of others may give weight and meanings quite different from the original ones.
And it has happened often.
It happened to the French Goddess, rereading her story.
It happened two days ago with X., who had a reaction that was truly one of a kind.
It happened yesterday with TetteDolci, throwing her into despair and—much worse—giving her friends easy arguments against us (anyway, Bianca, I still suggest choosing Riccardo, it’s not my fault!). Hurting TetteDolci, while she looks at you with those Puss in Boots eyes, is a crime against humanity.
When the protagonists get pissed off
Up to the extreme case of being offended by the stories… of others!Like what happened with Julia, a girl I was starting to see, who liked me, who… ran away as soon as I gave her the blog address. And to think she had met me in person and we had created a beautiful intimacy of souls. She had seen inside me, but… the blog character overwrote everything.
And this last event brings me to the second reason: inevitably, writing about my adventures turns me into a character. The blog is a spotlight on a single and limited aspect of my life. It’s very true, it’s a deep and sincere slice, but only of a piece of my person. Of a phase. Lived with a certain tone.
And I fear that, in the long run, even lifelong friends end up seeing only the mask and not me.
Lately, my interest in adventures, women, experimentation has gradually diminished. I’m seeing two girls I really like, I don’t feel like looking for others, I want to dedicate myself to other things. I’m rediscovering my passion for business, I just bought a company to save and relaunch and I’d like it to become my main activity. I want to be the doctor of companies and seriously return to being a serial entrepreneur. With the time I spend writing a story I could redesign the fundamentals of a business… too expensive to talk about pussy! 🙂
Also, the “mission” component has faded. I started writing against the traditional relationship model, against bigotry, against the simple and well-trodden paths. I wanted to show different ways of living, make unconventional choices, reveal that you can be happy and fulfilled by writing your own life according to your own rules.
And yes, I am actually happy and fulfilled living this life. But in this journey of personal growth, I’ve realized I could be just as happy in one of those traditional relationships I’ve criticized so much.
Always be wary of evangelists who travel the world preaching the word of God: if someone’s doing well, they stay home watching X Factor, they don’t wander around Palestine in a tunic.
The real reason
All these are good reasons. But they are accessories.
The REAL reason is that I started writing because I wanted to feel cool. I wanted to tell about this wonderful life of mine among beautiful and very young women. I wanted to be sympathetically envied by my married friends. I wanted to show how it was possible to date “footballer’s women,” even if you have a belly and haven’t played soccer since middle school.
In short, I was seeking validation in women, in stories, in accounts.
You know, all great endeavors are born from validation or compensation. Elon Musk wouldn’t work 20 hours a day for twenty years if he were at peace with himself. Homer wouldn’t have composed immortal verses if not to sleep with the Helen of his village. And Berlusconi, well… is there any need to add details when talking about Berlusconi?
People who are okay and satisfied generally have really boring lives.
Despite myself, despite my fierce attempts at resistance, this personal growth journey has somewhat sorted me out. Not completely, fortunately, but at least I’ve escaped from the “golden cage of originality at all costs,” of validation. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll even be monogamous. How about that.
So, friends, it’s been great and I thank you.
Good life
HAVE A GOOD LIFE!
PAOLO (yep, that’s my name).
PS: what are those screams?
Ah, it’s the Countess cursing me from afar!
Surely it’s really cruel to close the blog without having written a story about the Countess, so much promised to her!
What do you say?
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