No more repeating commitments. No more performance anxiety. We learn to get bored and enjoy the benefits of boredom. With some caveats
Boredom scares us. We perceive it as an inner malaise, a condition of discomfort, with which we find it difficult to live. Life becomes dark, in the dim light of a sense of emptiness and abandonment, and we end up in the vortex of anxiety, a compulsion to move, to do something. A real waste of energy and emotion. Boredom breaks through in the field of depression, and sometimes it represents only a daily mask, difficult to remove.
In literature, great writers (I mention one for all: Alberto Moravia) have recounted the man devoured by boredom, and I happened to meet accomplished, rich people with a good career in progress, however afflicted by the boredom virus. They are really difficult to date, they have no peace. They transmit anxiety, they always have the frenzy to change places and company. They do not enjoy the pleasure of any stable moment of the day. They can't draw a breath without turning it into a gasp of stress.
Long live boredom. Long live the rediscovery of something that we have lost in the era of haste, of performance anxiety, of wanting to do everything immediately, and of the times of super speed imposed by the technological domain. Long live boredom which relaxes, allows us to detach, helps us distance ourselves from anxiety and stress and accompanies us to a more sober and more serene lifestyle. A positive boredom, constructive and not demeaning and pessimistic. Long live boredom, for adults and children. For grandparents who experience the fatigue of aging and for children who are in a frenzy of growth. Many believe that inactivity is bad and can trigger the vicious cycle of laziness. In reality, idleness stimulates creativity. It reduces stress and tension and helps us cultivate new ideas. Does this mean we have to become idle? Absolutely not, rather let's re-evaluate the value and sense of boredom. Boredom obsesses us, it scares us, and we always feel it lurking. Sometimes we try to avoid it even by taking refuge in the virtual world, but in this case the remedy can be worse than the disease, because boredom is associated with a sense of loneliness. And we are even frightened by the risk that our children might get bored: a useless and wrong fear.
People often confuse love with cages.
With the "no" shouted in the morning, and which often echo throughout the day.
With the disappointed face of someone who sees you reach your goals, but is not happy for you.
I often wonder what love is, I know it in many forms, but it sure isn't that.
Depriving a human being of his or her freedom can never get anywhere near the greatness of this feeling.
The heart in the throat, the eyes shining with happiness when you see the other person happy, the beats that increase when you touch your hands and observe yourself minutely, this looks a little more like us.
Spurring the other person to grow, to make difficult choices, to go out with other people, to know the world even without you, this is another level, this is pure love.
Jealousy is love within its limits, it is love as long as it remains a game, as long as it is limited to cute adolescent phrases that we carry with us a little because we don't want to grow up and a little because life has taught us that no one will stay with us forever. , and the terror of being alone grips us.
But our fears do not allow us to deprive those around us of their freedom, man is a social animal, Aristotle said it and I firmly repeat it in the twenty-first century.
Being terrified of greeting someone when you are in the company of our so-called "love" is not normal.
Just as there are not constant scenes that come even if another person looks at you, as if you are to blame or that he had to gouge out his eyes.
Love, love, love, much praised and much hated.
You realize this "love" has only hurt you when you look for yourself and you can't find it anymore.
And it's too late, because you fell into it.
After all, today you understand and tomorrow you will return from that love, because you are no longer into it, it is enough now it eats you alive.
From the horizon of the one you loved, you return to fully inhabit the visual field. It happens like this. On an ordinary day. Without notice.
It has a strange effect when you realize that you are holding the massive armored door of your heart open with one foot and that you keep holding it open. It is you who allow the blazing light of emotions to filter inside, beyond the blurry shadow of the dark alleys where you were hiding. You don't quite understand why you do it. You just know that you feel an excitement doing it. It doesn't cost you any effort. You don't even wonder why you don't close it. In fact, you don't run away. You feel only the new and urgent need to show yourself openly. - It can't be true - you tell yourself.
A breath of fresh air bursts into your life and sniffs you out from behind the scenes. You rediscover yourself hungry for emotions. Understand that the inner world can be lived and not just described. You even let go of the worry about the ending. It matters little. What matters is to live it. In a continuous shock.
You no longer feel love as a threat but as a real possibility of encountering the world of the other, without macroscopic distinctions: you find the courage to approach it. You no longer worry about protecting your borders from the onslaught of a concrete presence: you agree to investigate the tortuosity of your life, sharing them.
You climb over barriers. You abandon yourself to the enchantment of the moment. You reach out with a smile beyond the line of memories. Pushed by an irrational unleashing of your impulses, you pour yourself completely away from your asphyxiated family habitat. Push your limits a little further. A step beyond the tangle of feelings that have remained entangled in the memory in a more or less latent form. Beyond the lacerations, doubts and insecurities. Beyond the forest of question marks that had kept you company behind the windows from which you continued undeterred to observe the world. Beyond the contradictions, ambivalences and despair inherent in a difficult and troubled love. Beyond that melancholy mood that had been the background to the ever-changing flow of days. Beyond the painful and resigned awareness, the chilling fear and the bewilderment of loss. Far from the discomfort that miraculously ceases to be such.
You pass from the ground of alienation directly to the stage. You abandon the guise of an impassive observer and those of an unfinished character. You return to the scene. You do it as a protagonist this time.
You pass from the closed door of the heart to the open door of the soul. Without running away from something, from someone. Without running away from yourself anymore.
ZUCKERBERG is aware that Instagram is dangerous to the mental health of teenage girls. The social media of photos with filters, bought by Facebook for a billion dollars in 2010, seems to have devastating effects on the psyche of many teen-agers. According to research, commissioned by Mark Zuckerberg's own company, one in three girls with an Instagram account develops perception disorders of their own body. And even all the groups analyzed spontaneously accused social media of causing them anxiety and an increase in depressive tendencies. A disaster. Especially if placed in a potential context: some time ago, in fact, Facebook has long toyed with the idea of ​​proposing a version of Instagram for children under 13. ZUCKERBERG was fully aware of the damage Instagram created to teenagers, while pushing for an app dedicated to under 13s.
This research on the effects of Instagram was done by the Menlo Park company, revealed by the WSJ, and shows that Zuckerberg's company is aware that photo social can lead to eating disorders and depression. But it does nothing to fix it.
First the shyness, being a kind of ornament, cute, harmless, useful, immersed in my parallel world, in which only my vision of things was true. A world in which I could not be disappointed. Nobody would hurt me, I was a totally self-sufficient being, satisfied with the little things, independent of people because it was like that, it had to be like that. The study on friendship, my beliefs on reality. Then the awareness, realizing that my strength was my weakness, had created a void, made up of forced friendships, of people ignored. I realized that I had built an image that hid the real me from anyone, everything I was in addition to a studio machine or a perfect daughter. Maybe I was still nothing beyond that, and I wasn’t hiding anything, I simply hadn’t given space to everything I thought was “surrounding”. I tried to recover. In part, I grew up, I opened myself to others, to those who were willing to listen to me, now that I was willing to build something.We continually seek the company of others, in fact we are not able to be alone with silence. In the silence our fears, our anxieties, and our truest self emerge, which we nevertheless repudiate as if it were the most disgusting substance. I don’t know if the hatred we feel towards ourselves is something we have learned or that is innate in us, but it persists despite everything, indeed, whoever claims to love himself the most is the one who hates himself the most. Narcissists cannot listen to silence, as they have learned to ignore it. The less fortunate learn to hate each other without knowing the reasons, while some have to live with their own suffering in continually admitting the existence in themselves of dark places that are unbearable for everyone. The existence of man is a continuous escape from his own essence, since we are born without the means to contain our fullness.I can’t define my state of mind. It’s strange. It is as if I were totally normal, but at the same time I couldn’t help but think about this situation, which is both uncomfortable and fascinating at the same time. I lose my eyes in the void, even if to others it does not seem that it is distracting me. Or maybe I hope they don’t understand. I look at myself from the outside to try to understand something, but I don’t even know where I want to go, if I want to go all the way, or if it’s all an illusion, and what I’m thinking makes no sense. It probably is, although you find people here and there confirming that they are reality, these thoughts will remain imagination.
I am an Italian artist and also an art therapist. In my country, Italy, so full of art, we artists are seen as useless people. However, we have some nice things. But our economic value is zero. We are a nullity to this company. I had an art blog and I deleted it. I had a poetry blog and I deleted it. Poetry and art are considered useless things in my country. If you produce you exist but if you don’t produce you don’t exist. It is really sad but now this is the situation.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 