We have searched for so long. We have sifted through cities, relationships, careers, religions, psychotherapies, training courses, and candlelit meditation retreats.
We believed that the place where we belonged was a physical location: a latitude and longitude on the map, a house with a lit fireplace and a dog sleeping on the rug. It was not. It never will be. The place where we belong is not a place. It is a direction. And it was inside us, still, waiting for us to stop searching outside.
We dreamed of better things to come, because the present smelled of mediocrity and the past of regrets. We turned our faces toward the sun, but we did so with our eyes closed, because the light hurt after so much time spent in the darkness of habits.
Then one day, perhaps by chance, perhaps by exhaustion, we stopped looking for the perfect place and began to follow the light we saw in the darkness. It was not a blinding light. It was a distant glow, uncertain, trembling like a candle in a room full of drafts. But it was ours. And that spark, once lit, began to run.
We never stopped believing that a change was coming. Not because we were naive, but because the alternative was too sad. And we understood one elementary thing: we will never know, if we never run. The shore does not swim to the boat. The train does not wait for the lazy on the tracks. The world has no obligation to offer us anything. We are the ones who must rise, move one foot, then the other, and risk falling without the safety net of certainty.
And now the signs are resurfacing. Not the arcane ones, not the movie-like coincidences, but the signs we always had before our eyes and never wanted to see. An intolerance that was growing, a creaking door, the courage to say “no” to something we accepted until yesterday. They resurface in the mind, and they are no longer specters. They are road signs. They say: this way. And fear transforms into momentum.
Do not look back. This is rule number one, the only one we swore never to break. The past is a room filled with dust and furniture covered in white sheets. We lived inside it, but now we have closed the door. Not because we forgot, but because remembering too long prevents us from walking straight.
We are going in only one direction: forward. There is no other way, no emergency exit, no hairpin turn that brings us back. And that is fine. Finally.
It is the right time. We feel it in our bones when spring arrives and heavy clothes stay in the closet. We are going home. And by “home,” we do not mean the place where we were born, but the place where we can finally be who we are without asking for permission. It is a house that has no walls, but boundaries. It is a house we carry in our backpack, and every step makes it more solid.
The people we love remain always in our minds. Not as static memories, but as presences walking beside us. Forever young, because we have stopped counting the years. Forever forward, because there is nothing left to see behind. The distance to cover is still great, and the weight of the world sometimes presses on our shoulders. But we have learned not to fear it. The world is not an enemy; it is a knee to climb to see further.
And you, who are reading, are always in my thoughts. Not as a generic recipient, but as the face of one who has chosen the same direction. We will walk together, make mistakes together, stop to catch our breath together. But we will not turn back. Never.
Do not look back. The road is ahead. It is the right time. Let us go home.
RVSCB
Bibliography
- Kierkegaard, S., Repetition (original: Gjentagelsen), trans. C. Fabro, Sansoni, Florence, 1953.
- Nietzsche, F., Thus Spoke Zarathustra (original: Also sprach Zarathustra), trans. M. Montinari, Adelphi, Milan, 1976 (Chapter: “Of the Three Metamorphoses”).
- Hesse, H., Journey to the East (original: Die Morgenlandfahrt), trans. E. Pocar, Mondadori, Milan, 1974.
- Pavese, C., The Business of Living (original: Il mestiere di vivere), Einaudi, Turin, 1962 (The diary as a gymnasium for direction).
- Jung, C.G., Memories, Dreams, Reflections (original: Erinnerungen, Träume, Gedanken), trans. A. Bovero, Rizzoli, Milan, 1978.
- De Andrade, C.D., Natural Love and Other Writings (original: Amor natural), trans. G.B. De Cesare, Mondadori, Milan, 1994.
- Franklin, B., Autobiography, trans. G. Sertoli, Einaudi, Turin, 1988.
- Scola, A., Right Horizons: The Courage of Direction (original: Orizzonti giusti), Vita e Pensiero, Milan, 2017.
Archive Note: RVSCB – Archive of Uncomfortable Truths, May 8, 2026 “I am not interested in being loved. I am interested in being read after they have hated me.”
