Back to My Balcony

Well, my friends, here I am back to my balcony after a ten-year long hiatus in which I prioritized writing two novels. After all this time, I thought it would be a good idea to resume this invigorating activity that brings forth more frequent interactions with readers. The goal is still the same: to share with you some thoughts and reflections, always in the search to inspire us (yes, the objective is to inspire you and myself) on the path of improving as human beings.

And I would like to start by talking about the enormous and troubling dissociation that sometimes interpose itself between our words and our actions. Not rarely, our image and our sound are in concerning misalignment.

We often hear whether from family members, friends, or from public figures such as politicians and influencers, that we need to build a better world, need to become better people, and that a more humane society is greatly overdue. But to our frustrations, we often see ourselves far away from such reality.

 So, I ask; since most of us are convinced that the world, at this point in the game, should already be in a better place than it is, why is it still so primitive from a moral perspective? Why does selfishness still prevail? Why do we, in the imperatives of our daily lives, still follow our self-centered routines, hoping that such better world will eventually be built by some legal authority, religious leader or some politician we naively idolize?

I have a theory and will humbly share it here with you: I believe that every now and then, we allow to grow on us a huge abyss between what we think we should do and what we are in fact willing to do, to create this “better world”.

Allow me to illustrate with the use of two opposite examples, given by writer Mark Manson and rock star Bruce Springsteen in what concerns to becoming a successful musician.

In his book entitled "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F…”, a worldwide best seller that I highly recommend, Mark describes in a very picturesque way his frustrated youthful intention to become a rock star. As a teenager, Mark was intoxicated by the idea of becoming a successful guitarist. He could visualize himself on stage delighting the audience, doing endless solos, drawing sighs from young ladies, and amazing the young men. Mesmerized by such dream, Mark bought a guitar and... nothing happened. And the reason, according to him, was very simple. He was in love with the end result, but not with the process of getting there. When faced with the difficulty of learning to play an instrument and the hours of study and dedication needed to reach that goal, he quickly lost interest. Luckily for his readers, Mark would later find his real calling.

Now let's focus for a moment on a more successful example.  Bruce Springsteen details in his autobiography (which I also recommend) the amazement he felt when he saw Elvis Presley's first appearance on American television in the 50s. After seeing such a figure twisting his body on the screen of his TV, Bruce knew deep inside what he wanted to do with his life. His family had limited resources and could not afford music lessons, but he did not give up. He continued "fighting with the instrument", struggling to get the first chords until late hours in his bedroom, until venturing into the first band, still formed by teenagers. He went through hardships, traveled the United States playing to ridiculously small audiences, received several denials until he was finally able to record his first album. The rest is history.

The difference with Mark? Bruce loved the end result, that in the beginning existed only in his vision, but brought within also the predisposition to go through the painful process of reaching the levels of a superstar, which would one day play to packed stadiums and bring us eternal hits like "Born to Run".

And what does that have to do with our intention to build a better world? Simple, my friends.  Just like Mark Manson, we sometimes see ourselves in love with the end result, but not with the process of getting there. Many times, we are not willing to make the necessary changes in ourselves so that this end result becomes attainable. We buy the guitar but hope it will learn to play itself.

Focused on our day to day, it is not uncommon that we end up developing a passive attitude, hoping that others will be polite in traffic, that the school will educate our children, that the TV will eventually show us good examples, that our spouses will treat us in a loving fashion, that the supermarket cashier will be friendly, that the politician will be honest and incorruptible, that others will perform good deeds, that the boss will be less materialist and more just in his judgment to us, and we get deeply frustrated when these things don't come to happen, losing hope that the better world will actually one day materialize.

But then, where would be our responsibility in the process of creating a better world? When we look in the mirror, do we have the strength to ask ourselves if we are giving our share of contribution?  Are we being polite when driving? Are we courageously educating our children so that they too, make this world a better place? Are we devoting to our spouses the love they also eagerly seek?  Are we friendly with the supermarket cashier, who is probably tired of his/her routine and frustrated with his/her limited income? Are we incorruptible? Are we just as much or even more materialist than those we consider in position to pass judgement?  Do we carry out charity? Or do we selfishly believe it generates idle people and vagabonds?

As Gandhi said in his famous quote; "We have to be the change we want to see in the world." We have to start with ourselves.  Here is my call to action so that, in this collective process of building a "better place," we will be more Bruce than Mark. May the vision of the end result delight us, but let us also be willing to "fight with the instruments" until the most beautiful “melodies” sprout.  How about we start this intimate reform today?

A better world starts with the person in the mirror.