Just like the waves cover the coastal plains

by Lorenzo Piccoli

December 24th, last year: pessimism is replaced by fear, fear and anxiety I will have to muddle through 2013 without much of a plan, as I did in 2012. Being an unsettled dog is fun for a while but then time comes you want a prospective, you want a job. And last December, this exact time of the year, I had none.

Then I got a few offers. Rome, Strasbourg, Brussels. I chose Brussels, where I had already been living between October and December. I moved to a beautiful flat around Madou (Voglio tutto) and I found the best flatmate (Tea for the Tillerman) and friend (La Hulpe) one can possibly imagine. In Brussels I did many things, some of which unexpected: I sunbathed (You learn to live with it), observed (Otiose weekendly remarks), ran a hostel (You want to change the world?) and ran myself (Challenge accomplished). I left heartbroken in July (I won’t be near). I then volunteered in Slovakia (Ricostruire) and went to a road-trip in centre-south Italy with Stefania (Travels with Stefania).  At the end of the summer I moved to Florence and after five years of pilgrimage between Trento and other places I finally had the impression I was settling down for good. I now work in a ivory tower (The world of ideas), enjoy phantastic landsacapes (Memorie fiorentine di popolo), live a rather mundane life (Foglie d’autunno), collect aureate memories with my groovy stronzi (While in Budapest) and do research on citizenship (Stuff I do).

And so I have been living in Brussels and then settled down in Florence; but I travelled to other places too. Between January and December I spent days and nights onto my mountains, in winter (Simple question d’equilibre and Monte Maggio and And goodbye) and in summer (Molto). I visited Innsbruck (It’s always the time for skinny-dipping), Munich (Sushi and gulaschsuppe), London and Edinburgh (It was blue), Utrecht (Koninkrijk), Flanders (Vlaanderen), Dinant (Dinant), Dusseldorf (Underwear), Berlin (Warschauer Platz and Clean Lorenzo), Bratislava (Dirty Lorenzo) and Budapest (The dustman and the dancer).

I used this space to write about many things. My posts were reflexive (So here we are), ironic (Revolt, red, and nudity) funny (well, I hope – Buongiorno anche a te and What do you think of), and serious (Radici). I also recklessly shared letters I got from my father (Coltivare i rapporti), Thomas (How much more French you can get), Iris (Follow your heart), and Fabio (All’improvviso). Of course, I wrote many other things too, but these ones are the ones I like better.

At the end some can say it is a waste of time. Yet, when I look back at all these posts that came online in 2013 I have the feeling this is worth something. While writing this, I could finally stop and think of the places, of the people, and all of these invented words. All screaming is my memory of the human love for anything, or anyone and, as the melody goes, if you don’t agree you better get back inside your cave ’cause we’re all dancing with the waves, breaking through the barrier reef, cutting through the carbon sea, approaching the shore.