I often think about the endless landscapes of Argentinean Patagonia.
I do not need to look at the thousands of photos that I took then, I carry these landscapes inside me and often they pop-up in front of my eyes, as a slow slide show, on the music of my melancholy.
And I think…
I think about the vastness, the immensity, and a boundless nature so difficult to imagine and believe real.
It is hard to believe that there are still places so immaculate and savage in a world that is advancing fast, destroying everything on its way…
Hard, if not impossible, not to feel tightly trapped in the four walls of our home, our work, our already fixed common future.
And then it comes back the urge to go, to travel, to discover remote corners where, perhaps, it is possible to find oneself again.
I think about "Into the Wild" and Christopher McCandless; I think about "Grizzly Man" and Timothy Treadwell; I think about Carlo Taglia and his “Around the world without flying”: People who have had the courage to follow their dreams, to do something more in this world, to do not die of work, routines, and all the others steps the society imposes to everybody's life.
And I curse myself for not having (yet) found the courage to go as I have always dreamed about, for not having (yet) left this tricky and imprisoning common life; for having always found only and merely excuses, even when it was inconceivable to admit to having only one place to live and return, when there is an entire unknown world out there waiting for us.
Because one can not and should not waste life ...