For a while now I have spoken only when necessary, choosing silence and listening instead. I care too much about the form of expression and, above all, about what sits inside it.
To me, language is everything.
If we express ourselves approximately, we get used to thinking approximately. And coarse, imprecise, careless thought traps us in that limbo of presumed awareness where we end up believing everything we tell ourselves — and where many people live without ever having truly been born.
Clear language allows us to grasp intuitions, turn them into intentions and then into actions. Clear language is a guarantee of freedom.
And because I have to read this letter today, on our wedding day, I am called upon to speak about intimate thoughts and things that you know are, for most people, inadmissible. I will do it by riding on the shoulders of giants — drawing on the thoughts of my teachers and the adamantine presence of my witnesses: Domenico, Ignazio and Mike.
Forgive me for not yielding to any ecumenical vow. I cannot go along with a misogynistic, male-dominated culture that feels entitled to tell us how we should live — and even how we should die — that fills us with rules until we cannot breathe and forget who we really are.
Forgive me if today I give voice to no promise. A promise, by its very nature, admits the possibility that it can be broken.
My reasons run even deeper. Even if we are about to surrender ourselves to the wine, I do not want to — and cannot — forget the reckoning I have had with time.
Does a father's promise to his daughter of a peaceful life — a life now saturated with dust and blood because of a sadistic male chauvinist — carry less weight than mine? Does a parent's promise never to outlive their children carry less weight than mine? Does a young person's promise to himself that he will beat a bastard of a disease carry less weight than mine?
From what height of presumption could I say so?
These are laws made by human beings and, therefore, they stand beneath human beings. Forgive me. I can't do it.
Rather than thrash around under the weight of vows and promises, I ask you something else instead: let us give ourselves permission.
Let us allow ourselves to fail — we are and remain human beings, and it is precisely in failure that we will find our greatest opportunities to grow.
Let us allow ourselves to have doubts, which are the crowning achievement of life.
Let us allow ourselves time — deep down we are children, and we should think about playing before it is too late.
Let us allow ourselves to be malfunctioning lighthouses for our children. We will not always manage to light their lives. They can and must go far — as far as the point where we can no longer see them. And we will always be here when they want to come back.
Let us allow ourselves not to interfere in each other's lives. In truth, we do not belong to one another. Sometimes we should protect each other from ourselves and from our unresolved neuroses.
Give yourself permission, Stefy.
Give yourself permission to bring your demons into the light — it isn't about being there through good times and bad, it is about becoming that good and that bad so you can bring yourself back into balance.
Give yourself permission to pursue your own evolution. You are in this world to become what you are meant to be. And every time you find yourself again, betray yourself. Give yourself permission to betray, Stefy — because beyond that false safe fence of belonging there is a space of identity protected by no bond of trust, where you will be enough for yourself.
Give yourself permission to live the life you could still live and think all the thoughts you could still think. You will never be responsible for how other people feel — but you are responsible for your happiness.
Finally, give yourself permission to keep a light heart. Always. The world is a vast place that can be brutal, but life is short — far too short. Always ask yourself what makes you happy, then do it. If the world is this brutal, perhaps it is because there are not enough happy people in it.
I am certain that if we can give ourselves permission for all of this, we will have a chance of succeeding at one of our main goals: raising our children in a healthy way, giving them the right tools to face the investment with the highest return of all — life.
Then we will have children who understand that there is no single best day of your life, only good days and bad days. And that they all have the same value.
Children who understand that evil exists and suffering is part of life, but magic exists too, and full-bodied laughter, and love. And that without one they will never be able to appreciate the other.
Young people who understand that they will not have to save anyone — because everyone saves themselves.
Adults who understand that life is not a performance competition, and that they are competing only with themselves. That the world needs their commitment if it is to become a more beautiful and just place.
Men who understand that crying will not make them weak. That if they do not develop the femininity that exists inside every man, they will never be complete people. That if they do not marry, or decide not to have children, or if their body rejoices with a man rather than a woman, or if some desire never comes true — they can still be happy. Wherever they are. Regardless of everything. Regardless of anyone.
People with great ideals who are not attached to stupid flags. People who will prefer action to inertia, courage to comfort, the search for truth more than truth itself. Who will choose facts over words and knowledge over secondhand beliefs.
To do all of this, they will need courage. Freedom is the secret of happiness, but courage is the secret of freedom.
It is up to us to give them the right tools — first by choosing our words carefully, then by setting an example.
To finish, Stefy, I ask you for just one thing: every now and then, in the middle of all this, let us make an appointment just for us. Let us choose good wine, put on good music and, lightly, tell each other about ourselves and what we are experiencing — so that desire never becomes saturated.
Let us leave a mark of our passage on this earth. Then perhaps, if we are ever born again, I will have clues to help me remember and come looking for you once more.
What do you say, Stefy?