Most of the time that I write down an idea for a column, I begin with a reflection about something that concerns or interests me, or with a text I’ve read or some news I’ve heard. But looking at my notes from this summer, I realized that I’ve been accumulating a series of questions for which I neither have an answer nor know how to approach. I noted that I had never gathered so many questions in my notebooks. And even though at times I ruminate about the same things, I recognize that in this list of accumulated questions I have something along the lines of «Why so much violence?» to «Why is each day a historic one for the cost of electricity?»
And each day I add a new question, and each day I lose myself looking for an answer. But I don’t understand anything. Why do rural bank offices close? Why do we continue blaming the young and the old for the problems those of us in the middle cause? Why is there so much hatred and so much willingness to show it?
I wish I were able to accumulate answers instead of questions. How easy life would be if we could know the reasons for all the things that happen to us. And also how complex because perhaps we would not have the possibility of thinking that we can be better. Perhaps, if we had all the reasons, there would be no hope.
In which direction are we headed now? Well, I don’t know. The truth is that all the questions I’ve written down in my notebook don’t lead me to much more than accepting, Socratically speaking, that «I know nothing.» And just as there are days that that feeling paralyzes me, there are also other days where that same feeling gets me up from bed. And when one of those days comes, I embrace the opportunity to continue asking myself things, to continue learning to orient myself in this complex road that is life.