It scares me

Leonardo is growing up. He is almost four years old, but in a few months he has racked up exceptional achievements: he says it all, he is very lively and curious, he loves music, amazement envelops his every step. Like any child, he wants to involve you in his world: «Shall we go play? Do we do this? Shall we play music? Shall we see such and such a cartoon?». You are there, you learn to amaze yourself with him and to make your own the simplicity of a gaze that sees all things new. Beautiful, but nothing is taken for granted. Because the line between reality and imagination for Leonardo and children like him is not yet completely clear. A fine line that amplifies emotions, internal perceptions and even thoughts.

An evening like any other, he suddenly stops, he turns his gaze towards the dimly lit corridor, stops and turns around. When he does this you just have to listen to him. "What's up Leo?" He doesn't ask you twice, he spells out the words well, looks at you a little scared and then replies with his candor: "He scares me!". He doesn't need to ask what: hands forward, him coming into your arms and holding you tight. "Let's go see what scares you!" He took small steps in the corridor, turning on the light, opening every door. "You see, there is nothing. It's all right!" Leonardo lets go a little, moves his eyes in every direction, is calm, he too repeats: «There is nothing, there is nothing!». A few seconds and the scare is over: you can go back to playing as if nothing had happened. All resolved, but Leonardo's lesson remains. His smallness recalls a great truth of our being men and women: fear is very human, it exists, it accompanies us from the first moments, but it doesn't have the last word. As long as we agree to get close, to get close. Just as we are, without artifice, without tricks and deceptions, with very few words. Because a child when he doesn't know how to interpret reality doesn't need the lesson of supermen or the deeds of heroes. He simply asks for a friendly presence that he can trust.

An adult is not that different. Leonardo's fear of the dark is proportionate to his development, to his age. But in every season of life we can go through moments that give us the idea of not seeing anything anymore. It is the darkness of distrust, of disappointment, of trials, of sudden pain, of an incomprehensible situation. Luckily, we have more tools and more rationality than a child, but that darkness is equally scary and very often alone we are unable to cross it or reduce it. The answer clearly isn't in letting us be picked up, we'd be ridiculous at the very least. But the metaphor holds up because even as adults there is the possibility of meeting someone who can simply turn on a light, even a small one, in our non-sense. Someone who can accompany us with mere presence, look inside us and say: «I am with you! See, it's all right!" When this happens, the monsters of the dark disappear or can resize and the gaze on reality is no longer one-sided, but shared.
Who can do it, who can help? All, each of us, for each other, the moment we discover the responsibility of being there. To walk together. That's all.


Matteo Spicuglia
NP June / July 2023