A few days ago, browsing my Instagram profile, I noticed the shots of a photographer. He wrote in his profile, photographer, as a profession. Generally speaking, I’m a curious girl, and as I always do in these cases, I decided to message him privately.
And among the various exchanged messages, one impressed me: never transforming a passion into a profession.
A contradiction, or rather a counter-tendency. How many times, by listening to a craftsman or a successful young man, his story begins like that: it was all about gambling and then I decided to turn a passion into a job.
And so I was wondering what I was doing with my passion: writing. Words are important, words have a meaning, no matter how we say it. And when we write them, we live with our meaning, but also what others give to it, those who read it.

Words create a thought, detail it, tell it. They settle inside us, like at the bottom of a well. And we see them, down there, on the surface. Far. But we know what we are, we know their meaning, we feel the emotions that cause us: happiness, anger, indifference.
Without words what would we be? Even now, where the word is thrown at random on any of the socials we attend. Without defense, without genius, as when we get home tired and take off our clothes and shoes, and throw them where it happens.
The words are.
I always liked reading, I think my respect for the word comes from this. And even by my mom telling me when she, little girl, wrote her school writings that were unavoidably read to the whole school.
I think everything started out there. At middle high school I had a very good Italian teacher. One who loved little anthologies, experiencing other ways to teach her students. She did read us a lot. Sometimes she offered us a book for the week to read and to sum up, or maybe we were working in a group, maybe on a subject, and from there we had to produce a written text.
When I attended the school I did not have the vows. The final judging (at the end of the three years) was made of a few lines written with suggestions on how to continue the schooling. And in the end it all condensed a word: good or distinct or even great.
In my final judgment, my teacher wrote that I should have done classical high school or teaching high school, what the teachers were doing.
My comment to my mother was: I do not even think about it, I want to travel, I want to learn foreign languages.
And so I did.
But after graduation and after a couple of jobs (the ones you have to experience before you really understand what you want to do in life), I chose to study communication and work in that field.
Writing.
I have transformed a passion into a profession. Was that the right choice? Sometimes I make myself this question. In recent years, I have often wondered why writing was a burden, writing to the command was a burden, writing about things I did not passionate was a burden. But also a challenge. Telling an object, a company can be complicated.
But everything is told. We all have a story to tell. Whether personal or not.
So even if I’m living telling stories from others, places I do not know and maybe I can never visit, this is my story, my human dimension, the reason that pushed me to open my blog, to create this Broadcast and also to go on stage Do not tell my mom, last night in Bologna.
I write what I tell, I tell what I like: on a stage like a blog!