Gabriel writes to me asking me to list words, acts, situations and thoughts that could define a person as futile.
I found it interesting that this question was sent on the same day that a young woman commented below a text of mine saying: “Thank God, I’m a futile person. I live in peace, I live happily.”
My chronicle was making fun of how much marketing is abusing the word affection. And a reader (who is certainly not inane) made great jokes: “After the affective kitchen, will they invent the affective jiu-jitsu academy? The affective mechanic shop? The dentist who removes wisdom teeth from inside the affective bone?”
I didn’t understand why the woman (who declares herself futile) felt the need to comment on this text (didn’t she understand the content? She’s the owner of a loving shoe store and was offended? Did she need to vent on someone else’s page?).
His brief statement received 189 likes. A lot of people responded that they supported him. Others, encouraged by a kind of small virtual welcome, celebrated his declaration with an avalanche of exclamations: “Me too! Hooray!!! Aê!!!!”
I was curious and went to see what the girl did for a living, what kind of things interested her. Apparently rich, she loves Italy, sunsets and beige fashion looks. I searched, searched, searched, but that was it. Can you tell that she is frivolous on Instagram? I don’t know.
I don’t consider myself hollow and 1) I would love to be rich, 2) I love Italy, 3) I have nothing against sunsets and 4) I often wear a beige linen shirt that gives me a very mature look, especially when I wear it well crumpled.
Now… Could this person be very interesting for a chat? Well, she doesn’t seem to like books, journalism, democratic issues, cinema and when she says she loves Italy she never refers to its history, music, literature or works of art.
I know people who don’t understand irony, but they would have a spiritual stroke if they saw me trying to do a simple multiplication calculation in my head. I know a girl who got in first place at four colleges, but had such a glaring inability to start or maintain any remotely intelligent topic that at work we nicknamed her “elevator talk.”
Depending on the focus you want to give, none of these people could be considered uniformly remarkable, exceptional, or mediocre. And if you think I’m going to throw in a cliché “all unanimity is stupid” you’re wrong, because I tend to find clichés (which aren’t accompanied by self-irony about their use) a bit trashy.
I prefer to think of a graph where everyone can be very, average or not at all futile throughout the day. Today I spent 40 minutes on the internet researching the best Whey Protein brand. Does this necessarily place me on a spectrum of futility?
I have a syndrome that causes a deficiency of collagen in my body. It’s called hypermobility syndrome. Some people call it ligament laxity. There are people who, when they see me stretching, make the old man’s uncle joke: “I could work in the circus.”
I just consider myself to be a flaccid “pacarai”, the type who doesn’t gain muscle with muay thai and prays hard. And that was never a problem until I turned 40 and my body started aching like I was an 89-year-old lumberjack. I hurt my ligaments just holding a heavy book.
Taking whey protein, in my case, is not to become a fitness influencer, but to be able, as the woman who called herself futile would say, “to live in peace, to live well with life”, holding a very heavy Dostoevsky.
It’s a lie, in reality, I just freak out every December, thinking I desperately need to improve the appearance of my butt for the summer, but I do the treadmill listening to the Foro de Teresina podcast (a lie, it’s Anitta). Anyway.
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