Giornate un po’ così, in cui è dificile riflettere con serenità su ciò che succede.
Stamattina, di nuovo in treno, mi è capitato sotto mano questo passaggio di un vecchio libro di Murakami. Destino o coincidenza? Poco cambia.

“We can, if we so choose, wander aimlessly over the continent of the arbitrary. Ruthless, as some winged seed blown about on a serendipitous spring breeze. Nonetheless we can, in the same breath, deny that there is any such thing as coincidence. What’s done is done, what’s yet to be is clearly yet to be and so on.
In other words, sandwiched as we are between the everything that is behind us, and the zero beyond us, ours is an ephemeral existence in which there is neither coincidence nor possibility.
In actual practice however distinctions between the two interpretations amount to precious little.”