Lights of Necker

If I had to associate one place with my adolescence, it would be this skate park in Geneva. A closed circuit designed for rolling and skating, with the next loop on the horizon. A game of patience. On the threshold of a departure. With a vehicle that, with practice, has become part of our gait, part of our silhouette. With the characteristic sounds of wood and metal clattering on the asphalt, the rubbing of the wheels on the ground, loop after loop carving a furrow. Not a definitive line, but the first. Many will follow, complete it, correct it, affirm it, but they won't be able to take away the merit of having been the first. This still uncertain line is above all a long trail. A very long moment that today, to my adult eyes, seems so brief. Less than six years. A period of tension and ambivalence, where we experience unprecedented joys and profound boredom in the same day. Where, paradoxically, we're forced to be independent. Where we're pushed to take power over our own conduct, whereas up to now we've followed the guidelines one after the other. We're never ready. We're stunned. We hesitate. We must initiate a first movement. We know this because time won't stand still for us, because even if we don't move, circumstances will drag us somewhere. We have to move forward, even if we don't know what we're going to lose or what we're going to gain.