Francesca was a manager with a brilliant career at Philips. One year ago, she left her job to follow her passion instead: artisanal bread and pastry baking. I met Francesca last Saturday. She opened the doors of her house to me and to other fourty Ciabatta-eaters from all over the world. At 9:30 am in the morning, still half awake half sleepy, we had the chance to taste tons of delicacies she will sell in her new bakery, opening soon in the city centre. More than the combo Nero D'Avola jelly and goat cheese on hazelnut cookies, pumpkin breads and breadsticks with inkfish’s ink (which I keep dreaming every night by the way), I was impressed by her bravery and commitment. While explaining each and every ingredient and carefully touching her floury babies, Francesca unintentionally became my weekly hero. Changing life when failure knocks on the door, that’s quite something: but doing it in winning times, that’s a challenge for the chosen few.

Bart, PhD student during the week (Saturday and Sunday included), guitarist on Monday nights. While I align in rainbow colours the pencils of my labcoat’s pocket, Bart creates artificial heart valves and organizes rock festivals with emerging bands at Popei. For free. Last week I met him and the young generation I like. 19 years old singer-songwriters with a stage presence of experienced rockstars; bands leaving aside the umpteenth mock version of Break on through to give room to new words, refrains and musical notes. Bart’s lesson for me is summarized in these words from the book The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran: let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing.

Finally, Laura. To be completely honest, I haven’t exactly met her this week. Somebody introduced us 27 years ago, in a small hospital in southern Italy. Her first adorable approach is still engraved on my memory: “Hey, pretty face, first-come first-served. Barbie motorbike and football table are mine. You can watch and learn from me, your older sister, THE master. Amen.” From that moment, I stole the motorbike, the table and the parents attention, but for sure not her determination. Laura is an art historian, one of the best under 30 in circulation. Laura accepted a PhD in iconography, Aracoeli, Augustus, Sibyls and other intricated stuff I never know how to explain. But this is not the point. She does it for free. No scholarship, no commuting or housing allowance, nothing. Nothing else but glory. And, trust me, neither I nor any of the well paid PhD students I found here have that magic excitement she gets by looking at paintings, unravelling the hidden symbols behind them, doing, in other words, her job.

By looking at these people, and the way they pursue their passions, I can't stop asking myself: what makes people happy the most? Comfort zones that a stable and maybe boring job delineates, or rare gratifications that riskier but exciting jobs could give? What if the dream job exists, but we are just too scared, too settled down, too lazy, too paid to take the risk of standing up and going to search for it? I haven’t found an answer yet, but reading again this piece from Letter to Menoeceus, by Epicurus, helped me quite a lot.

‘For no age is too early or too late for the health of the soul [...] Therefore, both old and young alike ought to seek wisdom, the former in order that, as age comes over him, he may be young in good things because of the grace of what has been, and the latter in order that, while he is young, he may at the same time be old, because he has no fear of the things which are to come. So we must exercise ourselves in the things which bring happiness, since, if that be present, we have everything, and, if that be absent, all our actions are directed towards attaining it.’