The Simple Fact of Breathing

On a summer night in 1994, I went to see a showing of “Il Postino” at the Academy of Music Theater in Northampton, MA.

I was on vacation at the time and staying at my aunt’s farmhouse in Cummington, which was about 30 minutes away.

The film is about an Italian postman on a small island who befriends the Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda, who is living in exile.

The postman learns to love poetry through his relationship with Neruda. Then he falls in love and needs Neruda’s guidance more than ever.

This turned out to be quite an evening for me.

I was wearing my Brooklyn cap at the time and before the film started, a man walking to his seat saw me and asked me if I really was from Kings County.

I assured him that I was, and it turned out he was a Brooklyn native living in the Berkshires.

After the movie, I met up with my fellow Brooklynite, his wife and several of their friends, and we all went out for drinks and dessert.

It was a complete turnaround from the night I had expected, where I figured I’d watch the movie and go straight back to my aunt’s home.

I kept in touch with that couple for many years, and while it’s been some time since we’ve spoken, I’m so grateful for our time together--and I’m really glad I wore that Brooklyn cap.

I haven't seen “Il Postino" since that night at the Academy of Music, but I’m thinking about watching it again after I came across a poem by Pablo Neruda called “Die Slowly”.

“He who does not travel,” the poem begins, “who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, dies slowly.”

The poem warns about shunning passion, becoming a slave to habit, avoiding risk, and remained silent when you are asked something you know—all the ways we die slowly.

Getting Out There

I thought of all the times I had remained silent when I had something to say, when I kept to myself when I should’ve been seeking companionship, how I remained in terrible relationships with people who didn’t give a damn about me, or stayed at jobs I hated only because I was so terrified of being out of work.

Shunning passion? Slave to habit? Avoid risk? Check, check, check.

Now that I’m a senior citizen I appreciate have quickly time goes by. Part of me wishes I had read this poem when I was younger, but then I ask myself would I have heeded the warning?

Would I have seen myself in Neruda’s words? Would I have turned my life around?

The year is more than half over and I have made very few inroads in my promise to socialize more.

On Saturday, I went to picnic for a friend who is moving back to Pittsburgh after living in New York for many years.

He’s a great guy, but we hadn’t seen each other in a while—partially because of covid, but I think I could’ve done a better job of staying in touch with him.

I met him when I first moved back to New York nearly 30 years ago when he headed up a group called MeetIn.org—not MeetUp, mind you. I didn’t know too many people in town, so this group was a real godsend.

And yet when I got up on Saturday morning, I could hear that voice in my head encouraging me to skip the picnic, stick to my usual routine of reading the paper in my local park and going home for a night of takeout and Netflix.

Luckily, I’ve heard the voice many times before and I’m getting better at ignoring it.

I went to the picnic, met up with my buddy, talked to very nice people and had great time.

“Let’s try and avoid death in small doses,” Neruda’s poem ends, “always reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort by far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.”

I want to attain that splendid happiness because we don’t know how much time we have on this earth. Massimo Troisi, who played the title character in "Il Postino," as well as co-directing and co-writing the film, had put off heart surgery so he could finish the movie.

He died one day after filming was completed. He was 41 years old.