Dear Reader,

These days, I’ve been finishing “Con parole precise,” Gianrico Carofiglio’s most recent book. It’s a beautiful reminder of how powerful clarity can be — not only in writing, but in thinking itself. Carofiglio speaks of precision as a moral act: choosing words carefully, refusing to manipulate or to lean on rhetorical shortcuts that exploit someone’s cognitive biases.

Reading it, I suddenly remembered how attentive I used to be as a child. Back then, I could follow any adult conversation with almost surgical attention. I didn’t take sides, didn’t intervene — I listened and dissected every argument, spotting contradictions and weak points with ruthless accuracy.

And I asked myself, ‘Why can’t I always do that nowadays?’

Of course, being an adult means having a busier mind — more thoughts, more noise, more half-open browser tabs, so to speak. But maybe it’s not just a distraction. A child, after all, usually stands outside the conversation. He is not busy defending his position, nor eager to convince anyone. He observes without taking sides.

The adult, on the other hand, is more often inside the conversation. He is emotionally and intellectually invested; he wants to be understood, maybe he wants to win the argument. And that changes everything.

Now, neither position is inherently better. Standing outside gives you clarity and perspective — like the philosopher who, according to some ancient thinkers, goes to the market not to trade but to watch how people behave. Distance allows understanding. However, the Stoics, as well as Plato in The Republic, remind us that philosophy is not an escape from life. The wise person must also enter the agora, the forum, the messy human space where ideas meet reality and lives are lived.

So perhaps the art lies not in choosing one side, but in learning to move swiftly and strategically along the spectrum — from detachment to engagement and back again. Sometimes you need the child’s cool, analytic distance; sometimes the philosopher’s willingness to step into the market and get his hands dirty.

What I miss, when I feel less sharp and keen, isn’t the child’s brain but his position: the ability to observe before reacting. And maybe the actual adult skill is knowing when to shift gears — when to step back, breathe, and look at the discussion as if you weren’t part of it for a moment.

That’s where clarity lives. Not in being forever detached, nor in throwing yourself mindlessly into the argument, but in knowing that both are tools — and that wisdom is simply the choice of which to use.

Until next time, try noticing which role you’re playing — observer or participant — and whether a small step in the other direction might bring you a better result.