I don't think I'm mistaken if I say that a good part of the memories we'll take away from this summer have to do with the sun. Beyond the unbearable heat, the possibility of having been able to see a total eclipse is not something that happens every summer. There were people who spent hours waiting or who spent a good sum of money to have a front-row seat by the sea, even though some couldn't prevent a cloud from arriving at the most inopportune moment.
The German philosopher and sociologist Hartmut Rosa reflected a few years ago precisely on the concept of the unavailable. In summary, his thesis is that a good part of the important things and situations that happen to us in life are uncontrollable, we cannot dispose of them. Rosa refers to important moments, such as deciding which career to study or marrying a certain person, but also to more common situations, such as enjoying snow. Who hasn't wished, as a child, for a good snowfall in their town and to be able to play with the snow and throw snowballs or make snowmen like in the movies? But the fact is that, outside of very northern latitudes, this only happens from time to time and is an experience as intense as it is unexpected and ephemeral. The experience of enjoying a snowfall in our own country is a paradigmatic example of the unavailable.
Being aware of this leads us to seek a different way of relating to our environment. Rosa talks about entering into resonance with things instead of controlling them. Continuing with the previous example, we know that we cannot dispose of the snow, take it and put it in the freezer for when we want to use it. What we can do is let ourselves be touched by the snow, evoke beautiful memories, or feel transformed by its contemplation.
Resonance is not the answer to avoid unavailability, but to avoid frustration. This does not prevent a tendency to want to reduce this unavailability. In fact, one of the characteristic features of modernity is precisely the effort to reduce it and ensure control over what surrounds us. Continuing with the snow analogy, this can be achieved from the moment technology allows us to create artificial snow, just as some people rented aircraft to be able to see the eclipse, avoiding a possible cloud cover. We should not overlook, however, one detail: unlike natural snow, artificial snow is not for everyone, but only for those who can afford the ticket to access it.
Paying for an experience makes it available to those who can afford it, but it doesn't make it more valuable. We must not fall into the trap of confusing the unavailable with luxury or exclusivity; it is ridiculous to compare what a child feels seeing snow at home for the first time with what a millionaire feels boarding their megayacht. What we have, even if we pay for it, loses its charm.
Last twelfth, at our home, we saw the eclipse on the rooftop, in Porreres, in the middle of the town. There were some neighbors on the surrounding rooftops. It wasn't the ideal place to see it, but for us it was an event that, from the house where we live and where my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents have lived, allowed us to build a shared and unique memory.
