We’ve been sold a strange story: that strength in a man means never hesitating—always taking what he wants, unapologetically.

But I remember a night that made me question all of that.

I was in Tuscany, years ago. Broke. Driving a car that barely climbed hills. That night, I sat on a bench in Bagno a Ripoli, smoking cheap cigarillos, waiting for dawn when the old man with thick glasses would make his first brutal espresso of the day. I wasn’t in love. But I wasn’t lost either. I felt still. And I realized: maybe having everything isn’t the point. Maybe sitting with nothing is its own wealth.

A few weeks later, I was with a woman. Smart, curious, a little wild. We were in her apartment, music low, the city beneath us—the Duomo peering through the window like a disappointed teacher. In that space between a look and a kiss, I felt it rise. Not just desire. Urgency. The need to act, to close the distance.

But I didn’t move.

Not from fear. But because something whispered: Not now. Not like this.

It was in that pause I understood what Scruton meant—desire is moral. Not in the guilt-heavy way. But because it involves another person. And a person is not a moment. Not a solution. Not a mirror.

“Are you okay?” she asked, half-laughing.

“Yeah. I just like the silence right now.”

She smiled. We poured more wine. Talked for hours.

That night became memorable because nothing happened.

The next day, we began something that lasted two years.

I’m not always that man. I’ve rushed in, said too much, touched too soon, left too fast. Used attention to patch my broken confidence. But the older I get, the more I realize — an honest presence is as powerful as any seductive quality.

They say you must act on desire or lose it. I think the opposite is true. The man who sits with desire without needing to resolve it—he becomes the fire. He doesn’t chase or perform. He waits. When he moves, it means something.

Because the cost of touch isn’t just what we give—it’s what we forget to hold.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

She left, eventually.

After two years of freedom, wildness and introducing me to every one of her girlfriends with that spark in her eyes — she left. No drama. Just life shifting its weight. And now I’m here again.

Back on that same bench in Bagno a Ripoli. The cigarillos just as strong. It’s 6:12 AM and I’m waiting for the cafeteria to open. But the old man with the glasses doesn’t work there anymore. His wife runs the place now. Their daughter helps out — twenty-one, hazel eyes, a quiet kind of beauty, the kind you notice only when she walks away. 

She smiles when she sees me. Her cheeks flush.

I nod. I smile back.

I’m not rushing anything.

And maybe sitting with nothing — no applause, no chase, no one reaching for you in the dark — is its own kind of wealth.

Because to sit with longing, and not rush to resolve it…To simply hold it, without turning it into demand—that’s where the real adventure begins.

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