"Take the moon" is not advice, but a suggestion. It applies not only in difficult times, but also in times of joy, or when we tend more toward resignation than exaltation. The moon is there on purpose, disappearing and reappearing precisely because if it were always there it would be trivial. It works like longing, which involves looking for the stars precisely when they are not there or one fears they are hidden somewhere in the universe.

Today more than ever we are caught up in the present and have made it enough for ourselves, perhaps appalled at what might be at the doorstep or out of satiety of what we possess. The family struggles in its authoritative function, schools are drenched in bureaucracy and impervious to change, care for the environment, attempting to ensure a beneficial future, risks affecting beauty, while technologies design a world of mute relationships subservient to new categorical orders. It is as if the future proposes controversial instead of reassuring messages. Yet, it is not events that are changing us, but we who are changing events.
 

Chasing a horizon, not conquering it, that's what thinking and writing is all about. And today there is indeed a need to look for something new. Not everyone tries, nor feels this obligation. Terrible wars are being fought, yet more worrying is that which does not make noise and which lurks in so many souls persuading them to entrench themselves, to defend themselves by closing the front door. They spin pushers of comfort, enticing the thoughts of many people.

In this new book, Paolo Crepet returns to the themes dearest to him – education, schooling, family – with a clear intent: to provide a tool to orient oneself beyond the blanket of clouds that obscure the moon, namely hope. That is why he says to young people and even to those who are no longer young: take the moon. Each his own, of course.