Atualizado: 17 de fev. de 2020
The life of man is told in decades. Those who reach a centenary are rare, and when this feat is achieved they bid farewell to life even before the first decennary. For this temporal aspect, living is sad because it is finite.
The perception of this existential fugacity is almost never before 40. Until that moment, we believe that anything can happen to us except cease to exist. When we realize the fateful reality of the end, of our end, we occasionally catch up with reminiscences: childhood here and there is present, and the pains and delights of youth already have names, some sweet and colorful and others not even. so much. Those who have already made fifty are unanimous in stating that it is from this moment that the contours of the fall begin to outline, show their curves, almost all descending. For many it is the beginning of the end. No matter how much you try to disguise, there will be someone who reminds you and calls you ladies or gentlemen in any environment in which you are formal or informal, work or play… If you can disguise the forties - and many can even -, the fifty already have their own way, independence, personality, too many certainties…
Why do we need so much to deny our age? And to whom?
The answer is simple and concise: for nothing or anyone!
Time, contradicting all our wills, will pass. It's for everyone. Like death, it is inexorable. We are led to want to perpetuate youth because we were taught early on that it is cool to be young and forever. Everything in this world is creation, eternal (re) invention, (re) construction, including time and the idea of youth and its youth derivatives. The world invented eternal youth and the media created and spread the forever young primer: James Dean, Presley, Elvis, indigo blue (old and faded), peace and love!, sex, drugs, rock and roll… Believing this is a too bad, because youth is not eternalized in their bodies. It is necessary to deny the form and continue living. In fact, if we think about the Stoics (Hellenists of the 3rd century BC), both the past and the future are times that do not exist in the world. Everything is present! The memory I bring from a life that is gone, from a past, is nothing more than the personified and present reconstruction of what has already happened. The former only exists for the self when it recovers it and brings it to the moment now, to the here and now. Time is of the soul, as St. Augustine says.
You have to accept yourself in your time and embrace the new that comes, no matter if at twenty, thirty, fifty ... For the very young, surely the new always has a fresh face, and nothing that happens to them - except the usual august from an early age - causes them existential questions of the "what-will-be-from-now, oh God?!" Already for those with more seasons, however, when this handsome lord, as the Caetano, to begin to leave his marks on the bodies and lighten his temples, the spirit - wanderer of many trails - must rest and thank God, at the altar that suits him best, for allowing him to star in scenes of the next chapters of this tragicomedy in four seasons (believe me, many today can't even live their spring!).
With a little luck, intelligence, creativity and elegance (because there are no inelegant souls in paradise) - when freed from the common demands and obligations that the work, social and family routine consumes us so much - life from then on can be quite better than it once was. It is even possible to reverse the descending temporal curvature into the ascending and to transform the paralyzing rheumatoid arthritis into angel wings lightness. To do so, it is sufficient only to realize that it is the wrinkles inside that actually bother those who have them and who see them, and for them the surgical scalpel will never be able to remove. We need to get rid of her for yesterday. The true elixir for a long-lived and youthful life is the rightness of character, the walking hand in hand of lovers and friends, the music that is sung with and to be loved, the recitation in prayer for those who have left memories, the step of day, without haste and always paced, the poetry of Coralina, you and me, me and you…
Ah, my dear friend, that alone is enough to receive, by the light of another's eyes, as we cross many corners that life has yet to give us, numerous “wow, how beautiful you are!”, “Wow, how beautiful you are! beautiful!". Believe me, this is how it works, and if it's not at that point for you yet, make it happen.