“When you have to lose, lose quickly. The losses will be smaller,” said Loureiro, the cobbler who loved philosophy books and red wine, whose skill in stitching ideas was matched only by his craftsmanship in making bags and shoes. He placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the heavy wooden counter of the small workshop and continued: “Consolidating a loss is an act of extreme wisdom, whether to stop damage or to end suffering.” These were difficult days for me. I wanted a family within traditional models. My marriage had been crumbling for some time. We had a daughter who was nearly eight years old at the time. The thought of my little girl suffering the consequences of separation was one of the barriers making me insist on maintaining the marriage, even though it was in ruins. There were other reasons, financial and practical, like having to leave the comfortable house that I loved living in, built with great care in a very pleasant neighbourhood. All assets would be divided; our economic standard would be reduced. I would have set days and times to spend with my daughter. The most serious issue was respect; a fundamental aspect I doubted still existed. When thoughts like these arose, I quickly pushed them away. Attempts at dialogue, communication, goodwill, and understanding—essential attributes for maintaining healthy relationships—had run out. I knew this. Yet, I was still willing to persevere.
“Why?” Loureiro asked. Only the weak give up, I justified. The cobbler took a slow sip of coffee, as if assessing how far I was prepared to confront the truths I insisted on denying. Yes, we all hide truths that reveal realities we are not yet ready to face. One must have perception and sensitivity; truths have the power to transform and rebuild those who already have some support pillars to endure the necessary reconstruction; others, due to a lack of emotional and existential structure, may remain demolished by the same truths and stay that way for a long time. Evolution is a process of strengthening and balancing under the axis of love and virtues; therefore, everyone moves at their own pace and rhythm.
Loureiro savoured the coffee for a few more moments and said: “Accepting a loss does not mean giving up.” He paused before continuing: “On the contrary, it can demonstrate a great deal of maturity.” He took another sip and clarified: “Maturity is a typical stage for those who accept the consequences of their choices and, furthermore, treat every setback as an opportunity for learning and growth. Thus, even when they lose, they end up winning.”
The cobbler explained: “Accepting a loss begins when you recognize the exhaustion of a certain relationship, which we struggle to end because we cannot accept the losses, whether emotional or financial. It could be a business or a professional moment; it could involve the death of a loved one, whose departure seems to dismantle the meaning of life; it could be a marriage or a friendship that has changed simply because the people involved are no longer the same. Including you and me. We all change; or we should change. It is very pleasant, and even grand, when we evolve alongside someone at the same pace and direction. However, this does not always happen. When we find ourselves misaligned with one another, depending on the distances created, some separations become impossible to mend. Changes can bring perspectives that no longer share the same interests and purposes. The chasm becomes enormous. The cycle is over.”
He took care to warn me: “However, be sensitive not to trivialize your relationships; we should not distance ourselves from people for some light reason. Differences are inevitable in coexistence, and they are important factors for learning, transformation, and evolution. No one is exactly like anyone else. Few situations are as beautiful as when two people are willing to step out of where they are to meet in a place they have never been. A beautiful and unexplored place within themselves.” Loureiro made a point to clarify: “Often, the reasons that keep us stuck in a certain position on the chessboard of life are also the reasons for so many conflicts; comfortable in truths that have expired, we refuse to move. The truth is not a closed and rigid box. On the contrary, it moves.”
He emptied his coffee mug and clarified: “When we refuse to leave the box, we are squeezed by its walls. We suffer because we do not move the truth; because we do not move ourselves. Stagnation is the pathology of the soul imprisoned in truths that no longer fit. Evolution is a primordial and constant necessity, for it is what keeps the soul healthy; it is the root of happiness. Truths need to change because they reflect the boundaries of consciousness that will remain incarcerated if they do not continue to expand infinitely.” He refilled the mugs and pondered: “Therefore, before declaring the end of a cycle, see if it is not something within yourself that needs to go beyond where it has always been for that story to continue and flourish with previously unimagined intrinsic revolutions.”
Then he muddled my thinking: “For the same reasons, accept the loss.” Shortly after, he explained: “Wisdom consists of understanding if there are still chapters to be written. If the story is over, do not hesitate to close the book. Stop the losses, end the suffering. Insisting on waiting for what is no longer there, simply because it has ended or, in some cases, may not have even existed, is a painful way to stretch out the days and aggravate the pains. Do not be afraid of life; do not be startled by the end; it does not exist. Digest the scenes lived, understand what that adventure added to you. There are always lessons to be learned from every experience. Be humble; consolidate the loss. Accept it as a teacher with much to teach. Look at yourself simply, take the opportunity to strip away all your masks, and never fall into the trap of attributing all the responsibility for any failure to others. Accept your mistakes, have compassion for others’ difficulties; we are all learners. Damages become gains when the loss serves to make us different and better people; stronger and more balanced for another beginning, which always comes as long as we prepare for it.”
I asked Loureiro if he thought my marriage had come to an end. He smiled, shrugged, and replied: “I have no idea.” I smiled too. Of course, Loureiro would never tell me what to do. If the consequences of the choices were mine, it was only fair that the responsibility for the decision was mine too. A crucial aspect of achieving maturity. Otherwise, the fundamental step will never be taken simply because it was not taken with the legs, or better, with the awareness of the traveller.
I said I believed it would be worth trying a bit longer. There were many important things in my marriage. I would call my wife to talk about everything that was bothering us in the relationship. It would be a change of chapter rather than the end of a story. The cobbler nodded and added, “There is undeniable wisdom in your words.” Before I could revel in the compliment, he pondered: “However, talking requires knowing how to listen, being able to see through the other’s eyes, clearly and objectively expressing one’s own reasons to facilitate understanding; being gentle in one’s approach so that hearts remain open, and, more importantly and no less difficult, not taking offense when hearing something that does not satisfy one’s desires and interests. Otherwise, there will be many words but no dialogue.”
He took a sip of coffee and added, “Everyone is ready to talk within the parameters of their own truths; they are willing to show what others need to do for the relationship to improve. Few can engage in the effort to align the inevitable differences in perspective that motivate conflicts. This turns conversations into arguments. Opportunities for understanding are lost, grievances grow larger, and misunderstandings become the norm in almost everyone’s relationships. After all, we cannot criticize others for refusing to walk if we remain seated.”
I mentioned that I was willing to listen, even if I did not like what I would hear. Loureiro nodded and said, “There is much wisdom in that,” and since I was already expecting the caveat, I was not surprised when he warned, “However, that is not enough.”
I asked him to elaborate. The cobbler expanded on his reasoning: “Talking about what we dislike in others does not require much effort. The intolerant find this easy; for the most part, they are those who wish the world would conform to their desires, wants, interests, and comfort; they are imprisoned in their own misunderstanding. Unique are those who, instead of starting a conversation by pointing out the flaws in others, begin by showing what they could change in themselves that has been hindering the relationship, before asking the same of their conversation partner. It is up to the other to understand and take responsibility for the rightful counterbalance. A simple, sensible, and above all, honest practice that will help soften communication channels, making listening more receptive and kind, as well as the suggestions presented. Improving the relationship based on the silent example of one’s own self-improvement is an evolutionary attribute. Such people are rare, precious, and I would dare say, wise. By exhausting the possibilities of finding common ground that satisfies both, despite the effort to adjust the relationship through personal improvement they imposed on themselves, they achieve clarity of understanding and firmness in the choice to accept loss. Thus, the suffering from misunderstandings ends, and the time for rebuilding a new cycle begins.”
After spending another period of study at the monastery, I returned home. I invited my wife to dinner. We talked about the marriage. The differences in perspective were vast. We considered the possibility of divorce. We would sell the house we both loved to live in small apartments in a less desirable neighbourhood, as that would be all we could afford after dividing our assets. We would no longer be able to combine our salaries to cover shared expenses, acquire new possessions, and take the trips we both enjoyed. As always happens, for various reasons, we knew that some friendships would disintegrate along with the marriage. Ultimately, it was a lot of sacrifice for two weak people; it would be enormous losses for two unbalanced individuals. We decided to maintain the marriage without making it clear to each other what changes each of us would take on and be responsible for to change our course. We behaved like a ship adrift, pretending not to see the port where we could make necessary repairs to the helm, continuing aimlessly in the vastness of the turbulent sea. We could not lament the shipwreck.
We tend to believe that hell is other people. A grave error, a blatant lie. Each person creates their own hell. Whether by their own actions, as inevitable consequences of the choices made; or by undue permission, failing to set boundaries in a relationship, a cruel way of not respecting oneself. Ignorance and fear are the seeds of all suffering.
Two years passed. Perhaps they were the worst years of my life; I believe they were for my wife too. Although we had not given up anything we did not want to lose, we watched life crumble around us; we were profoundly unhappy. The dense atmosphere of unhappiness surrounding the house, generated by the couple’s emotional and spiritual distance, began to harm our daughter. Professionally, we fell into decline. Work lost its lightness, joy, and flow; she was constantly overlooked by younger employees for the promotion she awaited at her company; at the advertising agency, I created increasingly bland projects every day. Soon came the anxiolytics, the sleeping pills, and the bad moods. The ruin of the marriage spread in all directions of our existence, both inside and out.
It was only then that I realized we had gone too far, far beyond a story whose end I could no longer deny. To avoid losing material possessions, comfort, and small pleasures, I was losing myself. It was necessary to accept the loss to stop the damage. Otherwise, it would prolong into much more serious losses. Sarcasm and disdain; lack of respect, affection, and consideration; there was aggression even when no words were spoken, for there the silence had sharp teeth. The dreaded financial damages, which we had tried so hard to avoid, also came. Because, in addition to professional decline, no one cared for the house anymore, which deteriorated day by day. Friends distanced themselves because, without realizing it, we had become terrible company; we no longer emanated the vibrations of unity and mutual understanding that everyone loves to feel in couples who love each other. Even travel became quite unpleasant, no matter how beautiful and enjoyable the cities we visited were; there was no longer the indispensable joy of simply being together.
During this time, we lost far more than we would have lost if we had had the clarity and courage to accept the loss when the end had already become evident. Yet, we denied it. Nothing is gained when one deceives oneself. Time is a fire that burns all those who refuse to evolve. It is impossible to evolve without facing the difficulties of change. By not accepting the end of the relationship, we allowed fear and lies to stretch the suffering to its last consequences and flood our hearts with bitterness. We drowned. No relationship needs to reach this point of existential misery. The list of damages was extensive and heavy.
The divorce was painful. In dividing our assets and arranging custody for our daughter, although we argued over amounts and property and discussed more suitable times for the little one to spend with us, the disagreements arose because the hurt was a dominant factor in all the equations, preventing us from finding the simple solutions that are always available when the heart is light. Each of us took a slice of the assets and a heavy load of accumulated resentment. This meant that, although the marriage had ended, the loss continued. After some time, I still couldn’t start a new chapter, and I didn’t understand why.
“Consolidate the loss,” Loureiro advised simply as he placed the coffee mugs on the wooden counter of the workshop. I said I had already done that. All the assets had been divided. Our daughter, now a teenager, had chosen to live with me, with her mother’s consent, as she had been transferred to work in the Northeastern region of Brazil, at a new branch of the company she worked in. There was no more interaction; no more issues to discuss. The loss was consolidated, I insisted. They were the worst years of my life, I added with bitterness in my voice. Though there was compassion in the cobbler’s eyes, his words were firm: “You still do not comprehend the full extent of the loss.” He took a sip of coffee and explained: “Although you have ended the marriage, with the inevitable financial and practical consequences such a decision entails, you have realized only these losses, but not all of them. The intrinsic losses continue.”
I said he was mistaken; there was no residue of love or desire to rekindle the relationship. I was being sincere. Loureiro nodded his head as if to say he understood and remarked, “I’m not talking about that. I’m referring to the fact that the losses persist within you because there remains a residual hurt in your heart. As long as you continue to blame your ex-wife for the damages you suffered—be they financial, professional, or emotional—there will be such a weight on your soul that it will be impossible for you to move forward. Resentment traps you, as it will always be there to taint a good idea or a pleasant moment. Resentment steals happiness because it prevents you from moving on; it robs peace through the emotional imbalance it creates.” He paused before concluding: “No one consolidates loss without also exhausting the resentments.”
The cobbler was determined to rescue me from myself: “Forgiveness, a simple word with immeasurable power because of the liberation it brings.” He paused for emphasis: “Forgive not only the one who was your wife but, more importantly, forgive yourself. To do so, admit that nothing happened without your permission, a fact that made you an accomplice in all that happened, whether by action or omission. Forgive yourself for having been afraid to consolidate the loss. Accept that this was why the damages were far greater than they should have been. Learn from the mistakes you created in an attempt to escape the truth you did not want to face. This is the price paid for your fear.”
He added: “No one will be ready for a new beginning while carrying the weight of past losses in their baggage. First, it is necessary for the damages to be transformed into lessons; only then can you gain even more valuable insights from the suffering endured and become a stronger and more balanced man. When accepted, loss transforms into gain. While it remains unacknowledged, loss imposes stagnation and generates suffering.”
He took another sip of coffee and philosophized: “Unacknowledged loss becomes a cruel slave master that, contrary to what we like to believe, is not imposed by anyone but chosen by ourselves, in our refusal and misunderstanding of how to deal with the setbacks of existence.” He emptied his mug and concluded the conversation: “In truth, we only lose when we extinguish our own light. Everything else is merely accounting and experience.”
Soon after the coffee, I went up to the monastery. In fantastic synchrony, during those days, the studies, lectures, and discussions seemed to either add to or reinforce the various elements contained in Loureiro’s words that I was reflecting on. When we truly open ourselves to a bright idea, life provides all the necessary content for liberation. It was essential to change my perspective and way of thinking. Regeneration means giving new life, it means reinventing oneself. For this, one cannot stubbornly cling to what has already slipped through their fingers. Renewed, a few months later I met Denise. But that is another story I have already told.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
