It was early morning when the train dropped me at the station of the small and charming town with narrow, winding streets paved with centuries-old, slippery stones under a fine rain. I don’t like starless skies. Clouds give me a sense of blocked paths and obstructed views. It’s no different with the truth, concealed behind opaque layers formed by unbridled passions and dusty ideas of consciousness. I walked like an apprentice tightrope walker under the dim light of old lampposts still in service. Shoes on wet stones were a dangerous combination, much like immaturity leads us to slip along the subtle alleyways of truth. We slide away due to the clarity we lack.
Spotting Loureiro’s classic bicycle—he, the cobbler fond of red wine and philosophy books—leaning against the post in front of his workshop, was always a joy. The unpredictable operating hours often robbed me of the certainty that I could enjoy some good conversation and a steaming cup of fresh coffee before heading to the monastery for another period of study.
I was greeted with a sincere smile and a tight hug by the elegant cobbler, dressed in tailored black trousers and a white linen shirt; his sleeves rolled above his elbows to keep them out of the way while stitching bags and shoes. That was the craft. The art lay in how he treated everyone and in his mastery of crafting unsettling yet beautiful ideas. His personal elegance consisted of a rare blend of delicacy in words without any attempt to bargain with the truth, though he was careful to respect individual boundaries and the subtleties needed to express truths; not everyone is ready to openly confront existential constraints. The way one approaches and speaks is essential to avoid offense. An improbable but indispensable balance. The beauty of his ideas emerged through free thinking, in a mind without rigid molds, propelled by a serene and joyful heart constructing the unimaginable—both within and beyond his interlocutor.
I mentioned this to the cobbler as he set down two steaming mugs of coffee on the heavy wooden counter of his atelier. Loureiro dismissed any credit: “I simply dare to think differently. Popular fallacies are a pernicious kind of mental prison. They fixate concepts built on interests that are almost never fair—or, more often, are superficial. Repeated often enough, they become framed as if they were the expression of truth. But they are not. By abandoning free thought, people allow their choices—and thus their lives—to be directed by these manipulative formulas. They lose themselves and let the best of their days slip through their fingers. By examining each one, it’s easy to find the lies that underpin them. However, few allow themselves this simple act of boldness.”
Before I could ask, he offered some examples: “Don’t change a winning team. Coined by some soccer commentator to criticize adjustments made to a team that lost a game after a streak of victories, this phrase became a behavioural concept. I’ve heard it countless times in various situations, usually from people who fear change or want to avoid the effort of transformation. The universe is in constant expansion; everything changes all the time. What does not move will be swallowed by cosmic evolution. Inevitably. That was the fate of steam engines, caravels, car carburetors, television valves, rooftop antennas, trams, vinyl records, landlines—the list is endless. So it is with people and professions. Imagine a young typist with an excellent job in the mid-1980s, believing she didn’t need to change because her livelihood was secure until retirement. After all, at that moment, her team was winning; the job market was abundant in her field. By the end of the next decade, this woman was unemployed, with no chance of reemployment; her profession had simply disappeared. If she hadn’t anticipated the world’s inherent movements while her team was victorious, she would have fallen steeply, like a bird refusing to fly. Waiting to lose before acting demonstrates an appreciation for stagnation; it marks a loss of rhythm and harmony with time; an absurd belief in inertia as a way of life. A mind imprisoned by complacency or fear.”
Indeed, I admitted, I had used the phrase myself a few times. Though the situations varied, the fundamentals were the same. Loureiro expanded on the topic: “The ends justify the means—a concept used by all those who wish to evade responsibility for the methods and criteria they know were unjust to achieve a certain interest. They use the phrase as a shield of supposed nobility to distance themselves from the vileness of the method. A twisted reasoning to justify mistakes and wrongdoings, excusing them by the greatness of the achieved goal. It’s worth noting that this concept originates in the famous political philosophy treatise of the Middle Ages, The Prince, which provided arguments for the abuses and excesses of Absolutism—the tyranny of kings and the violence they practiced. Machiavelli, the book’s author and the phrase’s creator, advised royalty to govern through terror and fear, disregarding any respect from the people. What mattered was the maintenance of power as the ultimate end; at any cost as the means. Unsurprisingly, the adjective ‘Machiavellian’ became synonymous with cunning, bad faith, and opportunism.” He furrowed his brow and reflected: “How often do we bargain with the truth to achieve a sliver of happiness, an undue privilege, or an unconfessed desire? We lie to ourselves, making a futile effort to believe the wrong road will lead to the right destination, as if it were possible to do good using evil. How often do we harm others under the guise of speaking the truth, when in reality, it wasn’t said to clarify or support but solely to hurt? We forfeit virtues and truth in exchange for petty and fleeting pleasures. We waste the good to revel in the bad.” He shrugged and concluded: “But we justify it. Our goals are noble, therefore capable of justifying selfish acts. We must convince ourselves that others are wrong; the world is unreasonable, not me.”
I was enjoying the conversation. I asked him to provide another example. Loureiro was generous: “The voice of the people is the voice of God. This is an absurd manipulation of public opinion to silence dissenting voices. Giordano, Copernicus, and Galileo faced serious problems in an era when everyone was certain the Sun revolved around the Earth. It was the popular belief, the prevailing voice, and the Inquisition’s, which claimed to protect supposed divine and absolute truths.” Then he showed other situations to illustrate the danger of following such a deceptive concept. He asked a question that needed no answer: “Remember that, when given the choice by Pilate, the people demanded the release of a thief and murderer while insisting on the death of a great teacher who contented himself with teaching love, clarifying truth, and doing good wherever he went?” He paused before continuing: “Not to mention the countless occasions when people passionately supported and elevated to power leaders who brought war, destruction, misery, and famine to various nations. History is filled with such events. Nothing is more misleading than confusing the voice of the people with the voice of God.”
The day was breaking. The conversation deserved another round of coffee when we were interrupted by Lineu, one of Loureiro’s nephews. I already knew him. He was a young man on the verge of his thirties, recently graduated in Medicine, studious, dedicated, and sensitive. We were convinced that, with time, he would become a great doctor. Lineu loved healing. He treated all his patients with the same care and interest. He was highly regarded at the hospital where he worked in the neighbouring metropolis, attending to the population of the surrounding regions.
The young man had deep dark circles under his eyes, typical of someone who hadn’t slept through the night. His dishevelled hair and wrinkled clothes betrayed a visible imbalance. Without asking a question, his uncle enveloped him in a warm embrace. With his face buried in the cobbler’s broad shoulders, I heard the sobs of heartfelt crying. Stroking his nephew’s hair, unhurriedly and silently, Loureiro waited for the tears to dry. Then, he sat him down beside me while preparing coffee for three.
Lineu recounted his ordeal. Two days ago, a man in critical condition had arrived at the hospital. The experienced head of his team was busy with another patient in an even more delicate situation. In the absence of a more seasoned doctor, the young man took charge of the case; after a preliminary analysis, given the extreme severity of the situation, he decided on a certain procedure. The man passed away shortly thereafter.
Upon returning, the head of the team determined that Lineu had made an incorrect decision, contributing to the patient’s death. The hospital management suspended the young doctor from his duties indefinitely, with the risk of being fired still looming. According to him, he was disgraced in the eyes of the medical community. To make matters worse, many people would learn of the incident, leaving him to live in perpetual shame and guilt; the possibility of being sued by the family for medical malpractice wasn’t off the table. Nearly ten years of dedicated medical study could crumble due to a single wrong choice made in the desperate attempt to save a life on a disastrous night. He felt devastated. Still, he resignedly acknowledged that after the storm comes the calm.
Loureiro looked at me but said nothing about his nephew’s last remark. He focused on comforting him, offering guidance and perspectives on the days to come. Although careful with his words to avoid worsening Lineu’s despair, the cobbler needed to prepare the young man for what lay ahead:
“The storm isn’t over; in reality, it’s just beginning. Believing in illusions is like living as a boat adrift, at the mercy of the waves and currents. Only chance can prevent shipwreck.” Loureiro explained:
“At this moment, more than ever, you must take control of the ship’s helm and steer it toward the safe harbour of your choosing. That’s what those who own themselves do: they align with their truth and guide themselves by their virtues.”
Furrowing his eyebrows, as he often did to emphasize seriousness, with the same serene tone, he then clarified:
“Be humble, simple, gentle, and compassionate; above all, forgive yourself. This will shield you from shame. However, do not abandon courage, prudence, or firmness. Do not shift responsibilities. Don’t deny or hide the mistake, nor expose it unnecessarily; otherwise, you’ll feel fragile all the time. Still, set boundaries to prevent abuse; respect yourself. You will hear absurd insinuations and malicious words. Without letting them affect you—because you know that you’ll hear more about the speakers’ misunderstandings than about yourself—look your interlocutor in the eyes, neither confrontationally nor fearfully. Always respond calmly, clearly, and objectively. Don’t over-explain, as if trying to justify the unjustifiable; nor be too brief, lest your answers seem incomplete, as if avoiding the truth and responsibility.”
Taking a sip of coffee, he continued:
“Understand that this battle, to be won in the world, must first be won within yourself. Accept that you did your best, given the absence of more experienced doctors and the limited time available due to the patient’s critical condition. You made the decision you believed was right at the time. You were wrong; but not out of negligence or recklessness. You erred as only those who make choices do. Make a firm commitment to yourself to turn the mistake into a tool for learning and growth; this is the perfect prayer of forgiveness that dissolves and eradicates guilt. If you have the opportunity, ask the family of the deceased for forgiveness. Be sincere in your emotions; never feign affection. Don’t bring up legal matters, but if they do, let them proceed as they see fit. One day, they’ll understand this has nothing to do with money.”
He emphasized: “In nature, after the storm comes the calm. Always. No movement is necessary; just sit in a corner waiting for the inevitable sunny morning. Simple as that. However, in life, if we quietly wait for the calm, it rarely comes. Most of the time, merely waiting for better days, without acting, prolongs the storm indefinitely. We must face the storm with appropriate virtues, without fear or complaints. Remember, in some way—though not always comprehensible—we summoned it. There’s no point in running away; it will catch up to you. Deal with the storm without pride, vanity, lies, or subterfuge. Be virtuous; dignity teaches us to dance in the rain.”
He reflected further: “In life, it’s different. Calm doesn’t knock at the door after starless, rainy nights. We must seek the tranquility, disperse the clouds, chase the brightness of summer, and the colors of spring. Don’t confuse nature’s phenomena with life’s laws. To end the storm, you must build today the sunny mornings of tomorrow.”
A long silence hung in the workshop until Lineu nodded, saying he understood his uncle’s words. He asked how to act practically from that point forward. Loureiro was direct:
“Don’t wait indefinitely for the hospital’s decision; set a reasonable deadline. After that, look for another clinic or practice to continue your profession. You’ve studied and prepared a lot to get here. Nothing can defeat us unless we allow it. Don’t do this to yourself. Remember, not just the mistakes but also the many successes deserve to be weighed on the scale. Trust what you know; trust your gift to heal; trust yourself. Learn from the mistake and be grateful for it; there’s much to gain in perception and sensitivity if you handle this experience well. That’s the purpose of storms. Then, life will have shaped a doctor that even the best university in the world wouldn’t be able to produce.”
And he concluded: “Above all, never abandon yourself; never stray from your truth and virtues; they are inexhaustible sources of strength and balance. If you treat the mistake as an enemy, it will defeat you. Treat it as a teacher; seize the opportunity, grow from the lesson, and move forward.”
The young man bowed his head for a time I couldn’t measure. No one said a word. When he raised his head, his eyes shone with a brightness absent when he entered the workshop. There were also tears, not of despair as before, but of renewed hope and faith. Loureiro finished:
“The power of movement is in your hands. Like a perfect ballet duet, life advances to the next beat in perfect harmony with the dancer’s step. In unimaginable symphonies, that’s how the dance of calm unfolds.”
Lineu said his goodbyes, not without giving his uncle a grateful kiss on the cheek. He had to go—a life waiting for reconstruction lay ahead. The right moment to restart will always be now, affirmed the young doctor. I watched him leave the workshop. The storm was just beginning, but I had no doubt that at that moment, the sun was starting to break through the clouds.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
