Alone, I walked through the narrow, crooked streets of the tiny town at the foot of the mountain that houses the monastery. There would be another study retreat. As usual, I arrived at the train station in the middle of the night. The town was asleep. A light rain, combined with the dim glow of the old cast-iron street lamps, reflected my image in the puddles that formed on the uneven cobblestone pavement, worn down by the passing of time. Just like me, I thought, as I looked into one of those water mirrors. Not a single black strand remained in my white beard; my hair had almost completely disappeared; growing wrinkles, which I loved because I believed they symbolized countless battles fought, both inside and outside of me. I only won the ones in which I managed to defeat myself; the rest served only to teach me who I was not yet. I never defeated anyone; in truth, no one does. I was my greatest adversary, but also my best friend and irreplaceable ally. I remembered the photo from my first ID card, taken when I was seventeen, required for university admission, still kept in the bottom of some drawer. A beardless face, long black hair; skin smooth as the peel of a green peach, in the words of a sweet and caring grandmother. In the confrontation between these two mirrors offered by time, the black and white photo and the image reflected in the puddle, there was a journey of many mistakes and not so many lessons. With all respect to the admirable alchemist from Lisbon, to make mistakes is necessary. Only mistakes were capable of teaching me what I thought I knew but was far from truly understanding. What truth already existed in that young man from the photograph that could still be seen in the rain’s reflection? What illusions still remained? What traits and attributes had emerged? What had ceased to exist? Who I was matters little to who I am now, serving only to mark a path of difficult inner transformations. I love those who have wrinkles. And almost no grudges.
These were the thoughts I shared with Loureiro, the shoemaker who loved philosophy books and red wine, as he placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the wooden counter of his small and charming workshop, known for its unusual and unpredictable hours, where he stitched bags and ideas with equal mastery. He remarked, “No one is like anyone else. Each person is unique. That’s where the singular beauty of each individual lies. If we try to become copies of others, we make ourselves ugly. However, such beauty only blossoms as a person discovers, finds, and claims their own identity, the unique traits through which they relate to themselves and the world. Just as culture is shaped through the being and living of a people, identity reveals itself in the way a person thinks, feels, and acts. In short, in how they deal with emotions, recognize truths, admit mistakes, face challenges, incorporate virtues into their behaviour, express themselves through their relationships, and take responsibility for both the choices they make and the ones they let slip by. Though identity forms an image invisible to hurried, distracted, or immature eyes, it paints a true and unmatched portrait.”
I asked which actions bring us closer to our authentic identity and which take us further from it. The shoemaker fell silent for a moment, as if traveling back in time to retrieve a distant memory as a way to better explain the theory. Examples have that power. He furrowed his brow and began to narrate: “I had never been lucky in love; there were plenty of reasons. But when I turned thirty, I fell in love with Marie, a beautiful and cheerful woman the same age as me. I loved being around her. We shared interests, the same taste in music, we talked about books and movies. She cared about my problems and seemed willing to help. She was attentive and affectionate. Best of all, we had fun and laughed a lot together. I was enchanted. I thought she was perfect. Or almost. Marie didn’t like being contradicted or facing her own mistakes. She would get deeply irritated. Sometimes, when that happened, she would disappear for a few days. But she gave me so many good things, many I’d never experienced before, at least not with that intensity, that I decided it wasn’t worth addressing the problem. The solution was easy. I just had to avoid the topics that upset her. And not oppose her on subjects she refused to discuss. It cost me nothing. The rest of life was happiness.”
I admitted I was curious to hear how the story unfolded. Loureiro looked at me with resignation and explained: “I desperately wanted to stay by that woman’s side. No one else could offer me the moments and feelings she gave me. Marie had become the reason for my life. The mere thought of losing her terrified me. If she left, only the old emptiness would remain. Life would become impossible.” He took a sip of coffee and continued: “Without realizing it, I lost the courage to disagree, to argue, to stand up for myself; in short, to be who I was. Her desires and wishes became mine; I no longer had my own. I disrespected myself by choice. Little by little, I drifted away from my essence. My light went out completely; I began to see only the world she showed me. Worse, I began to see myself through her eyes; her opinions and interests became mine as well. I became the person she wanted me to be. It was as if I had erased every trace of my identity. I fantasized about the past, inventing experiences I’d never had just to be closer to her preferences. I stopped saying no to Marie. When she used to disappear without explanation, anxiety consumed me, yet I never questioned her reasons, Marie didn’t like that. To fool myself, I took pride in being in a relationship without fights. I became uglier and weaker by the day, but I believed there was no better life.”
I commented that relationships without boundaries become abusive. Loureiro agreed: “No doubt. However, it’s worth noting that she didn’t force me into anything; nor did she do anything wrong, she lived as she knew how. The problem wasn’t Marie. It was up to me to set my own boundaries. To understand which situations could be flexible, which were non-negotiable, and which could lead to transformation through the lessons they offered. I wanted so badly to be part of Marie’s life that, without noticing, I showed myself willing to give up being the main character in my own story. Being a supporting actor in her life was enough, even if my scenes kept getting smaller. Belonging gives a sense of security; that’s why so many people that long to be part of certain social or professional groups, change their behaviour, and in doing so, tear apart their own identity to fit in where they don’t belong. They don’t ask themselves what they’re losing from within, nor whether what they receive in return is worth abandoning who they truly are. They disappear. To give up the traits that form your individuality is a way of ceasing to exist without realizing it. They reverse the process, believing that belonging to a group grants them an identity. A false notion. But they deceive themselves into thinking that only then will they feel good and comfortable in their lives. Only the experience of belonging to oneself; of discovering, finding, and claiming one’s true identity; will make one feel safe, thanks to the strength and balance that come from the alignment between being and living, moving at the rhythm of one’s own essence, in a simple and unique way of respecting and loving oneself. Internal conflicts tend to diminish until they disappear completely; external ones seem more and more unnecessary. We begin to clearly understand what belongs to us and what belongs to others, not just in material terms, but also emotionally and existentially. Identity creates a genuine shield of protection; when we know who we truly are, no one can pull us out of our centre of light. No matter what they say or do, they’ll never reach us; we move forward with grace and lightness.”
I admitted my curiosity about the outcome of the relationship with Marie. Loureiro smiled and said, “It ended the way I deserved. She broke up with me.” I remarked that we shouldn’t mistreat ourselves when something turns out in an undesired way. The cobbler nodded and explained, “We must always treat ourselves with gentleness and tenderness, after all, loving oneself is an essential prerequisite for loving others. However, we cannot disregard the lessons life offers us; otherwise, the experience will be wasted. Each person is responsible for their own feelings. I don’t suffer because of what someone did to me; in truth, I suffer because there is still something within me that I don’t understand. We need to abandon the idea of figuring out why someone surprised us with harsh or unwanted behaviour, it’s a waste of time. Every individual is a complex universe of misunderstood emotions. We have enormous difficulty perceiving the bridges that connect our thoughts to the feelings that stimulate and build them; believing that we’ll decode these mysteries in the unknown worlds of others is sheer presumption. Rarely do we succeed; we suffer because we live based on misunderstandings, assumptions, and expectations. It is this immaturity that causes the events of the world to strike the soul like storms. Self-understanding, along with virtues like humility, patience, and compassion, is enough. Knowledge of oneself leads to the formation of identity, the passport to enjoying the true wonders of life.”
He then returned to the subject of his relationship with Marie: “She lost interest in who I had become. And not without reason. I had become a nobody. Marie didn’t want to date a remote-controlled robot; she wanted someone willing to grow alongside her. She had her stances on everything, and she had the right to them. So did I. It was up to me to express my opinions clearly, objectively, and calmly; we could have disagreed without needing one to convince the other, and still been fine. Even if she got upset with my opinions, her outbursts shouldn’t have had the power to erase me. Her impatience and intolerance toward contradiction were her emotional issues to resolve internally. I chose to ignore the problem to avoid it. After all, it didn’t seem like a big deal. But the price was steep. Over time and through a series of events, by pretending the problem didn’t exist, I lost any sense of individuality. A confrontation that could have happened without conflict, if only I had the clarity to assert myself calmly and firmly. But the fear of losing her led me to abandon myself in order to be with her. I became incapable of being a co-creator in the relationship with Marie, not because I couldn’t, but because I had abandoned and then forgotten who I was. I was the one who shredded my identity, not her. Emotional dependency leads to the erasure of identity, which fades when a person is stripped of their essence, as happened to me.”
He shrugged and concluded, “Identity is one of the achievements of maturity.” I said that, if asked, nearly everyone would claim to know who they are. Loureiro clarified, “People know everything about themselves when it comes to superficial matters or situations that don’t involve risk. The kind of music they like, whether they enjoy the beach, the clothes they wear, the haircut that makes them look younger, the football team they support, whether they prefer beer or wine, their favourite show or movie, the church they attend. But they know little or nothing about the origin of the feelings that restrict their free thinking, the true causes of their impatience, irritability, and intolerance; their difficulty in letting go of grudges and forgiving; the root of their fears; the reason they say yes when their heart says no. Not even the real reasons behind many of the choices they’ve made, especially the pivotal ones that changed the course of their lives. They don’t understand the depth of what it means to choose this or that, nor the fractures and upheavals that may shake them to their core as a result. On a morning like any other, when they go looking for themselves, they won’t find anyone. It’s no wonder there’s a global epidemic of anxiety and depression. People struggle to understand that, through careless relationships, they abandoned who they truly are. They convince themselves that hell is other people, forgetting that we are other people to others. By shifting responsibility for what we feel, we begin to live for reasons that never existed. Ideas that never belonged to us are accepted as our own, and by going along with them, we’re driven by unfamiliar currents and mechanisms. And so, we’re no longer ourselves. Without identity, we lose the ability to recognize ourselves. We search outwardly for what only exists within. The world feels like it’s suffocating the soul. One cannot speak of identity while living this way. The world is not the enemy of the soul, it is an essential source of experiences to be converted into personal growth. The construction of identity allows the individual to find a safe place to live well within themselves, dismantling all dependency on the reactions of others and external events. People are who they are; believing that life will only be good when people change or agree with us is a clear sign of immaturity. Remember, we are unique; moulding someone to our liking is an act of usurpation and escape. Relationships, when not pleasant, don’t need to become confrontational either; they serve as material for indispensable personal development. As we come to understand ourselves, identity reveals itself. Every day is perfect for that.”
I asked what one should do to draw closer to their identity. Loureiro ran a hand through his thick white hair and explained, “Pay attention to your reactions and choices. They work like a CT scan of the soul, showing the healthy parts and those that need healing. Everyone, to some extent, appears to be something they’re not. We act, some more, some less, out of a need for approval, permission, belonging, and interests we’d be ashamed to admit. That’s why I repeat, pay attention. Start identifying the behaviours that bring you closer to or further from your essence. Question the true reason behind each one; don’t dismiss those that seem trivial, without exception, all behaviours are revealing. Often, less is more. The things we deem minor or insignificant may point to the very obstacles that block us from necessary changes. These are often automatic choices, driven by unexamined, outdated conditioning, and within them, there may be much of what we are not, or what we are but have yet to discover. Be honest, and be brave. As you refine and grow comfortable with this practice, you’ll begin to recognize some of your missteps more quickly, sometimes immediately afterward. Eventually, you’ll notice them before they even happen. You’ll say to yourself, ‘That’s not me. And if it ever was, it won’t be anymore.’ That marks the beginning of identity.”
He furrowed his brow and added, “But know this: you’ll still find yourself repeating old mistakes. Behavioural habits are hard to recognize and admit; unlearning them isn’t always easy. The worst thing you can do is mistreat yourself for it. Be gentle and patient with yourself, we’re all learning and changing. It’s truly difficult to stop being who we’ve been for so long. The reverse is just as harmful: denying the mistake. That is, trying to convince yourself that flawed behaviours and unfulfilled parts of you are your truest identity. Be sweet, but never forget your commitment to personal growth. Make life worth it; make good use of every moment.”
He had spoken of a better identity. I asked him to explain further. Loureiro clarified, “Identity is not static, as if it were an ideal and definitive model; it has a dynamism inherent to the individual’s improvement. Identity is a construction. It’s like building a house that, although simple at first, becomes a safe and pleasant place to live. Knowing who I am lays the foundations that will keep it unshakable. Gradually, the resident understands and creates the conditions to make improvements. The work never ends. The walls grow sturdier, the roofs firmer, the furniture more comfortable, the walls gain cheerful colours, and flowers are cultivated in the garden.” He emptied his coffee mug and added, “Fooling myself into thinking I know who I am is like building a house out of paper; contrary to what people believe, it’s not the winds that bring it down, but the misunderstandings and the lack of self-knowledge.”
I looked at the clock. It was almost time to go to the monastery. Before leaving, I wanted to know how Loureiro had felt after the breakup. The cobbler curved his lips into a gentle smile, like someone recalling an old and difficult battle full of lessons, and confessed, “With that act, Marie saved me from myself. Without realizing it, I had given up being who I was in order to live beside her. Nothing could be more senseless. I had lost confidence in my ability to self-determine, I had stopped believing in my own beauty. I became an uninteresting person because, by erasing my identity, I ceased to exist. That’s what happens to people who distance themselves from their own essence.” He poured a bit more coffee into our mugs and concluded, “I felt awful in the first few days, but it was the best thing that could have happened to me. People can come and go at any moment. Often, it is you who needs to leave, even if the other wants you to stay. I have my own time and my wings. We all do. I understood that, in truth, I would always have myself forever. That was the moment I understood the concept of identity as an existential foundation. So, it was necessary to understand and build that individual. When beauty blooms, life grows.” Without saying a word, he shifted his gaze to the photograph of a woman in a picture frame. It was Anne, his wife. They had met long after the story with Marie. They had been together for many years; they were the most incredible couple I had ever known. Loureiro was Loureiro; Anne was Anne. They were very different in many ways, but they respected and admired that richness. Those divergent perspectives converged on a single point: love. And that was enough.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
