“We are more selfish than we believe,” Loureiro, the craftsman who loved red wine and philosophy books, told me. He could stitch bags and ideas with equal mastery. I disagreed, claiming I considered myself a generous person, unattached to money or material possessions. He tried to clarify:
“Money and material possessions are just the most recognizable variants of selfishness. There’s much more to it. Selfishness manifests every time we disregard someone else’s needs. Often, it has nothing to do with financial matters. We are frequently selfish with our time, patience, and affection. When this happens, we abandon powerful virtues like compassion, empathy, and solidarity. It’s as if the other person becomes invisible, their needs incapable of touching our hearts or seen as obstacles to our achievements. Of course, there are times when prioritizing yourself is essential; no one should sacrifice themselves entirely for another. We all have personal endeavours to pursue that cannot be neglected. However, there are also moments to assist those in need. Days without love are stretches of a life left abandoned.”
He sipped his coffee, placed the mug on the wooden counter of the atelier, and added:
“All achievements born from selfish impulses are fleeting because they lack love and wisdom—or, if you prefer, virtue. No one evolves without the Light. A victory becomes a real gain only if it resists the transience of time. Even if the stones and concrete of palaces endure for millennia, we must ask if those who built them carried any true power. Achieving through selfishness brings only short-lived satisfaction and the corrective consequences of the Cosmic Law of Cause and Effect. Most importantly, there’s nothing left to enrich the essence of who we are.”
I held my ground. I argued that I didn’t fit the selfish behaviour he described, since it belonged to a shadow already educated and illuminated within me. Loureiro smiled like someone observing a boy unaware of the danger of swimming in treacherous currents, hidden below the waterline, waiting to pull us under despite our denial of their existence. The cobbler remarked:
“Nothing exposes us to greater risk than ignorance. Believing you know what you don’t is like putting a rabbit in a cage of starving lions, convinced there’s no danger. Everything that unbalances, weakens, or hinders us is simply what we ignore within ourselves. And then, we’re devoured.”
He explained that selfishness is easy to spot when we encounter people who lack employment, food, shelter, or clothing for survival. Often, we excuse ourselves from responsibility, delegating it to public authorities. While we feel their suffering, substituting genuine support with ideological debate allows us to hide selfishness under a veil of intellectual pretension. Similarly, there are those without material needs but with significant emotional and affective voids, needing guidance to reconnect with life. We justify our indifference by saying everyone must find their own balance to face life’s challenges. After all, we all have unresolved emotional and existential knots to untie. “Everyone has their problems,” we convince ourselves. We claim a lack of time, knowledge, or responsibility, but in truth, we are looking for excuses to deny the selfishness that still manipulates us. Selfishness is the drain through which love is wasted; until we understand this, we will keep squandering the best of life.
I asked Loureiro if he could recall a selfish act of mine in recent years—at least something significant. Jokingly, I mentioned hiding a chocolate bar on a recent trip to avoid sharing my passion with anyone. Laughing, I said no one deserves condemnation for something so trivial. The cobbler didn’t need to answer. In a moment of wise synchronicity, life arranging pieces on the chessboard of time to teach the lesson we refuse to learn, Renê arrived.
Renê was one of Loureiro’s many friends in the small, charming town with its narrow, winding streets. We had met on a previous occasion. A friendly man, a bronze sculptor in his forties, Renê seemed distraught. Lucy, his wife—a beautiful woman with long black hair, elegant and hardworking, and the manager of a local bank—wanted a divorce. He felt surprised and betrayed. Not that she had fallen in love with someone else; rather, she claimed she could no longer endure their life together.
Renê explained that the breakup stemmed from how he approached his art and its impact on their marriage. For ten years, since they moved in together, Lucy had supported and financed his artistic career. Now, she felt discouraged—not just because he failed to sell his sculptures but because he spent little time sculpting, often immersed in reading, watching movies, or reflecting. Some days, he didn’t touch his sculptures at all. Renê argued that creating sculptures wasn’t like baking bread; these activities were essential sources of inspiration for art, which needed the right atmosphere for creation. Lucy, however, insisted it was time for him to find a job.
I agreed with Renê. They had an agreement. Lucy had no right to say, “I’ve had enough,” after years of partnership. It wasn’t fair. At his age, entering the formal job market would be difficult. It seemed like a cruel abandonment. Renê described himself as kind-hearted, gentle, polite, and loving. Loureiro nodded as he handed Renê a cup of coffee. Then the cobbler remarked:
“Your words about yourself are not lies. Undoubtedly, you possess the qualities you mentioned. However, let’s try to understand Lucy’s reasons for finding the marriage unbearable. An object changes depending on the angle from which it’s viewed.”
The cobbler’s reasoning unsettled us. We had expected his immediate support in light of the injustice. But he reminded us that during his last visit to Renê’s atelier, all the sculptures were unfinished, unsellable. He asked why Renê didn’t complete one before starting another. Renê explained that his mind, like all artists, was multifaceted, unlike most people’s linear thinking. This led him to interrupt one piece to start another when a more interesting idea occurred. He assured us he would eventually return to the paused projects, though he couldn’t say when.
The cobbler pointed out that, after ten years, not one sculpture was finished. Renê argued they wouldn’t have been good enough to sell and risk damaging his reputation. Launching with a subpar piece would harm him, as it would be difficult to overturn public perception later. He insisted it was smarter to wait for the right moment, ensuring his debut sculpture would be magnificent enough to cement his name in the art world—a foolproof marketing strategy, he claimed.
He lamented that his wife had left him just when they were so close to achieving the goal they had envisioned when they fell in love. He claimed that he would earn a lot of money with his works, enough for Lucy to no longer endure the stressful routine of her banking job. She could quit working as soon as his sculptures received the recognition they deserved. Giving up on dreams is a mistake, he added. Loureiro agreed with a stern observation: “As life projects, dreams are sacred, whether for developing our talents or for doing something that drives us toward personal growth. However, that dream is yours, not hers.”
The artist retorted, “Yes, living off art is my dream. However, as a couple, we should share our dreams. Besides, she would benefit in the future if she weren’t so selfish.” Loureiro questioned, “Should Lucy have to endure a dull job while you endlessly postpone your delightful dreams? Until when? Changing the factors of this equation would be an act of selfishness or self-respect?” Renê replied that his wife was looking only at her own interests, withdrawing the essential support for a shared life, and in that moment, she was thinking solely about herself, disregarding the enormous difficulties she was imposing on him. His future was no longer part of her equation. Thus, he had no doubt about Lucy’s selfishness.
He admitted he did not know what to do with his days moving forward. The cobbler suggested, “Start by finding a job that supports you.” Irritated, the artist refused, arguing that his dream was to be a sculptor. He couldn’t waste time engaging in other activities that contributed nothing to his life’s purpose. Loureiro maintained his composure: “I didn’t say to give up art. I merely suggested finding a job capable of ensuring the minimum conditions for survival. Dignity is not a gift; it’s an achievement. If you can manage your time—a skill in itself—you’ll find a way to not give up your dreams. Though you may doubt it, work will always be a powerful source of inspiration for life.” Renê argued that he wasn’t sure if it would be possible since he would lack the proper conditions to dedicate himself to art. The cobbler reminded him, “For ten years, when you had financial and emotional support, as well as all the necessary time, you produced nothing.”
He paused before asking a rhetorical question: “Do you understand that the reason you haven’t lived off art has never been about encouragement, time, or money?”
Renê disagreed. He used the allegory of the woodcutter who spends most of his time sharpening his axe to make one precise, definitive cut in the wood. He claimed he had been preparing all these years and was close to starting his major artistic production. Thanks to this long preparation, he had matured the concepts he would use in his works. “But Lucy took my axe just when I was about to chop the wood,” he lamented. Loureiro disagreed: “She didn’t take anything that was yours. Everything has its limits. Lucy no longer believes you can do it. She realized she wasn’t investing in art but financing procrastination and inertia. Everyone has the right to walk away. It wasn’t her who gave up; it was you who wasted the opportunity she gave you. From the perspective of selfishness, you feel abandoned halfway through the journey. But from the perspective of respect, perhaps you’d see your ingratitude for not acknowledging Lucy’s love, support, and solidarity for dreams that weren’t hers. Don’t lament—be grateful. Ignoring the effort and even the presence of another person in completing our achievements is a form of selfishness that’s not always apparent. Lucy would have been selfish if she had prevented you from living your dream. She never did that. As long as you insist on hiding behind the victim role, it will be hard for you to understand that she believed in your dream far more than you dedicated yourself to it.”
We were silent for a long while. Then the artist said Lucy would provide financial support for three more months. It would be impossible to finish his sculptures and stabilize his career in such a short time. He admitted he didn’t know what to do with his life. Loureiro frowned and firmly said, “Find the pieces that, being lost, have kept your dreams from becoming reality. Rise with the conditions that remain. Yes, it’s always possible. Above all, believe in yourself. No one lives out their gifts without the balance that comes from faith in oneself. Then, move forward in search of the hidden treasure within your soul; transform yourself. Encounters, discoveries, and achievements are, in summary, the necessary steps of everyone’s journey.”
With teary eyes, Renê thanked him for the conversation and left. I said nothing but felt a mix of irritation and disappointment with the cobbler’s words. A friend had sought his support and left the shop after a stern reprimand—perhaps feeling worse than when he had entered. As the train’s departure time was near, I said goodbye and left. I carried with me a strange feeling, unlike any I had experienced in all my visits there.
A year had passed. After my period of studies at the monastery, I visited the cobbler’s shop, as usual, before heading to the train station. I was greeted with a sincere smile and a tight hug. After handing me a mug of coffee, we chatted about various subjects. At one point, I noticed a bronze sculpture shaped like a baguette on a shelf. It hadn’t been there before. Sensing my interest, Loureiro explained that it was a gift from Renê: “The Bread of Life No. 4—that’s what he named the piece.”
Without saying anything, I couldn’t understand why the artist had given the cobbler a gift. I remembered how strict Loureiro had been when Renê sought his support. Before our conversation continued, as it was lunchtime, he suggested we grab something to eat. There was a nearby bakery that served my favourite sandwich, with roasted mushrooms, basil, tomato, and the region’s incomparable cheese. I immediately agreed. In a few minutes, we were seated at a table by the window overlooking the square. The waitress served us two glasses of red wine. While waiting for the sandwiches, I asked Loureiro if he had any news about Renê. The cobbler gestured with his chin for me to look behind me. The sculptor, wearing a white apron from the bakery staff, was approaching us—not with two sandwiches, but three identical ones. The delicious filling was nestled in a tempting baguette.
Smiling, Renê removed his apron and sat at the table with us. Before I could ask any questions, he explained that he worked at the bakery as an apprentice baker. Since his shift started at 5 a.m. and ended at noon, he was free to join us for lunch. There was an indescribable light in his eyes—a genuine joy radiating from someone who had finally understood the essential: everything I lack is what I ignore within myself.
Renê wanted to explain himself because, like me, he had left the workshop that day without properly interpreting either Lucy’s actions or the cobbler’s words. It took him several weeks to recognise his selfishness. He had used the ideal of his dream as a justification to mask both his complacency and the fragility he refused to acknowledge. Though he had never admitted it, he had always been afraid of failure. By not completing his sculptures, he found an excuse to avoid exposing himself to the inevitable critiques any work would face. He had created an existential refuge for himself to avoid dealing with the possibility of frustration and rejection. Thus, he fed himself the illusion that success was just within reach; however, finishing the sculptures was a step he would never take because, subconsciously, he knew it posed a risk he was too afraid to face. Reality, with all its obstacles and challenges was something that terrified him.
Necessity propels the essential movement of life. The imminence of chaos awakened him. When he had to rely on himself to survive, he realised how much he had abandoned life. Back then, he believed he was living perfect days, but in truth, they were hollow. Their veneer of nobility, coated with books, films, and meditation, brought an appearance and sensation of greatness, yet lacked the self-sustaining elements that emerge when ideas are translated into action.
He learned to bake bread. He became enchanted by the magic of dough rising in the oven and by the joy on people’s faces as they tasted the food he had crafted with his own hands. These were the same hands he had once used to sculpt. He came to understand the power of his hands and the enchantment his works should embody—not through the physical senses of smell or taste, but through the magic of connecting with people’s hearts. He remembered Loureiro’s wisdom: work is a powerful source of inspiration for art. Bread has always symbolised essential sustenance for the body and survival. Yet that is not enough. The soul hungers too. But what bread nourishes the soul?
Love, in any of its countless virtues, Renê himself answered. However, he clarified that he now understood that love without commitment is a noble sentiment shackled by the destructive effects of selfishness. Though his days had been pleasant, filled with pleasurable, interesting, and cultured activities, none of them moved his gifts forward; creation unaligned with production is wasted potential. Commitment was lacking. Despite loving his wife and recognising her support, his actions in practice devalued the love she offered him. He admitted he deceived himself for ten years.
The atelier had become a kind of dreamlike space where he hid from his fears and unknowingly allowed his selfishness to overflow—until it consumed him. Not Lucy, nor reality, but the truth he had insisted on ignoring devoured him. The bread of the soul is the true sustenance of life. His soul had been starving for truth and for love—a love he had but did not know how to give.
Baking bread every day—initially as a means of survival, later for the joy it brought—led Renê to understand that commitment to seeing and feeling the other is the foundation of all relationships, at least those that aim to withstand time through the deconstruction of egoism. The baker’s assistant realized that although he had much love in his heart, he had never truly been committed to anything or anyone. Freedom does not thrive in escapism—a truth he had never grasped. Everything around him had to crumble for him to see himself destroyed by idleness and the lies he loved to believe. We love better as we become less selfish. Renê was rebuilding himself.
He closed his eyes as if seeking a memory and said:
“Find the pieces that, being lost, prevented your dreams from becoming reality. Rise with the conditions that remain. Yes, it will always be possible. Above all, believe in yourself; no one can live out their gifts without the balance that comes from self-faith. Then, move forward, searching for the hidden treasure within you; transform yourself. Encounters, discoveries, and achievements—these are the essential steps in all our journeys.”
These were the words spoken a year earlier by the cobbler in his workshop, their meaning had since become the cornerstone of Renê’s journey to find, discover, and conquer himself. Words which, at the time, I misunderstood, believing they had failed to offer support to the artist. We embrace others not only with our arms but also when we illuminate a path for them to escape the darkness. In seeking deeper understanding, I began to recognize my own egoism, which had been hindering my ability to love more and better.
Renê then said he had to leave, as he had matters to attend to regarding an exhibition. Seeing my surprise, he explained that he had been invited to exhibit his work in a small but charming gallery in the city. His creativity had started to manifest in productivity. Working at the bakery had not hindered his dedication to art. On the contrary, in one year, he had completed nearly twenty sculptures, realizing that time is a peculiar path. The pieces were variations on a single theme: the bread of life, which explained the sculpture in Loureiro’s workshop. Renê wanted people to reflect on its importance.
I asked if he was prepared in case the public’s reaction was not as he hoped. Renê replied that it didn’t matter. Sculpting was his way of having a conversation with his own soul. He knew not everyone would understand his work. However, even if none of the pieces were sold, it would suffice if they illuminated even one person’s journey, for success does not lie in money or fame but in the light that is kindled. Then, his soul would be integrated into the soul of the world.
Buoyed by the new rhythm of his days, he said goodbye. From the bakery window, we watched as he met Lucy in the square outside. He kissed her gently on the lips, and they walked away arm in arm, like a couple of young lovers. Loureiro, who had been silent until then, finished the last bite of his sandwich and remarked, “They’ve found each other again; they’re in love.” He added, “But not like before. They’ve gone beyond where they once were. Renê now understands that egoism is as insidious as a leak; the difficulty and delay in locating it can erode the very structure of love if not addressed wisely. Perhaps it is the primary cause of relational failures.”
Still astonished by the unexpected turns of the story, I said I had always believed that the existence of love alone was enough to sustain a relationship. The cobbler shook his head, raised his glass of wine in a toast to life, and said, “It’s a common mistake to think that love, by its mere presence, can solve everything. While love is the fundamental axis guiding us toward the Light, evolution is the vital mechanism of the universe. To endure, love must learn how to love.”
Love—a vital feeling I had known all my life but whose shades and nuances I had overlooked, unaware of the harm this ignorance caused me. I suggested another round of sandwiches and wine. There were still many unanswered questions. The topic is vast. Perhaps the cobbler can help me to understand it further.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
