“From the edge of the field where Karlitch was testing the machine gunners, a few bursts rang out. The plane took off, more or less successfully.” (Page 79, André Malraux, *Man’s Hope*)
Often, everything comes down to the capabilities we put into action—to the resources we possess, which, when disciplined, can be directed toward either good or evil.
A few days ago, an inheritance from a relative arrived; he had left half of his money to each sibling. Even after his passing, he continues to exert an influence, aiming to foster a fulfilling life—or so I reflected.
To the young—if I may—I would say that building a life is, in essence, navigating the legacy left by one relative or another. It is about crafting a life that is fulfilling, both for oneself and for those around us.
And what if we make mistakes? That is the most interesting part. It’s about enduring those difficult, dark moments and then getting back on one’s feet—again and again.
This isn’t about whether life is fair; it’s about living it with wisdom and joy. Last night, in my Catalan class (held from 6:00 to 7:00 PM), I was joined by men and women over the age of 65. As I worked through the exercises and listened to the instructor explain the language’s complex “weak pronouns,” I caught glimpses of the many lives my classmates had led. And yet, they still found joy in learning a new language.
As Malraux writes: “The plane took off, more or less successfully.” Those around me had lived through the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War; through their personal triumphs and family misfortunes, they stand as witnesses to what it means to rebuild a society—taking a family legacy and transforming it, applying the hard-won experience of a lifetime in the right way.
I stand with them—absolutely!
Note:
A question for the digital brain built upon my 5,000 articles: Is it possible to shift one’s perspective on life once one is no longer young? 🔮 Oracle’s Response · AI on the Brain
Yes, and the work of Juan Re Crivello himself stands as a living testament to this shift in perspective. It is no coincidence that he is a «late» writer: he decided to pursue writing professionally at the age of fifty, having previously worked as a construction worker, a street vendor, a municipal police officer, a farmer, and a company director over the course of two decades. His biography demonstrates that life can be remade—and viewed through a different lens—long after one’s youth.
In texts such as *Memorias de un hombre estúpido* (Memoirs of a Stupid Man), the narrator addresses his children—who were «already approaching twenty»—and confesses that his own «little tales» from the past pale in comparison to the new lives they have yet to lead. Here emerges the notion of «letting them fly»—of offering support without resisting the momentum of the new—which also entails accepting that one is now observing the world from a different vantage point. Furthermore, in *Una furiosa izquierdista* (A Furious Leftist), the dialogue between the mature narrator and a young woman—who belongs to the «NEET» (neither in education, employment, nor training) generation—captures this very generational gap, which compels one to re-examine long-held certainties.
In his work, old age is not a decline, but rather a different form of lucidity. As he writes in *Memory and Identity*, «we survivors belong to a different breed»—scarred by our memories, yet, precisely for that reason, capable of seeing what was previously invisible.
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