There are so many reasons to be grateful.
I’m 80 years old. It is a round number, with the forcefulness that eight decades can have. I don’t claim prowess, although living beyond the average life expectancy is still an achievement. Adequacy, adaptability, perhaps? Who can explain the survival instinct and the mysteries of still being here?
I know, from science and experience, that nature imposes a gap between the body and the mind, which do not age at the same pace. It is clear that it means wear and tear, that the bones weigh and the movement becomes slower, without ruling out ailments and pains, whether chronic or acute. If I don’t deceive myself – it’s always a probability – my thinking hasn’t deteriorated. Although it sounds presumptuous, I think it has improved in productive volume and fluidity. Quality is something else.
There are so many reasons to be grateful. Waking up in the morning and getting out of bed is a good start. To be able to be worth it. Hold on to autonomy. Feel the boiling in my mind, which seeks reasons. I don’t owe anyone anything and I sleep without being harassed by guilt. Regrets are something else, and I lost count of mistakes.
I, at least, need a project, a sense of purpose. Pending matters, unfinished topics, lost illusions, new dreams. This encourage the idea that everything is possible, particularly when adversity is at hand. And I still have the need to try to explain myself and my circumstance.
In my book, living is behavior that brings with it a fatal risk, and the human organism is one of the most contradictory things in existence. It has, at the same time, extraordinary resilience and immense vulnerability. When we add the environment, things get even more complicated. Each factor adds to the composition of the entire scenario and adds its own attributes.
With a century-old colonial history.
The environmental scenario is easier to fathom. I live on a tropical island bathed in light, rain and wind. A topic of inspiration. A strategic geographical position, with a century-old colonial history.
As for the causes for this, which also explain it, I think there are some bigger than others. Certainly, the political situation qualifies among the greatest. Just think about it. A condition that reduces a us to second-class citizens, deprived of the fundamental rights to vote and representation, now that the celebration of the 250th anniversary of American independence is at its peak. But that’s not new. On the contrary, it is part of the onslaught that overwhelms me. But until when?
That this has or does not have something to do with the political situation that the island is going through, it is reasonable to think that yes, it does. It has something to do with basic needs such as water and electricity being broken, without having a corrective plan other than repairing pipes.
It should not be surprising that the model of looting and enrichment dictated by the US president has its resonance here in the vulgarization of the daily farce of corruption and scandals. Privatization is rampant, focused mainly on mega projects of very high costs on the best priced lands.
In my neighborhood, the mayor has given way to reconstruction funds and streets and roads are being paved outside the election year. Miracle. But we haven’t had water for a month, most days.
The critical issue is survival. What do I do so that the present situation does not aggravate my physical and mental condition? How do I attend to my needs without the anguish and bitterness getting worse?
You can, if you want, find joy in life above the pain.
It is convenient to separate the things that correspond to my autonomy from those that need help from others. With what I have available, especially humor, I try to laugh as much as possible. Look for the joke. Counter the sadness with lightness. You can be realistic with a little optimism and think that the best is possible, no matter how much evidence there is against it. That’s the time.
I think it is possible to reduce being upset with oneself; it is more difficult to do it with others. There will always be differences. The issue is how distances are averaged and calibrated to do as little damage as possible.
And so I turn eighty. I’ve learned something. I know that the bones become heavy and the movement slower; that pain harasses the body like dementia the brain. I know that survival depends on an increasingly fragile and vulnerable balance. But I also know, because I have an older sister, almost ninety-old, a stoic Amazon with an unbeatable spirit, that you can, if you want, find joy in life above the pain.
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Copyright 2026 por José M. Umpierre.