The Later Years
The later years of my life are different from those that came before. Not necessarily calmer, but more conscious. In the past, I was almost constantly busy building. Working. Creating. Developing new projects. There was always another appointment. A new customer. A problem for which a solution had to be found. Or an idea that would not release me even at night. I often lived with my eyes fixed on tomorrow.
What still had to be done? What could we improve? What new possibility lay behind the next door? That drive has never entirely left me. Even today, I remain curious. I follow developments in technology and artificial intelligence with interest. I try to understand new things. I communicate with people. I write my memories. And sometimes, another new idea arises and makes me think:
"We should do something with this."
In moments like those, I once again feel something of the entrepreneur I have always been. And often, I then think of Marco. Of the enthusiasm he would have felt for the possibilities that exist today. Of the conversations we would have had about them. He would probably already have thought much further ahead than I had. That thought makes me sad.
But it also makes me smile. My later years are therefore not years in which everything stopped. Quite the opposite. My interest in people, new ideas, and the future has remained. But the hurry has diminished. I no longer feel the same need to realize everything immediately. Not every idea must become a company. Not every thought must turn into a project. Some ideas may simply exist. Some conversations do not have to lead anywhere.
And some days do not have to produce anything great in order still to have value. Perhaps that is one of the most important changes growing older brought me. In the past, I often thought value arose from what we did. Today, I know it sometimes arises simply from being truly present. During a meaningful conversation. Over a cup of coffee with friends. During a family visit. On a walk. Or when a memory suddenly returns.
Happiness is not found only in the great events of our life. Not only in a birth. A wedding. A professional success. Or a dream becoming reality. Very often, it is hidden in the simplicity of an ordinary day. In something we would scarcely have noticed in the past. An unexpected telephone call. The voice of someone we love to hear. A sunset. The aroma of freshly prepared coffee. The silence of a church.
A sincere conversation that lasts longer than expected. Or a moment when no one needs to say anything because simply being together is already enough. In the past, moments like those sometimes escaped me. Not because I did not appreciate them, but because my thoughts were already turned toward the next task.
Today, I try to look at them with greater attention. Not merely to see. But truly to observe. Not merely to hear. But to listen. Not merely to be present with my body. But also with my heart. Of course, I still often think about those who came before me. My father. My mother. My brother Mario. My little sister Lidiola. And above all, Marco. Some memories bring warmth. Others still hurt. Growing older does not mean sorrow disappears.
Sometimes the absence even becomes clearer, because there are more and more moments we would still have wanted to share with someone. But I try not to look only at the people who are no longer here. I also look at those who are still part of my life today. Dorina. Michael. My grandchildren. My brothers. My family and friends. The people with whom I can still speak, laugh, and share memories.
That is where I find my strength. That is where I find my hope. Anyone who looks only at the empty places risks losing sight of the people who still stand beside them. Being grateful for those who are still here does not mean forgetting those we lost. It means that we also continue using the love they gave us to keep the living close to our heart. Every new day is a gift to me.
Not because every day is easy or special. Some days are ordinary. Others are heavy. And there are still days when sorrow returns unexpectedly. But no day can be taken for granted. When we are young, we think the time before us belongs to us. Only later do we understand that time is merely entrusted to us. We do not know how many days remain.
But we can try to live consciously the day given to us today. That does not mean I think constantly about the end. Quite the opposite. It is precisely the awareness that time is precious that helps me appreciate life more intensely. I am less likely to postpone certain things. A kind word. A telephone call. A visit. The words:
"I'm thinking of you."
Or:
"I'm glad you're here."
Words like those should never wait until it is too late. Over the years, I also learned that inner peace does not mean sorrow no longer exists. Peace does not mean every question has been answered. Nor that every wound has healed. To me, inner peace means I no longer have to fight against the past every day. That I can accept what I can no longer change.
That I can preserve my memories without being entirely imprisoned by them. And that beside my sorrow, I dare to allow joy in again. Perhaps that is what growing older truly means. Not that we live less, but that we live with greater attention. That we learn to see the extraordinary in the simplest things. That we concern ourselves less with the impression we make on others. And more with what we can truly mean to one another.
I no longer feel the need to prove anything. That does not mean I no longer have dreams. But my dreams no longer have to show everyone who I am. It is enough to be there. For my family. My friends. Anyone who needs a kind word, a listening ear, or a smile. If someone asked today what my greatest wealth is, I would not speak about the companies I founded.
Nor the projects I completed. I would speak about the people I love. The memories I can cherish. The thousands of conversations that enriched my life. And the inner peace I slowly but surely learned to find deep within myself. A happy life is not a life without sorrow. Such a life does not exist. A happy life is one in which, despite our wounds, we can still feel love.
One in which, after a loss, we dare to let a smile enter again. In which we continue believing in people. And in which we remain grateful for every new day we are given. Today, I know that an ordinary day is never truly ordinary. Every day when we can love someone... listen to someone... or simply be together... is a day that had meaning.