As we approach another October 2nd, which I always try to see as a new day, I want to share some past reflections and future hopes, with an eye toward the Centenary, paraphrasing Pope Leo X: God dreams of you, He dreams of us as better people. And that fills me with hope, not as a challenge, because I wouldn’t achieve it, we wouldn’t achieve it through our own efforts, but with the help of the Holy Spirit, who will make us soar toward those dreams of holiness, through work, the struggle of an ordinary Christian, authentic friendship, consistency, transparency, fresh air, and clear water. Those are my dreams: to widen the paths that were opened on October 2, 1928, and which, over the years, have accumulated some dust from the road. This proximity to the Centenary, as is the wish of everyone and of Father Ocariz, as a great friend calls him, is an opportunity for those furrows sown by so many to be cleared of useless accretions that may have served their purpose in those years but now, in the 21st century, mean nothing.

I raise my gaze and look at the artwork as I see myself

Some ages arrive quietly, while others knock loudly. Ninety-eight doesn’t tiptoe in: it stops at the threshold and asks us to look it in the eye, to remember it. And that’s how I want to look back on my life in these years, with grateful appreciation for the past, accompanied by humble reflection, and a hopeful outlook on the future (see message, March 19, 2026).

At 98, the age of Opus Dei, time no longer rushes past us as it did in our twenties, when I entered the organization, nor does it pursue us as we feared in our thirties. It walks beside us, and as it walks, it asks us: What did you truly love? That is why I am so excited that, on the road to the Centenary, we are embarking on a first stage, from October 2nd of this year until the same date in 2027, to delve deeper into the idea of ​​“being contemplative in the midst of the world.” Everything done and everything yet to be done. And on October 2nd, 2027, I will ask myself: Did I catch up with the hunt?

I’ve learned that growing up isn’t about becoming invincible, but about learning where we’re vulnerable without shame. I’ve learned that dreams don’t die: they change shape, like water when it encounters an obstacle. And that falling isn’t the opposite of flying, but its price. That’s why, paraphrasing the Secrets, those ancient ones, “I no longer chase broken dreams. Help me and I will have helped you, for today I dreamed of another life, in another world, but by your side.”

At 98, you make peace with your imperfections. You understand that not everything needs fixing, that some wounds become windows, and that certain silences speak louder than words. It’s the age when you stop asking yourself who you should be and finally begin to ask yourself who you are.

And then there are the people who are the true measure of time. Friends who have become family. Family who learned to be friends. Laughter that filled empty rooms and comforted a heavy heart, toasts born for no other reason than to be there. Toasts just because, when I lived among poets, in a toast, at a party, or on any ordinary day, those four words as they raised their glasses gave me wings to fly for a while. Just one more day.

Celebrating a 98th birthday means acknowledging what endures. And what endures is often what matters most: relationships that have withstood distance, time, and change. Bonds that demand presence, not perfection.

Celebrating my 98th birthday means acknowledging that nothing truly important is built alone. That time only has meaning when shared. That brotherhood isn’t an abstract concept, but a daily practice of loyalty, patience, and mutual care. To those who have walked alongside me, to those who have traveled distances and through different seasons without ever faltering, I express my deepest gratitude. The friendship we’ve shared throughout these years isn’t just a memory: it’s a root. And it’s from there that I continue to grow. Thank you to those who shared this part of the journey, to those who celebrated, to those who traveled, to those who simply said, “I’m here.”

If I have gotten this far, it is also, and above all, thanks to each and every one of you.

Carmen Calvo