It’s almost dawn. We’re on the subway: headphones on, backpack over our shoulder, going over our to-do list.
On the outside, we seem to have everything under control: efficiency at work and a family that looks perfect in Instagram photos and WhatsApp groups.

But as the train accelerates, something inside is not in its place.

It’s not tiredness. It’s distraction.

We are everywhere and nowhere. We manage work, home, image; we even manage tiredness… but we hardly remember  who we are when we’re not managing anything.

The problem isn’t our schedules, our phones, or the daily grind. The problem is deeper: we’ve begun to live disconnected from ourselves.
And a  person  isn’t meant to be treated like a product with an expiration date.

We’re not just tired: we’re broken into pieces. The thread that connects the parts into a whole is missing.

We’ve been convinced that maturing means building a personal brand: polishing the self, strengthening it, fortifying it.
But the “fortified self” doesn’t mature: it becomes blocked, shuts itself off, and devours itself.

The armored self becomes ill.

And when life gets tough—when conflict arises, when a child suffers, when marriage becomes strained, when the body takes its toll—the trap is revealed:
a “perfect” self can also be a profoundly lonely self.

Success can be a cage.

A self imprisoned in modern gold: prestige, popularity, success, successful children… Ghostly projections that glitter on the outside and are empty on the inside.
That is not fulfillment. It is anesthesia.

“The self” is too small for you.

Leonardo Polo  said something that sounds like a slap in the face today: “The self is too small for you.”
We’ve been told repeatedly that peace is self-realization; that being “our best selves” is the goal; that maintaining self-esteem like a building—sometimes without foundations—is important for being happy.
But when the “self” becomes the center, the inevitable happens: we enter a vicious cycle.

The mental loop devours.

Thought never rests. It ruminates. It repeats itself. It poisons itself.
And what should be a call to unite becomes an acid that separates, that corrodes the purpose.
And without realizing it, we arrive where we didn’t want to go.

Unity and fraternity
(to serve or to take advantage of)

When the other person ceases to be someone and becomes merely “a useful tool,” something essential breaks.
This begins to happen:
— the other person becomes an emotional extension,
— the child, an emotional investment,
— the colleague, a rival,
— the parents, a demand.

Appearances don’t define.

And so a new kind of loneliness is born: that of the self-sufficient ego which, in its desire to protect itself, ends up isolated.
This self-sufficiency doesn’t save; it excludes.
And the more solitary we are, the more obsessed we become with ourselves.
We hide our fear within an imaginary control… that controls nothing.

Control does not bring peace. More control leads to greater insecurity.

High mountain refuge
(family as real integration)

In a family, unity and diversity come as part of the package.
Maturity, here, has another name: temperance.

The family is integrated.

When a family ceases to be what it is, a person shatters into a thousand pieces.
And that inner rupture is always reflected in everything we do and project.
Because what is disordered within, is disordered without.

The jewel in the crown
(growing up in freedom)

When we seek unity through imposition—”if you think like me, we’ll be fine”—it seems like peace, but it’s fear in disguise.
Conflict is avoided… at the price of suppressing the freedom of others.

Unity is not imposed. It is loved.

And sooner or later, that false unity explodes: it becomes domination, control, authoritarianism.
At the other extreme, the lack of unity fosters a “every man for himself” mentality: parallel lives under the same roof.
People coexist… without truly connecting. And the home becomes a battlefield or a transit station.

Differences don’t subtract, they add up , if there is love that unites them.
Because we are beings for others. We are a gift.

You are more than your resume.
You are more than your wound.

Break free from the fear
(abandon the mental limit)

There’s a cycle that erodes intimacy: I’m worthless, I can’t, I don’t know.
We live defensively.
Breaking free from this spiral isn’t denying reality; it’s refusing to live trapped in a toxic interpretation of it.
It’s reclaiming a broad, clear perspective. Returning to the original design.
Stopping living within the distorted mirror and opening ourselves to connection.

It’s possible to return.

And here something crucial happens: we recover the inner unity that embraces differences to grow and enrich.
Because if our life shatters into pieces, our home ends up being a mosaic of loose fragments, unrecognizable.

The next transfer

Before you get off the train, take a moment.
Picture your home. Your family. Your friends.
This is the home you can return to.

You’re not lost. You’re scattered.

When we return home and find a welcoming gaze, we remember something essential:
we are not an unfinished task. We are family.
Open arms speak of welcome. They speak of respecting freedom.
“Dying” is not the same as “giving one’s life.”
And giving one’s life is what grounds unity in love.

A reader wrote me something that could be the silent confession of many:
“I would need to work through your articles with pencil and paper, but the truth is that I then get caught up in life…
But your reflections, always profound and demanding, unsettle me and resonate with me.
They connect me with a past self.
They make me think that perhaps I should go/return to the origin.”

That “former self” isn’t nostalgia. It’s a call to action.

We don’t need to invent a new life: we need to return to our original unity.
And this doesn’t happen tomorrow—when we “have time”—. It happens today.

“Always” means TODAY.

The “designation of origin” is not an idea: it is our very being.
That “more” that calls us to dedication, to transcendence.
And that “more” is not broken by weariness: it is awakened by love.