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<div class="text-justify"> It's hard to really satisfy yourself. It is quite improbable, by the way. By looking in the mirror at different stages of life, indiferent of how this stage is, you are not looking at a list of goals reached or unresolved, but rather a pair of deep, scary eyes, the greatest accomplices of your inner silence unencumbered or explicable. 

His tired appearance tells you what is dictating the rules of the moment, his unshaven beard leaves in doubt whether it is some kind of personal protest about the culture of male subliminal vanity or if you simply see no reason to cut it all days with a butter face.

It only becomes nostalgic when you stop doing what made you happy.

No matter how much joy the present bring to you, the increasingly gross weight of reality and forced maturity devastate your strength and courage, to the point where you smile, so you do not have to explain your sadness. Why, after all, who is really ready to face a weakness and a sadness of other people? Everyone (almost everyone) is very brave and strong indeed, because we wear the social face all morning, cooks, lawyers, housewives, business owners, waiters, porno actors, everyone need to be strong in the morning, at least half of the days of their lives, for in the other half, they are well, it is not difficult to wake up when we feeling fine.

And there face to face with your eyes, in that big mirror of the bathroom, at the first flirt with yourself of this new day you remember your hypochondriac fears, your anxieties for your service, your pains in the knee, remember your child ilness, the disagreement with his wife, the problem in the car. And question himself (no, no question, no question in the morning, cause you wake up ignorant and still sleepy), but as soon as possible, will question as to where his life has gone after all.
At what exact point did you release the reins? At what point did you stop picking out so fundamental details of this script (which is the only one that you have)? 

They are questions blown to the wind, and may fit, even if slowly, as fuel for a possible change, real and strong enough to be definitive. As definite as its existence.</div>