LAYLA:
I’ve always felt at odds living in a culture that prizes youth so much. Even as a child, I sought the company of people older than me and struggled to make friends my own age. My teens up to my mid-20s were pretty miserable. Adults would often say ‘enjoy, these are the best years of your life!’ which was heart-dropping to hear when everything felt so challenging.
What started out as teenage angst seemed to intensify year by year: a deep unease settled in, accompanied by a myriad of anxieties, complexes and a general sense of hopelessness. Something had to change- I couldn’t live the rest of my life in that state…
Slowly but surely I took the first steps of a new journey, one of discovery: not only of the self, but of the world and humanity as a whole. I met the most restorative people, interacted with modern philosophers (shout-out to Holiday Phillips, her work is inspirational) and embraced life-changing experiences.
I began to feel a strong healing energy inside myself- one I was eventually able to tap into and extend to others. My relationships intensified, my awareness heightened and I finally felt the deep sense of gratitude I’d been seeking so long. This isn’t to say that there aren’t still dark days, but the balance has mercifully shifted so they make up a much smaller percentage of my life.
The biggest (and hardest) lesson I learned is that no one is coming to save you.  It’s not an easy thing to accept, but I believe you must in order to truly grow up. It means letting go of fantasies that someone will appear and magically solve all of your unmet needs without you even having to express what they are. We must be our own saviours. Only then can we enter into any type of relationship in a healthy, equal way.
Sometimes the most ground-breaking concepts are the most simple. One in particular had a transformative impact on my thinking in my 20s: two things can be true. Conflicting truths often exist in the same space and humans are walking contradictions. Most of life takes place in the grey areas. We don’t always have to pick a side and even if we do, we are not defined by it. Allowing ourselves the freedom to change our minds is growth, not weakness.
This new decade has already started strong. I look forward to relaxing even more in my own skin and setting firmer boundaries. Up until recently I pretended not to care about societal pressures, but now I’m beginning to actually not care… and it’s a heck of a feeling.

PATRIZIA:
“Mamma, can you summarize your life experience from your 30s to your 60s?” my daughter asked. Well, thirty years of life teach you a great deal, and it isn’t easy for me to simply list the lessons I’ve learned. The task Layla set me is an interesting one, though, and since I decided to take it on both for her and for myself, I chose to break this stretch of time down according to the priorities that shaped my everyday life. In doing so, I realised not only that the task became easier, but also that my time seemed to fall quite naturally into decades.
Between the ages of thirty and forty, my daily life was almost entirely devoted to the needs of my daughters. I’ve always compared becoming a mother to a Copernican revolution: no longer was I the centre of my universe, but them. Two little beings who taught me how to love unconditionally and who brought out a patience in me that I never knew I had.
From forty to fifty, I experienced a growing sense of self-confidence and stability — only to lose it all quite suddenly. It was then that I learned never to take anything, absolutely anything, for granted. During that decade I lost many certainties, some of which I never found again, and I discovered that life can still be good despite this — perhaps even because of it.
Between fifty and sixty, I rediscovered the strength and enthusiasm of my twenties, and found the courage to start again and rebuild. I came to understand the wisdom behind the saying, “it’s never too late”.
Looking back now, I come to the natural conclusion that love and courage have marked the path I’ve taken so far. Love for my family of origin, love for the partners I’ve shared my life with, love for myself, and last but not least, love for my daughters. And courage — the courage I showed in the many leaps into the unknown, trusting in my ability to learn how to fly, and how to fall.

BRUNELLA:
I’ve been fortunate from the very beginning.
I came into the world struggling for breath, and yet here I am at ninety, still strong in body and clear in mind.
My greatest guide—through childhood, adolescence, youth, and well into adulthood—was my mother. She was irreplaceable. One of a kind. Simply, profoundly my mother. I owe her the best part of who I am.
So many emotions come back to me as I look over the long road of my life.
I want to reflect on the years that mattered most, the ones that forced me to change completely and grow up faster than I expected.
I married at twenty-seven. At thirty, my first child was born. Within a few short years, I was a mother of four: three daughters and a son. They gave my life meaning, and I devoted myself to them fully, without hesitation.
At fifty-eight, I became a grandmother for the first time and it brought a joy so deep I cannot describe.
I soon found myself with three granddaughters who gave me a renewed sense of youth. Today they are remarkable women—beautiful not just in appearance, but in spirit (“belle de faccia e belle de core”).
At eighty-seven, I became a grandmother once more: a little girl and boy who still make me feel needed.
Today I live with joy and deep gratitude.
I am growing old beside the man I have loved, and still love, even though it hasn’t always been plain sailing. I am loved by four children and five grandchildren. Whether I have been a good mother, a good grandmother, a good wife, and whether my mistakes can be forgiven, only they can decide.
Time has, of course, changed me. I have known profound loss: the death of my first child at birth, the loss of a brother far too young, the death of my mother and a sister- both so present in my life. And so many others I loved and had to let go…
These experiences have shaped me, or perhaps they have simply made me braver.
At ninety, I am someone who has never lived with certainty, only with questions.
And I still want to learn.
I am curious.
I am drawn to what I don’t know.
I still need human connection.
And yet, strangely, I find myself retreating, growing quieter.
Do I still want a future?
Yes—but only for as long as I can remain independent and useful.
If I had to choose an image to represent my life it would be this:
a sky full of stars, the gentle glow of the moon and the sudden joy of fireworks.
Life is beautiful.
And it should be lived without wasting a single moment.