I am writing this column on the eve of Epiphany. This afternoon I will attend the traditional Cavalcade, otherwise, the youngest members of my family tribe will kick me out of the house. There we will be defying the inclemencies of this wet and unpleasant Christmas, and missing the endearing carols.

I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, the magic and illusion of a day dedicated to the innocence and joy of childhood prevails. All the liturgy and preparations to welcome Melchior, Gaspar and Balthazar have their best harvest in the astonished and happy look of the children. The day is theirs, may the adults retire, or may they become small and stop boring us with their nonsense.

On the other hand, the battle for a place in the commercial queues, the issue of toys that crowd before the eyes of the children, will give way to oblivion. As quantity takes precedence, the quality of detail dissipates. Despite the crisis, this inflation of consumption and gifts clashes brutally with the miseries and tragedies of so many places in the world. I do not intend to ruin such an important festivity, it is one of my favorite days of the year, but I do wonder what has finally become of a Christmas designed around the table and the stores.

Whatever the result of a mix of emotions, values and affections, these are ideal times to write our particular letter to the Three Kings. In previous years, here, in this same corner of the newspaper that generously welcomes me, I have written my requests as a concerned and hopeful citizen. Today I am not going to do it, I keep it to myself. There are things that mature and consolidate in the solitude and discretion of privacy staff .

I remember my years at high school del Pilar in Madrid. Once a year we would go on a spiritual retreat. Two days in the mountains, nature, sports, reading, friendship and prayer constituted the menu of hours dedicated to reflection and knowledge staff . Back home we were all guided by noble purposes. I promise to respect my parents, not to bother my brothers and sisters, to be more thoughtful with my friends, to do something for the poor and the sick, to maintain a more frank and loyal relationship with Jesus, etc.

After a while, how many objectives had been met? What did the comparison between the proposed challenges and the achievements yielded? What can we learn from those personal improvement plans? The problem with writing letters is that as easy as it is to write them, it is as easy as it is to let them down. Why do we fail? Are they false, phony, fake, the ephemeral product of a moment of euphoria?

These days I imagine many executives promising to spend more time with their families, only to go back to the old ways of conference at work, presided over by reuniting and petting. I sense many professionals promising to read more, to cultivate themselves a little, to perfect their English, to attack their educational gaps, only to be imprisoned in old and impoverishing habits.

I detect many men and women designing a sports training staff that combines effort, perseverance and fun, to later surrender to a sedentary lifestyle. I observe actions of solidarity with the "wretched" of the earth, which do not stand the test of time, they are limited to superficial tics of a conscience numbed in abundance. And so on, year after year. Letters, objectives, resolutions of amendment that only in a tiny proportion are met. In this gap, confidence is lost, energy evaporates and self-esteem suffers.

A painful deficit is not a reason to give up on our limited human condition, but to grow in integrity and wisdom. There is another option. In these days as we draw the curtain on the holidays and return to work (those lucky enough to have it, please smile), goals, few, personal, ambitious, achievable and authentic.

From there, perseverance and struggle to achieve them, and then, flexibility, humility and humor to note deviations and deal with our brittle nature. This year my letter to the Three Kings is shorter. Maybe because I'm getting older, or maybe because I'm going back to the time when it was enough with badges, stickers and a ball between brothers and friends to play with and wake up.