Then I was lucky I met with my future husband, and I started new

The words of Olga Korbut — “Then I was lucky I met with my future husband, and I started new life with my husband, and I was happy again. He was a musician. I start to travel with him through Europe also and around the former Soviet Union.” — are a tender reflection on renewal. They speak of a woman who had endured hardship, whose heart had tasted sorrow, but who found in love and companionship the chance to begin again. There is in her words the eternal truth that even when life feels broken, destiny may place before us a new path, and in that path the chance for joy reborn.

Her mention of being lucky reminds us that love often arrives not as something earned, but as a gift, unexpected and unplanned. In the union of two souls, there is a power greater than any solitary achievement. She, the gymnast who had once amazed the world with her daring artistry, here speaks not of medals or victories, but of the quiet triumph of the heart — the happiness of shared life. It is a reminder that beyond fame or success, the greatest victories are those of the soul that learns to love and to be loved in return.

The role of her husband, a musician, adds another layer of beauty to the tale. For music and sport are both arts of rhythm and discipline, though they speak to different senses. Together, they form a harmony: the grace of movement and the grace of sound. Their union was not only of two hearts but of two forms of artistry, joining in the journey of travel. To journey through Europe and the Soviet lands together was not merely motion across borders; it was the creation of memories, the weaving of experiences that lifted the burden of past sorrows and turned them into new melodies of joy.

History too has known such stories of renewal through love. Think of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor, who in the solitude of rule found strength and solace in the companionship of his wife, Faustina. Or of Eleanor Roosevelt, who transformed personal struggles within her marriage into a broader devotion to humanity, finding new life through partnership and shared work. These examples remind us that even the great and the celebrated are not sustained by glory alone, but by the quiet fire of human connection.

Korbut’s words are also a testament to resilience. She had known the weight of struggle, of challenges that seemed to steal away joy. Yet she did not remain in the shadows. When life offered her love, she embraced it, and through that embrace, she found the strength to walk again in the light. This is the wisdom of the ancients: that suffering may endure for a night, but joy can come in the morning. The story is not over until the heart is willing to love again.

The lesson is clear: never believe that one chapter defines the whole book of your life. Even in moments of loss, despair, or brokenness, the possibility of renewal remains. A new life can begin in ways you do not expect — through love, through companionship, through shared journeys. What matters is the openness of the heart, the courage to accept joy when it returns, even after sorrow has made you doubt its reality.

Practical wisdom follows. Cherish the relationships that give you strength. If love appears in your path, receive it not with fear but with gratitude. If you are in sorrow, remember that joy may yet come again, not as it once was, but in a new and perhaps deeper form. And when you travel — whether across lands or simply through the seasons of life — let companionship make the road lighter and the burdens fewer. For in walking with another, you discover not only the world but yourself anew.

So remember, child of tomorrow: medals fade, applause quiets, but the happiness found in love endures. Olga Korbut’s words are not merely about her own journey, but about the universal truth that no matter the past, there is always the chance for new life, new travel, and the rediscovery of joy. Accept the gift when it comes, and let it carry you forward into brighter days.