Any “first time” after forty is something to be celebrated or lamented. There is no middle term. Today, it was the first time I have ever been humiliated. And, you know, it is impossible for someone to humiliate you unilaterally. I mean, to be humiliated is not under someone else’s control. The only thing others need to do is to catch you in some wrongdoing. The rest is up to you. All it takes then, is that you realize how wrong you are. And if you do so, all is left is lamentation.
This post is innocuous for you. You won’t learn anything of useful. I can’t tell you what I have done. This is a catharsis, yes, but there are some things that you simply can’t confess. This is one.
I can’t even write decently the way I feel. But I need to write. At least a bit.
What I’ve done is not something that happened today; it has been happening for seventeen years, a monster growing inside me without my realizing. I allowed it to grow. Now, every body saw it. I saw it. And almost all of them realized they had a similar monster inside. But they still didn’t care. They did not think it was really a monster. Not at first, at least.
Me neither. But then I thought a little.
Of course it is about morality. It is at the center of all my argumentations about evasion. It is so abject because it has been invisible for so long. And because it contradicts all I preach. A chronic evasion disguised as a sort of self-righteousness that convinced me I was right without any rational thought. I simply took it for granted that I had a moral right which I, in fact, had not. No one has.
I did what I did for feeling, not reason.
I did what I did because someone would anyway, so let it be me.
I did what I did because it did not cross my mind I had a way out.
But that is all I always say EVERYBODY has. I could FIGHT. I could choose COMBAT. But I chose to EVADE.
I could have said “It’s my way or no way” and do what is right. But I chose to go the easy route, the road more traveled by.
That expression strikes me as funny now.
When I was a child, I used to go have English classes in a place that had a library. I liked to go there after class and simply hang there leafing through unknown books. One day, by chance, I found Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”. It took me years to learn that it was such a famous poem. I don’t like poems. But that one I could never forget.
“Two roads diverged in a wood,
And I, I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
I took the same path as everybody else.
And, yes, it has made all the fucking difference.