Eccola, la paturnia saturnina, parentesi di adagiato turbamento esistenziale cui epilogo sedimenta nel fondo di un bicchiere colmo di vino, in quel retrogusto acidulo di frustrazione, rabbia e sensi di colpa rinvenibile al palato. Perchè passi in fretta bisogna ficcare il dito lì nella piaga, dove il patema è una ferita a lembi aperti, anestetizzata dal tempo eppure ancora sensibile al tormento. Certi ricordi riappaiono d’improvviso, come scheletri appesi nell’armadio retrospettivo della memoria, vigliacchi come spaventapasseri in un campo di battaglia, smunti smilzi e glabri come lampioni fiaccati dalla nebbia. Eccoli tutti quanti in fila, uno a uno, a inombrare le macchie di luce e illuminare lì dov’è bene resti al buio. Uno a uno, scheletri maledetti, abbarbicati in testa per i capelli come scimmie isteriche appese alle liane.
Che avete da strillare.
C’è dell’insano nel perversare contro se stessi ponendosi a sedere sul banco degli imputati. Siete certi della sentenza, eppure un rimorso, un’inspiegabile nostalgia, abbastano a instillare il dubbio e mettere in discussione il verdetto. Se non avessi lasciato casa, se non avessi abortito, se mi fossi sposata, se mi fossi trattenuta. Se anzichè voltare le spalle, sbattere la porta, barricarmi in una torre d’orgoglio, chiudermi a chiave dentro a un cassetto. Se avessi avuto il coraggio di sbagliare.
Mi chiedo spesso cosa sarebbe potuto essere della mia vita se avessi avuto il coraggio di sbagliare.
“What is to be done with the millions of facts that bear witness that men, consciously, that is fully understanding their real interests, have left them in the background and have rushed headlong on another path, to meet peril and danger, compelled to this course by nobody and by nothing, but, as it were, simply disliking the beaten track, and have obstinately, wilfully, struck out another difficult, absurd way, seeking it almost in the darkness. So, I suppose, this obstinacy and perversity were pleasanter to them than any advantage…
The fact is, gentlemen, it seems there must really exist something that is dearer to almost every man than his greatest advantages, or (not to be illogical) there is a most advantageous advantage (the very one omitted of which we spoke just now) which is more important and more advantageous than all other advantages, for the sake of which a man if necessary is ready to act in opposition to all laws; that is, in opposition to reason, honour, peace, prosperity — in fact, in opposition to all those excellent and useful things if only he can attain that fundamental, most advantageous advantage which is dearer to him than all. “Yes, but it’s advantage all the same,” you will retort. But excuse me, I’ll make the point clear, and it is not a case of playing upon words. What matters is, that this advantage is remarkable from the very fact that it breaks down all our classifications, and continually shatters every system constructed by lovers of mankind for the benefit of mankind. In fact, it upsets everything…
One’s own free unfettered choice, one’s own caprice, however wild it may be, one’s own fancy worked up at times to frenzy — is that very “most advantageous advantage” which we have overlooked, which comes under no classification and against which all systems and theories are continually being shattered to atoms. And how do these wiseacres know that man wants a normal, a virtuous choice? What has made them conceive that man must want a rationally advantageous choice? What man wants is simply independent choice, whatever that independence may cost and wherever it may lead. And choice, of course, the devil only knows what choice.
Of course, this very stupid thing, this caprice of ours, may be in reality, gentlemen, more advantageous for us than anything else on earth, especially in certain cases… for in any circumstances it preserves for us what is most precious and most important — that is, our personality, our individuality. Some, you see, maintain that this really is the most precious thing for mankind; choice can, of course, if it chooses, be in agreement with reason… It is profitable and sometimes even praiseworthy. But very often, and even most often, choice is utterly and stubbornly opposed to reason … and … and … do you know that that, too, is profitable, sometimes even praiseworthy?
I believe in it, I answer for it, for the whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano-key! …And this being so, can one help being tempted to rejoice that it has not yet come off, and that desire still depends on something we don’t know?
You will scream at me (that is, if you condescend to do so) that no one is touching my free will, that all they are concerned with is that my will should of itself, of its own free will, coincide with my own normal interests, with the laws of nature and arithmetic. Good heavens, gentlemen, what sort of free will is left when we come to tabulation and arithmetic, when it will all be a case of twice two make four? Twice two makes four without my will. As if free will meant that!”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground, 1874