A friend tells me that lately, every morning, he spends some time thinking, in front of a white wall. I find the matter quite exotic. You can tell that he looks good on her, there's a serene glow in his eyes that he would swear he wasn't there before. I feel a little envious. I ask for details. It is the white wall of his kitchen and he contemplates it sitting, with a coffee with milk in his hands, which he sips reflectively. His thoughts don't seem to flutter like cranes, I suppose thanks to that white wall that somehow holds them, but above all because my friend is able to direct them with an interesting script that right now he doesn't remember where he got it but it contains three questions: what do I want to do, what can I do and what do I have to do.
I'm impressed. I sense benefits in the short and long term. A better life, full and coherent at the same time, makes its way into my imagination. Would I be able to order my thoughts like this? Said and done, excuse me, but right now I stand in front of the white wall that is closest to hand.
Already. I have tried it. I don't know what to say. It had to be a wall in the hallway, on the kitchen ones there were things hanging, shelves, colanders, rags. The one in the corridor at first seemed white, but, a foot from the nose, I immediately caught a glimpse of gray flecks, I don't know how long it's been since we painted.
The thing is, it wasn't a pristine white and I guess that doesn't help. I grabbed my eyes at the target there with all my might, but that dim visual mass seemed to move. I've gotten a little dizzy. Maybe she was too close to the wall. My sight was cloudy, I wondered if I didn't have cataracts. Then I got sleepy. But it was cold, there was draft. The Yeti has crossed my mind. And the white record of the Beatles. I also wanted to have a beer.
But the struggle to focus the shot on the three issues has been titanic, don't believe it. Only the first –what do I want to do?– has made me shipwreck in a sea of doubts from which I don't know if I will ever recover. An ocean of confusion. Too many vague possibilities on a diffuse horizon. What do I want to do? I ask myself biting the white wall. A risky question that I don't know if I recommend. Still, maybe tomorrow I'll try again.
