The waiter waits for me with the letter in my hands, I feel his eyes on them, they've all chosen what they eat, one chicken pastry sandwich, cheese, tomato and barbecue with salsa, the other hamburger but no tomato, lettuce, onion and nothing, the four number, minus all the things that the four have, but clearly. Everybody decided at a glance, and I don't know if I want a sandwich or a hamburger here. In addition to the waiter's sighing, I noticed my friends' gazes, I increased the pressure, and eventually I asked for the usual.

Today it's been one or the other sandwich. Study or attend the meeting, or often find a way to do so. On what to spend money, take two rods or save to buy new shoes. Go home to eat or stay with friends to eat in the bar sacrificing the tents. Whether or not I'm a mouthpiece at home. Should I abandon my career or is it a one-off demotivation? In childhood it is easy to make decisions, we have hunger, pain, sleep and similar things; then, imitation is the way to start the path, along with the frustrated dreams of the family. Does the first exclusionary selection begin in the ESO, literature or science in the chaotic dance of hormones?

How do you remove the yellow from that four-year-old boy who said all the colors he liked? The rainbow would not be the same without the yellow. By painting the rainbow itself, we leave behind the nuances, because we make a personal interpretation; which has led to a simplification of the color spectrum, making a decision: light and dark blue yes, but enough with a single green. And impatience was increasing.

Now we are here at the crossroads, standing. Not being able to move outside or stop inside, analyzing everything repeatedly, as if an equation without limits could not reach the minimum error. The two are OK, none is OK, and there's the problem, in November the problems, in November the problem within a year and a half. Without knowing exactly what each decision consists of, in the impossibility of leaving room for luck, I have chosen one.

Then I started to lament all the way that I have not chosen. Grief, a four-phase process. The first is denial. No. Why do you have to choose? I won't choose, I don't give up on an idea, but choosing is also choosing. The second is anger: putting self-sabotage into practice. If I didn't ask -- I wouldn't doubt the initial idea, I wouldn't choose the most comfortable one, I wouldn't try to stifle the decision between screams. Thirdly, negotiation: dialogue with the decision. The most comfortable doesn't mean you've chosen badly, but you've put it in value, because at the moment it's legitimate not to want to confront your fears.

The last one, accept: it cannot be changed. This column you're reading is the one you can't change. No, I haven't presented any moral dilemma, I haven't changed the world, and no, it's not the best column you've read. That too is to accept it. Because this pillar is also the grief of what it could be, because there is all that is not going to be accepting it. The victory of any decision over those who have not decided it. The revenge of those who have finally decided, against those who would not let him decide. That is also the text, the revenge of indecision, or ode. Or accompanying another grief.