Two days after the season finale, Chelsea and I distractedly but also deliberately watched the first episode of Walt’s meth-making vocation (and seeming genesis of a murder hobby.) The pilot begs an obvious question, “If I do the wrong thing but for the right reasons, is it wrong?”
And the less obvious: “Who is capable of evil? And what does it take to make a person such–especially when she or he lives outside the caricatures of how we normally define it?”
Perhaps there is a narrative of us falling into “bad things”–this storyline that we like to believe that our lives have a moral arc or cord or connection that threads and weaves and simplifies. But I think sin is nonlinear; the bad that we do is much more spurious and random and also consistent, if not often times clandestine, and if I was truly to fess up about how many times I have stolen (a towel from Zoraida’s house, pens from Open Society Foundation,) lied (to CP and Coro bosses about reasons for tardiness,) cheated (by looking over the shoulder of someone’s blue book on a Constitutional Law exam,) and coveted (Sari’s job, Steph’s ability to make friends,) then it would all seem much more confusing why I haven’t done anything far more nefarious and dastardly yet.
But I bury, bury, bury and people don’t know to ask about what they don’t know.
Walt’s wickedness is televised but I’ve done my best to crush the surveillance cameras attempting to monitor my heart.