“I shouldn’t have.”

            Ever said that? Say it a lot? Wish you said it more?

            The concept is human. Puppy Henry regrets certain actions – we make sure of it – because of consequences. Stealing that slipper for the umpteenth time wasn’t worth the pain. His response is pragmatic, not contrite.

Humans punish ourselves for breaking our own rules. Some obey their prescripts precisely, determined not to “let themselves down.” Others revile themselves for violating their ordinances. Others revel in “getting away with” being “bad.”

Each is our own Hammurabi, promulgating our private code. For one that extra cookie is no big deal, for another a crime. Some serial murderers, cop shows assure me, exhibit no remorse. We penalize ourselves with guilt, shame, self-abuse, pout to our shrinks and promise reform.

Our codes are variously derived. Some adopt the rules of their tribe: not for these Prudence Perfects to dispute their betters! Others are scofflaws, exhibiting their independence by defiance. Others, like yours truly, angle to have it both ways. Repugnantly “good” in public, boy Carll was a scamp in secret, delighting in his dereliction. A long-ago poem considered this contradiction:

These days my war with myself has shriveled into silly skirmish. If gramps acts up, who cares!

            This morning’s meditation is occasioned by having drunk a glass too many last night. I shouldn’t have. I knew I shouldn’t, told myself as I poured, didn’t need to, wasn’t grieving or exuberating, foresaw the price I’d pay. I didn’t want to – yet somehow, here was the liquor in the glass, the glass at my lips, and sure, it tasted nice, but why, dammit, I’m no helpless addict (and no, such behavior is not habitual).

            I neither condone nor comprehend. After seventy-two years, you’d think I’d have a handle on myself. Having let myself down – willfully – I deserve this throbbing occiput. But why?

            The Bible depicts disobedience as our defining human characteristic. Eve knew she shouldn’t have eaten that apple – the devil made her do it – the devil of curiosity – and we’ve been paying for her lapse ever since. The flipside of “I shouldn’t have” is “See if I can’t – gonna stop me! – to hell with your rules!” A resentful resistance to restraint roils beneath our common sense and occasionally erupts. My rebellion yesterday was a peccadillo, not worth noting. But this contest – between should and did – goes to the heart of who we are.

            The war – of me versus us – is fretful and fruitful. Refusal to submit to norms makes us both explorers and despoilers, poets and punks. We yearn to be a part and apart, some surrendering readily, comfy in their compliance, others acquiescing through grit teeth. If we all agreed, there’d be no need of war – or art.

            The impulse to pour that loathsome extra glass is the same that’s typing this paragraph. I will not concur, nod like a dashboard doll, go quietly into that good night! I will be myself, not some cookie-cutter cadet! Why this matters to me I’ve no idea but it does. I will chuck God’s chin!