Greenlights

by Matthew McConaughey

In this solitude, we then begin to think in pictures, and actualize what we see. Our souls become anonymous again, and we realize we are stuck with the one person we can never be rid of: ourselves. The Socratic dialogue can be ugly, painful, lonesome, hard, guilt-ridden, and a nightmare vicious enough to need a mouth guard not to gnaw our fangs into nubs while we sweat cold in feverish panic. We are forced to confront ourselves. And this is good. We more than deserve this suffrage, we’ve earned it. An honest man’s pillow is his peace of mind, and no matter who’s in our bed each night, we sleep with ourselves. We either forgive or get sick and tired of it. Herein lies the evolution. With nowhere to run, and forced to deal with ourselves, our ugly everyday suppressions break out of the zoo and monkey around, where we find our self in the ring with them, deciding, no more, or let it slide. Whatever the verdict, we grow. It’s us and us, our always and only company. We tend to ourselves, and get in good graces once again. Then we return to civilization, able to better tend to our tendencies. Why? Because we took a walkabout.