How much more decorous a possession than honest self-reflection; though there is nothing to see in such wealth besides the owner's periodic bemused look of dismay at discovering again their own thin veneer of understanding. But such a thing to wear! Such a man or woman is lord or lady of a single rock protruding through the sea, with slippery wet sides promising, with the slightest misstep, a swift plunge into cold depths. There's nowhere even to sit in such a place...for the honest must always stand with straining muscles and the fatigue of one who wants to try, and who refuses to tell comforting stories of make-believe and relenting hope. The winds there are always cold, coming in off the sea, and there's little comfort besides holding our arms wrapped tight to our chest. And it's always evening here at the edge of certitude, with no light on those distant lands and a gauzy haze upon an unbroken horizon of empty. Such a place to come to, such a place to stay, and such a life to live.
My name is Kurt Bell.
You can learn more about The Good Life in my book Going Alone.
Be safe... But not too safe.