I went in for a kiss goodbye. She turned her head, but not far enough to where I couldn’t catch a quarter inch of the left side of her lips.
I asked her if she wanted to go out that evening.
“Yes,” she said. “But I can’t. It’s my dad’s birthday tonight.”
“What about tomorrow night?”
“Call me.”
I waved as I pulled away; she waved back.
That mermaid from the Amazon ten years ago had seen me. Then she swam into the deeper waters of the Atlantic, around Cape Horn, and up the Pacific, where she finally disembarked in Hollywood, then came to a club on Sunset Boulevard where I recognized her turquoise shape and caramel shoulders swimming across the room and into my affection.
Fourteen years later she’s still the only woman I’ve ever wanted to take on a date, sleep with, or wake up next to.
Greenlight.
oh lady of good hope
Oh my love, how are you?
To see you, not make you, happy
Is one of my favorite things to do
My sister, my lover, my buddy, my clone
Headfirst through these days
We charge alone
And now we’re at that place
Just glancing over the edge
“You go first, no you go.”
What if we held hands, jumped together?
What a long way down it is,
we both agree it’s true.
“Good thing,” I say.
You say, “What?”
“I only wanna fly with you.”
* * *
Camila and I had been dating for about a year when I took a job in Australia on the film Fool’s Gold. Until then, I had always gone to work alone and lived solitarily on location, but this woman was something, someone, different in my life. I wanted her to come to Australia for the three months I was filming, live with me in the two-bedroom beach house in Port Douglas I’d be renting. I didn’t like the idea of being away from her while I was there. I liked the idea of being with her while I was. I invited her.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Are. You. Sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, there’s a few things that I’ll need in order to do that. I’ll need my own bedroom, my own bathroom, and my own key to the house.”
“Deal.”
She came. She stayed. She didn’t sleep in that bedroom, seldom used that bathroom, and rarely needed that other key. But she still had them, and it was an important part of her independence, of our independence, at this stage of our relationship. Very wise real estate to claim, whether you use it or not.
About two months in, with New Year’s coming up, I found a six-day surf retreat in Papua New Guinea for the break. Tree houses, jungle, surf, adventure.
We spent our days surfing, swimming, diving, hiking the rain forest, exploring the markets, and visiting indigenous tribes. We lived in a one-room tree house on the edge of the jungle, no electricity, none needed. It was wild, beautiful, magical.
On the fourth afternoon, after making love, we were sitting on the porch perch of our tree hut, watching the sun set over the Solomon Sea, having our first cocktail before joining the locals at a watering hole a few hundred yards down the beach.
I was falling in love.
“What would I have to do to lose you?” I asked.
As I said these words I turned to look at her out of the corner of my eyes, the drink in her right hand already halfway to her mouth as she was moving to take a sip of it. How graceful her hand moved, never hitching, never hesitating, just fluently gliding as it would have if a question like that had never been asked.
The drink reached her lips, and she took a nice, easy sip, her eyes staying with the sunset. Then, she took a relaxed, satisfied swallow, and slowly lowered the glass back down to its wet ring resting place on the wooden arm of her chair.
“Oh, that’s easy,” she said as she turned her head to me.
My heart raced. Her eyes found mine and settled.
“Change,” she said.
Greenlight.
* * *
When we returned from Australia, Camila moved west from New York. My Hollywood Hills home was an ideal nest for two serious lovers but it was mine, and without saying it, we both knew we wanted a fresh start, an opportunity to build a life together. The two of us relocated to the Malibu Beach RV park, where we moved into my twenty-eight-foot Airstream, “the Canoe.” Dedicated to a future with each other, we discussed children, and soon decided she would get off birth control.
“On one condition,” she said. “When you go off to work, we all go.”*2
“Deal,” I said.
today I made love to my woman.
Not because I wanted to right then,
but because I knew I’d want to once we started.
And that the walk on the beach we took afterward would be more romantic.
The cocktail I made at 5:45 would taste better.
The shrimp I seasoned would have more savor.
The All-Star game we watched at 7 would be more exciting.
The music we danced to till midnight would have more rhythm.
And the conversation about life we had together sitting across the kitchen table from each other until 3 in the morning would be more inspiring…
And it was.
For months we covered all 188 square feet of “the Canoe” trying, but nothing stuck, so we forgot about trying and just enjoyed the doing.
A few months later I got home around seven one night and she was there to greet me with her usual hug, kiss, and a smile. The kiss was a little wetter this evening.
She handed me a prepoured double tequila on the rocks. I kicked off my flip-flops and sat down on the couch. One of my favorite scents was coming from the stove top: homemade cheeseburgers.
“What’s up? This is heaven on earth.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, as she sat down next to me and handed me a small wooden box wrapped in a string of turquoise stones.
I opened it. Inside was a photograph. I couldn’t quite make out what it was so I had a closer look to see more clearly.
Tears of joy began to run down my cheeks. I looked her way. She was crying the same tears. The photograph was an ultrasound. She was pregnant.
We cried, we laughed, we danced.
The only thing I ever knew I wanted to be was a father.
To me, fatherhood meant a man had made it in life. Growing up, I said “yes sir” and “no sir” to my father and his friends because they were fathers. Fatherhood, what I most revered in life, what I was most impressed with, was now what I was about to become more involved with. The message of manhood that came to me at my own father’s passing had newborn relevance as I became one myself.
Yes sir.
Greenlight.
* * *
Around 10:00 p.m., we called my mom to share the news. It was midnight Texas time.
“Mom? Me and Camila here. We have some great news we wanna share with you, you’re on speakerphone.”
“Oh great, I love good news. Hi, Camila!”
“Hi, Mrs. McConaughey!”
“Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Camila and I made a baby. She’s pregnant.”
Silence.
More silence.
“Mom?…You there?”
“No!…No! No! Nooooooo! Matthew!!! This is out of order! No, no, no, no, noooooo! Matthew! I raised you to get married before you had a baby! With anyone! No!!! This is all wrong, oh no, Matthew, this is not good news.”
Camila and I looked at each other, our mouths agape. I reached toward the phone, tempted to take it off speaker a
nd spare Camila the drubbing. Then I thought, no, best she gets to know every bit of my mom.
“Oh geez, Mom. I thought you’d be so happy. Me and Camila are overjoyed.”
“Well, I’m not!!…This is all wrong, Matthew. This is not how I raised you, and I’m sorry, Camila, but this is not how I raised my son. I am not happy in the least,” she said.
Then she hung up.
Camila and I absorbed the blow, our tears of joy dried up with shock.
“Oh shit,” Camila said.
“No shit,” I replied.
We leaned back on the couch, catching our breath.
Camila poured me another drink. I didn’t take a sip, I took a swig.
A few minutes later my phone rang. It was Mom. What were we in for now? I answered.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, am I on speakerphone? Camila, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Mrs. McConaughey, I’m here.”
“What’s up, Mom?”
“Well…I’d like to put some Wite-Out over that last conversation. I realize I was being selfish. I don’t have to agree with the order of events, but it’s not my right to judge them. As long as you’re happy, then I’m happy for you…Okay?”
I stared at the phone and shook my head.
“Wite-Out it is, Mrs. McConaughey!” Camila said, stifling her laughter.
“Great, cus everybody deserves a do-over! Love you, bye.”
And with that, she hung up.
IMPRESSIONS
We’ve all encountered those people, who, out of the corner of our eye, from across the street, at magic hour, appear astoundingly attractive, even God- or Goddess-like. The way they move, the way the light hits them, invokes reverence and awe. The IMPRESSION.
And then we got a closer look. Damnit. Letdown. Good from afar, but far from good.
Some people will never be more attractive than in that first impression, from a distance, in that light, at that time, in that way we saw them, when our hopes became highest and our wish fulfillment was fully leaded. They will never look better than in that initial, fuzzy-edged glimpse. The impression. The WIDE SHOT.
Some relationships are better in a wide shot. More impressive in the impression.
Like in-laws. Best to only see on holidays.
Like neighbors. It’s why we have walls and fences.
Like that long-distance romance that fell apart when you moved in together.
Like that summer fling that only lasted through August.
That friend that became a lover that you now miss as a friend.
Like ourselves when we’re a fraud.
They’re better from a distance. With less frequency. With less intimacy.
Sometimes we need more space.
It’s romance, it’s imagination.
Distance is the flirt and the wink, it’s frivolous, it’s mysterious, a fantasy. A constant honeymoon because we can’t quite see it, we aren’t quite sure about it, we don’t quite know it.
It’s a fuck. It’s detachment. It’s separate. It’s public. It’s carefree. It’s painless. It’s for rent.
And we like it that way, because sometimes it’s better with the lights dimmed.
The MIRROR
We’ve all encountered those people, who, when we look them in the eye, when they’re right in front of us, in broad daylight, appear astoundingly attractive, even God- or Goddess-like. The way they move, the way the light hits them, invokes reverence and awe. The DEFINITION.
And then the closer we look. Wow. We take flight. Good from close, better close-up.
Some people get more attractive, have a greater impression on us the more we see them, the closer we look, in that light, at that time, in the way we see them, when our hopes are highest and our wish fulfillment is fully leaded. They will always look better the more clearly we see them. The definition. The CLOSE-UP.
Some relationships are better in a close-up. More impressive with more definition.
Like the woman whose photograph doesn’t turn you on, but in real life she does.
Like our children.
Like our spouse.
Like a best friend.
Like God.
Like ourselves when we’re authentic and true.
They’re better up close, with more frequency, with more intimacy.
Sometimes we need to be near.
It’s love, it’s literal.
Closeness is the quiet moments together, the pain shared, the beauty seen, the honesty. It’s authentic. It’s reality. A constant relationship because we can see it, we’re sure about it, we know it.
It’s making love. It’s attachment. It’s togetherness. It’s private. It costs us. It hurts. We own it.
And we like it that way, because sometimes it’s better with the lights on.
* * *
Camila was six months pregnant when I got a call from my film production office in Venice, California. The number came up on caller ID and I reached to pick up the phone.
My hand paused midreach.
I didn’t want to answer it. A call from my production office. The office where I had paid the rent and staff since 1996.
I didn’t answer it. Instead, I called my lawyer, Kevin Morris.
“I’m shutting down the production company immediately. I’ll call everybody and let em know tomorrow. I want to give generous severance packages. Shut down j.k. livin Records as well.”
It was time to clean house. Process of elimination.
I had five things on my proverbial desk to tend to daily: family, foundation, acting, a production company, and a music label. I felt like I was making B’s in all five. By shutting down the production company and the music label, I eliminated two of my five commitments with plans to make A’s in the other three.
I told my lawyer that I wanted to take care of my family, my foundation, and be an actor for hire.
Simplify, focus, conserve to liberate.
Alright, alright, alright.
* * *
On July 7, 2008, after three days of labor and an emergency C-section, Camila gave birth to a seven-pound, eight-ounce baby boy.
We didn’t know the gender beforehand, which is one of the best surprises you can ever give yourself. We were set for a name if it was a baby girl, but we had a pretty long and interesting list if it was a boy.
“Matthew.” “Man.” “Medley.” “Igloo.” “Mister.” “Citizen.” “Levi.”
You know, the usuals.
Camila preferred “Matthew.” Me, I was concerned about the Jr. aspect and the same name as the famous dad snare, but right now, we weren’t thinking about names, we were too busy smiling, laughing, crying, and loving.
About an hour and a half after the birth, a nurse came in and handed me a formal document to fill out. It read:
On July 7, 2008, at 6:22 pm, (name) was born.
6:22. My favorite Bible verse:
If thine eye be single,
Thy whole body will be full of light.
—Matthew 6:22
The mandorla.
The paradox instead of the contradiction.
The union instead of the friction.
The place where all the colors live.
The white light.
The third eye.
A verse that has given me spiritual guidance for decades, 6:22 was even carved into Camila’s and my bedroom door by two Dogon tribesmen I commissioned in Mali back in 2000.
The apostle “Matthew” was also known as “Levi” in other parts of the world. Same man. Different name.
From Leviticus, the third book in the bible of law and ritual.
Levitical. Levitated. Levi. Matthew 6:22.
So, on July 7, 2008, at 6:22 p.m., Levi Alve
s McConaughey was born. His middle name, Alves, is Camila’s maiden name.
Greenlight.
Man is never more masculine than after the birth of his first child. Not macho. Masculine. After his firstborn, a new father’s head, heart, and gut are more aligned than they have ever been. His five senses on the same frequency, his intuition is in tune, he should engrave any instinct he has for the next six months—personal, financial, spiritual, or career. He should trust that he kn-owwws and kn-owww that he can tell the future, because now, for the first time in his life, he is livin for it and it is livin for him.
Bet it all and sweep the board.
* * *
Just as I was introduced to new life, a possibly fatal family crisis unexpectedly hit at home and I rushed back to Austin to be with my mom and brothers. Camila and Levi joined me after a couple of weeks and we rented a small home in my mom’s active retirement community where we slept on blow-up air mattresses.
I don’t know about all retirement communities but this one was cool. A bunch of old people minding to themselves, not looking for anything or anyone else to give them significance for anything. It’s like they got into older age and became revolutionaries again, or anarchists. They were like kids.
They’re God-loving patriotic Americans with wild senses of humor and a total lack of pretense or political correctness. They laugh at everything, and love getting laughed at. They also love to have a good chat and offer unsolicited life advice.
“You always look like you’re havin fun when I see your work, Matthew, and that’s what life’s all about, keep havin fun.”
“The greatest achievement in life is your kids, Matthew, so have a bunch, and remember, grandkids are twice as nice and half the work.”
Being surrounded by senior citizens will remind you of your mortality and make you feel younger at the same time. You see their bodies not doing what their minds tell them to do and their minds forgetting what they know to remember, yet they’re anything but sentimental about it. They get a routine and stick to it: going to the gym, stopping by for an evening cocktail, singing in the church choir, and signing up for every activity offered.
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