Two and a half years ago, I read Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey. Billed as the actor’s life story and “guide to livin’”, it is one of the wildest books I have ever read. Over 300 pages, McConaughey recounts his trials (runner-up in Little Mr Texas, 1977; receding hairline) and takeaways from the desert and the Chateau Marmont hotel in Los Angeles.
It is hugely entertaining, with McConaughey’s voice as distinctive on the page as it is on screen. But his guiding philosophy of “chasin’ greenlights” (signs from the universe to steam ahead) struck me as about as relatable as his abs. After all, this was a man who followed an ambiguous wet dream to two continents.
