So, I was talking to myself the other day.

I was in my car.  I have found over the years that, if I want to talk to myself, being in my car is the best place.  If I am in my car, it only takes a second to check and be sure that I am alone.  I have also found over the years that, if I want to talk to myself, being alone is the best company.

If you talk to yourself around the wrong people, your spouse or children for example, they may produce some sort of document and get it signed by a quack or two, who are unsympathetic concerning the art of self-conversation.  They may then file that document with a nearby court presided over by a judge of one sort or another who also thinks such solo-chats are suggestive of a weak and unstable character.  Said jurist might then issue some sort of ruling, or order, or such, that might occasion a change of address for me.

Now, though I do rather like rural living, quiet country mornings, and that sense of healing solitude one can get when spending a few months at an institution that dedicates itself to providing such restful accommodations, I do not favor being forced there under duress by shady lawyers.  Thus, I maintain that it is best to get into my car, a smallish sedan that offers no nooks or crannies where a child or my rather petite wife might secrete themselves, check three times to ascertain that I am quite alone, turn on the radio to country music, and crank the volume to max. And drive at least three blocks from my home–the one that they want to take away from me–before beginning any conversation with the said “self.”

So, anyway, I was talking to myself the other day.

I was in my car. I have found over the years, and especially in these days of anxiety, that talking to myself offers me the best chance to interact with and improve the most important relationship in my life–the relationship between me and me. I have found that if I am honest and open with myself, I grow to like myself more and more.  I like that.

I can relate to myself without reservation about the most significant issues that we face on the journey through this incarnation. The other day I told myself exactly what I should have told Tommy Fangman after he bullied me in third grade. I spoke honestly, and openly about my profound disappointment in the final season of Game of Thrones—I even cried a bit about that.  Maybe at long last I can let go of that sense of betrayal that follows me all these years later.  Lately I have been re-living the Chiefs Super Bowl win over and over—talking to myself about how much I deserve Patrick Mahomes being on my team. I deserve him.

I recommend that everyone spend more time talking to themselves.

One bit of advice, don’t talk to yourself about politics or religion. You’ll just end up in an argument. 

Otis Twelve hosts the radio program Early Morning Classics with Otis Twelve on 90.7 KVNO, weekday mornings from 6-10 a.m. Visit kvno.org for more information.

This article was printed in the July/August 2020 edition of Omaha Magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.