To really thrive in prison you have to abandon all hope and be all accepting of your situation.

Acceptance and hopelessness are close cousins. Both are required to thrive in incarceration, one without the other isn't enough. A man may be accepting of his fate, but a burning ember of hope remains that his fortune will reverse. He will forever be a tourist living among the locals, trapped in a never ending nightmare holiday. Another man may have extinguished that ember of hope, but not yet accepted his fate; that he is a prisoner, a ward of the state, a man without agency or autonomy. He too is a tourist, but a different kind. Perpetually destined to be a horse that never breaks but always gets saddled and ridden, a salmon conscious of endlessly swimming up stream, but never able to take a break.

Both men are tortured, the first man resigned to his fate but endlessly hoping his miracle comes. His condition renders him a tree who cannot grow roots. He believes at any moment his time will come a savior will appear a miracle will occur and his nightmare will end. The second man knows no one will help him, there is no savior, he knows he will serve every second of his sentence, but every day will be a torture, every day worse than the last, because in his mind he is still an individual, not a number. It is a cruel life to be the only individual. It is of course possible to be both of these men on any given day.

For me, I am mostly the first man. I accept my current condition, I accept that my autonomy has been stripped from me. I accept I am a prisoner for the time being, but I still hold out hope that this magnificent wrong will be made right. Occasionally I am the second man, where my hope fades and I lose faith that this wrong will be made right and every fiber of my being bristles at the idea that I am no longer a man, but an inmate.

There is of course a third man the man that thrives in prison. He has no hope, he may have never had any to begin with, he may not even know the feeling. This man accepts totally - relishes even - the lack of autonomy. The institutionalized man. Every need - food, shelter, healthcare, social, purpose - all taken care of for him. He has laid down roots, and has grown, stunted and carefully manicured, like a bonsai tree. His only dread is the dread of his impending release.

I hope I am never that third man, I hope I am forever a tourist here among the natives, the unbroken wild horse, the salmon swimming up stream. Perhaps even the magicians tiger that faithfully performs at the direction of the magician until one day he decides he is a tiger and not a cat, and tears the magicians throat out live on stage. Acceptance and hopelessness, two cousins I hope I never meet.