Alexandersmap

    Month: October 2019

    • Rise to the Role

      Reading history you learn just how violently brutal our ancestors were to each other.  Read about people being drawn and quartered, most famously William Wallace, and you shake your head at the cruelty of the slow death.  Listen to the Hardcore History podcast and every episode is about the brutality of mankind in wars from raids of Genghis Kahn to the Rape of Nanking.  This kind of horror should serve as an active deterrent for all future wars, and yet memories fade, people in leadership positions don’t learn the lessons of the past, or worse think of war in terms of a business transaction; a deal to be made, a win in the books, more for me, less for you.

      I’ve no tolerance for the ignorant in positions of power.  That old Spider Man “with great power comes great responsibility” quote is true.  But too many don’t honor that responsibility.  If you rise to a position of power, you only deserve it so much as you earn it every day in how you rise to the occasion.  Rise in embracing the lessons of history.  Rise in meeting the people you lead eye-to-eye.  Rise in acting decisively with compassion, dignity, humility and honor.

      The opposite of great responsibility is backroom betrayals, spreadsheet business decisions that destroy people’s lives, trophy hunting, and ego-driven decision-making.  Padding the bank accounts of “leaders”, but big steps back for humanity.  The world needs more honorable leaders who rise to the role.  Less power-grabbing, wealth-seeking, frail egos.  When we take our collective eye off the people grabbing for power, we’re left with few good choices at the top.  There are plenty of examples of that on the world stage, on Wall Street, and in turf wars around the globe.

      There’s hope too.  Many are rising to make the world a better place.  Public servants who take the term to heart.  Driven individuals who sacrifice time, money and position for others.  Listen to a cancer research doctor to learn what selfless purpose it.  Look at the MOSAIC Expedition on the Arctic, deliberately freezing their ship into the ice to better understand climate change.  And look at the people in the International Space Station, zipping around the globe, collaborating with each other no matter the nationality.  The mix of people changes with every mission, but they all manage to work together towards common goals. Their survival depends on it.  They’re just a fragile little ball flying around in space, highly dependent on the people around them to rise to the occasion.

      The analogy to the rest of us on Earth should be obvious, and yet we have too many people who think only of themselves, who don’t rise to the role they’re in.  They don’t seem to realize or care that our survival depends on it.  We can destroy the planet easily, we can wipe out entire cities in seconds.  We can cut down rainforests for profit, overfish for short term gain, contaminate groundwater to wring oil out of the ground, and start wars to collect on old grudges.  But we’re all living on this fragile ball flying around in space, and rising to the occasion to keep it livable for thousands of generations to come is really the only choice.

      For the individual, pointing at corrupt politicians is an easy out.  I vote, but I didn’t vote for that guy.  But too many don’t run for public office because it’s a really tough job.  You are scrutinized, berated, mocked and threatened.  Who needs that?  We all need that “Man in the Arena” hero who fights for what is right.  History favors the bold.  We need more people who rise to the role, fight through the nonsense and make the place better for having been there.  How will future generations look back at our history?  If the last three years have done anything, they’ve reignited a passionate call to serve, and I’m encouraged by the numbers of people who are rising up to say choose me instead.

      And I’m reminded once again of Walt Whitman, asking a similar question in a time of change, and I’m encouraged:

      “Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
      Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
      Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
      Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
      Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
      Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
      The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

      Answer.
      That you are here—that life exists and identity,
      That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” – Walt Whitman, O Me, O Life!

      And the next question, from Dead Poet’s Society, “What will your verse be?”

    • The Great Conversation

      I’m bouncing again, book-to-book, pulling this book off the shelf, scanning over that sentence on the Kindle app, and stacking the pile higher. It’s funny how one thing sparks another thing, it’s what Robert Maynard Hutchins called The Great Conversation, written work building on written work, theory built on theory, across time, but shrunken down to just the books in my personal library. Each offering a little something to keep the imagination abuzz. This morning’s great conversation started with a little stoicism:

      “What’s the meaning of life? Why was I born? Most of us struggle with these questions—sometimes when we’re young, sometimes not until we’re older. Rarely do we find much in the way of direction. But that’s simply because we miss the point. As Viktor Frankl points out in Man’s Search for Meaning , it is not our question to ask. Instead, it is we who are being asked the question. It’s our lives that are the answer.” – Ryan Holiday, The Daily Stoic

      That led me right to the source, and I pulled Frankl’s classic off the shelf for additional perspective:

      “It did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life – daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.” – Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search For Meaning

      Outside I hear the telltale roar of hot air balloon burners. It breaks my focus and I walk outside barefoot to look for the familiar visitors, but all I hear is them announcing “we’re close”. Bare feet quickly turn cold on the pool deck and I move back inside. Shoes are one of our best inventions as a species, but we miss so much information about our environment that is telegraphed through our bare feet (today’s telegraph: put some shoes on you fool, that’s what they were invented for). I glance outside and spot the yellow top of smiley face balloon over the trees and, seeing its landing elsewhere, give a nod of welcome and get back inside to the great conversation. Life is calling, but I have a few things to mull over first.

      “Well, what are you? What is it about you that you have always known as yourself? What are you conscious of in yourself: your kidneys, your liver, your blood vessels? No. However far back you go in your memory it is always some external manifestation of yourself where you came across your identity: in the work of your hands, in your family, in other people. And now, listen carefully. You in others – this is what you are, this is what your consciousness has breathed, and lived on, and enjoyed throughout your life, your soul, your immortality – your life in others.” – Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

      I read that passage for the first time in 1989, the year I graduated from college, not in Doctor Zhivago, but as a quote from a book by Warren Bennis called On Becoming a Leader. This book, along with Frankl and more recently Holiday’s books, can be thought of as stepping stones in the stream of life, there for me when I needed a solid footing on my way across. And they’re also voices at the table, part of the great conversation happening still. There are hundreds of voices at that table: authors, poets, songwriters, coaches, family and friends. All voices in that great conversation, ripples across time, influencing me in ways subtle and profound. And you’re at the table too. Welcome.

    • A Weekend Between Trips

      I knew she’d be trouble.  My week away had wound her up, but it was her persistent hunger pangs that drove her mad.  12 hours between meals for a teenager is too long.  And as much as I wanted to finish reading the history of the sacking of Berwick in 1296, my office was being sacked while I ignored her.  First she got up under my book, pushing it back up to my chest.  I conceded a moment to pet her.  Next came the knocking about of small nuisance items, easy to ignore.  Finally, she got up on the end table, flicked her tail at me and knocked the lamp to the floor, shattering the bulb as it landed upside down.  Point made.  I cleaned up the shards of glass, righted the lamp and fed the cats.  It wasn’t yet dawn, but the fast was broken.

      I’ve been reading up on Scottish and English history in preparation for my trip.  I’ll call it a refresher course, as I’ve read much of it before, but with the immediacy of a pending trip I realize what I don’t know.  A personal goal is to never visit a place ignorant of its significance.  As with this trip, there’s so much to digest and so little time.  But we make do with the time we have, don’t we?

      Over the summer I smiled at my daughter as she packed and repacked bags for her semester abroad.  Now, just back from a week away and leaving in a few days for my own trip abroad, the joke’s on me.  There’s a lot to do before the trip, not least of which is taking care of matters on the home front before we leave.  Security cameras?  Check.  Alert neighbors to keep an eye on things?  To be checked.  Arrangements to have the cats fed so there’s a house left to come home to?  Definitely checked.

      I’ve mentally circled this weekend as the in-between time.  I had a business trip that wrapped up last night, a couple of days to get loose ends tied, and then off to the airport for the next trip.  The preparation is largely done.  The lists are made and ready for checking.  Last minute purchases of toiletries, laundry to do, decisions to be made on what to leave out when the bags grow inevitably overstuffed.  I feel like I just got home (I did), but I’m eager to get going once again.  The travel bug has got ahold of me once again.  My apologies to the cat.

    • Edgy in Satire: Edith Lunt Small

      There’s a painting in the long hallway at Richardson’s Canal House that you can get lost in for hours. The artist was Edith Lunt Small, who passed away in 2017, 38 years after creating this fanciful world on canvas. Edith lives on in the painting, portraying herself as a skinny-dipping artist swimming in the Erie Canal in 1825. As the self-portrait indicates, there’s a lot of whimsy in her work, and I enjoyed spending a few minutes with this one.

      Art is meant to be enjoyed, and I found myself smiling at the little details she dropped into this painting, commissioned for Richardson’s Canal House. 1825 Bushnell’s Basin in Small’s world was raucous fun, and I imagine the artist was too. Her son called her work edgy in satire in his eulogy, and based on this one, I see what he means. I was happy to get a glimpse into the spirit that was Edith Lunt Small. These close-ups offer a small glimpse for you as well. This was an artist who clearly loved life!

    • An Hour on the Table

      I got a massage from a muscular guy named Jim. I don’t generally get massages mind you – this was the fourth I can remember getting in my life, other than two chair massages to help pass the time. But this lie down on a table kind? Not generally my thing. Except for the nagging shoulder pain that crept into my neck. After 41 consecutive weeks of daily burpees I finally said the hell with it and gave my shoulders a rest. And then a massage. I’m deep into three weeks away from home and don’t need an injury now. Time for preventative maintenance on the old buggy.

      I figure I’ve done roughly 3200 burpees this year. And I’ll do more soon, but I’m switching to longer walks for the next few weeks. Burpees have been very good for me. Too many consecutive days of burpees… not so good. It seems my shoulders are my weak link. Shoulder and neck pain impact other important things, like sleep cycles and train of thought. So a shift to walking for now. Maybe a call to get back on the erg when travel slows a bit. Rowing has never injured me physically. I do still carry some psychological pain from anaerobic threshold moments in my past. But I’m mostly over that, right?

      So my new friend Jim pulverized the knots upon knots in my shoulders. Did it flip a switch and make it all go away? No, not yet. But it certainly helped a great deal. So why don’t I get massages more? I don’t have a good answer for you. But if you’re thinking of getting one, I’d recommend Jim.

    • The Odd Greeting

      Walking offers a unique experiment in etiquette. My upbringing as a hiker trained me to greet everyone I passed along the way with at minimum a “hello”. But this doesn’t go over well in some places. People are naturally on guard for the unwelcome intrusion on personal space on city sidewalks, but surprisingly on rail trails too.

      Sure, I understand a female jogger not wanting to invite trouble by being too engaging on a trail with a tall stranger walking towards them. Completely understandable that you’d want to minimize risk. But I am surprised by the number of men who avoid eye contact, let alone a curt “Hi” as you march on by. Such is the world we live in where sensational outcome stories run top of mind, like a bleeds-it-leads story on the 6 o’clock news.

      I don’t push the issue. You know within five paces whether someone is a greeter or not. Which presents another etiquette problem. At what point in your walk towards each other is it proper to make eye contact, say your greeting and look away. Staring at someone as you walk towards them is unnerving at best, will get you berated or physically assaulted at worst. No, a quick glance over at two paces, a clever remark as warranted or a quick hello and back to the path with those eyes. Staring after a greeting is right up there with pre-greeting staring, with the same result just as likely.

      I’ve found that the more you’ve worked to get wherever you happen to be passing someone, the more likely there will be a greeting. Hiking the White Mountains? Pretty likely. Walking the path across Boston Common? Improbable. Unless you’re brought together by circumstance. Like walking in a snowstorm or driving rain, when you greet each other with that “can you believe this?” look. Shared experience builds comradely, if only for a brief moment. And really, we’re all in this together, aren’t we? Well, except for those people who hike with earbuds in. They’re definitely flying solo.

    • Leap

      I was contemplating the Erie Canal on a walk early this morning and thinking about whether there were fish in it.  And to answer one jumped out of the water and splashed down in a ring of ripples.  And I thanked the fish for clearing that up for me.  Then it occurred to me; Most fish don’t jump out of the water, only a few do.  If all fish jumped out of the water the surface would look like a pot of boiling water.  Instead it’s an event.  And I wondered, why wouldn’t all fish jump out of the water to see what’s on the other side?  Because most fish are content with the environment they’re in and don’t care to know what’s “out there”.

      People are like fish in that way.  Most just swim along blissfully unconcerned about the state of the world outside their pond.  But the bold few make the leap, breaking the surface tension for the glorious freedom just beyond their comfort zone and make a bigger ripple in their moment.

      I’m watching some people in my life take bold leaps, and I’m thrilled for them.  There’s nothing wrong with the pond, after all that’s what keeps you alive, but seeing the world beyond seems worth a leap now and then. Go make a big ring of ripples. I’ll do the same.

    • Dancing Across Borders

      “Look at [life] like going to a really nice restaurant, you take it as a fact that the meal isn’t going to last forever. Never mind if that’s the way it should be, or whether you feel like you’re owed more meal, or you resent the fact that the meal isn’t eternal. It’s just the case that you have this one meal. So it would make sense, wouldn’t it, to try to suck the marrow out of it? To focus on the flavours? To not let yourself be distracted by irritation at the fact that there’s a woman at the next table wearing too much perfume?” – Lauren Tillinghast, quoted in Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness For People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      I enjoyed this Burkeman book more than I expected I would. I’m not a “happiness” seeker, so I generally avoid books that claim to have all the answers for finding it. This book destroys some of the snake oil salespeople out there while reinforcing some philosophy I happen to embrace, including stoicism and Buddhism. But it’s his chapter on Memento mori and his thoughts on letting death seep back into your life that I found most profound. Readers of this blog know this theme well, but it isn’t a morbid fascination as much as a call to action. So dance today! There are no guarantees of tomorrow.

      I’m traveling a lot at the moment. Yesterday Massachusetts, today New York, next week London, then Scotland, and repeat. But start with now, and hope you’re blessed with tomorrow. And today has been very good indeed.

      Which brings me back to this Tillinghast quote. Life should be viewed as a great event, and we should live it as grandly as circumstances allow. Have the wine, savor the meal, indulge in some dessert, maybe have a cordial to cap the night. What a wonderful analogy to a lifetime. Always too brief, but a wonderful experience while you’re having it. So I’ll savor this lovely glass of Tuscan Blend and anticipate the meal I’ve ordered with a toast. Propino tibi! I drink to your health!

    • The Migration

      The skies are filled with masses of migrating birds this time of year. They pirouette in sky dance, beautiful shape shifters creating momentary sculpture of black on blue. Where they’re heading from here I don’t know, but I’m grateful for our moment together before they bring their art show to another stage.

      Another migration takes place on the highways below. Masses of SUV’s heading home from soccer and lacrosse tournaments, or leaf peeping long weekends in the northern states. If the birds offer coordinated air shows that inspire, the highways offer myriad close calls and highly questionable driving behavior. I’ve witnessed multiple tragedies that almost happened today, and can only shake my head in wonder at the decisions of others. But to them I’m an obstacle, driving in a long line of cars at frustratingly variable speed. This isn’t driving that lulls you into meditative bliss, it’s hours of ‘pay attention or suffer the consequences‘ power commuting. And today my migration took me across I-90 West from Worcester, Massachusetts to Batavia, New York with the most distracted, irritable parents and empty nesters Columbus Day Weekend could muster.

      Driving is a pleasure when the environment you’re driving in is predictable and the drive is at highway speed. When one or both condition becomes highly variable, well, it becomes less of a pleasure. But most of us got where we were going without incident, which isn’t exactly shape shifting sky dance, but hey, it’s something.

    • In the Moment

      “Ask yourself at every moment, ‘Is this necessary?’” – Marcus Aurelius

      There are times when I read a page in a book and realize as I reach the end that my mind didn’t make the journey with my eyes. My mind will race along with thoughts of urgency of my own design, distractions of this, that and the other thing. Am I not in a place to be reading these words at this time? Sometimes closing the book and addressing the pressing thoughts is the answer, but other times the answer is to take a deep breath, push aside the noise and refocus the mind. In an inner dialogue version of I’ll turn this car around right now! I tell myself I’m here for this page, and you might as well stick with this, mind of mine.

      I understand why my mind is racing. I have upcoming trips to New York, London and Scotland the next three weeks. Logistics, meeting preparation, and ensuring what I’ll leave behind doesn’t fall apart in my absence consumes me as I read about, of all things, stillness. They say when the student is ready the teacher will appear… in this case the teacher is patiently standing over my desk while the other students giggle and I jolt awake from a daydream.

      We live in a noisy, demanding world, and it feels like your brain is like the close-up shot of the crowd in a tennis match, following the ball this way, then that way, then “Ooohh!” followed by “Woah!” and so on. The next three weeks are pulsing in my thoughts, but I know I’m getting ahead of myself. There was a moment yesterday when I contemplated packing my bag for anticipated Isle of Skye November weather when I caught myself, thinking I’m going to need that bag for a business trip to Rochester, New York beginning tomorrow. Plan for the future, but please, focus on now!

      Which brings me back to… now. I’ve set aside reading Stillness Is The Key to write this blog post. The list of things to do between now and the end of November is expanding rapidly, if only in my mind. I follow the Getting Things Done approach and write it down to get it out of my head, and something else pops up and I write that down in turn. Such is the power of anticipation, but that teacher is standing over my desk again, and I look up slowly from my scattered mindscape to hear her remind me “There’s only now“. Be in the moment. Now: This Sunday in New Hampshire, surrounded by golden leaves lit by morning sun; leaves that will be piled on the ground when you return in three weeks. Make the most of this moment, won’t you? Tomorrow will be there waiting if you should get there.