Alexandersmap

    Month: March 2020

    • The Calendar Waltz

      They say people are increasingly stressed out on Sunday night with anticipation for the work week. I don’t tend to get stressed anymore. Being in a job I like helps, but so does structuring my days with some measure of sanity. Looking at my calendar this Monday morning, I see that the week is fully booked. That is as it should be, but this year I’ve looked at my schedule through a different lens; Is this block on my calendar the best use of my time?

      “A busy calendar and a busy mind will destroy your ability to do great things in this world.” – Naval Ravikant

      Naval throws out a challenge with this statement. And I struggle with the idea of not being busy all the time. On the face of it I know it’s true, but I tend to overbook myself anyway. There is a rush in being busy, but busy doesn’t translate into productive. Nor does busy equal effective. The next time you watch a great TED talk, pay attention to the gaps; the pregnant pause between words. Space to digest what is being said is critical in a great presentation. And space is equally important in our day-to-day. Increasingly, I use the time in between meetings as quiet time to assess what just happened and what will need to happen in my next scheduled meeting for things to progress. No chatter on the radio if I’m driving, no background music if I’m in the office. This is my space in between to reset my mind, line up my follow-up items, take action as required and to think.

      I write this with an eye on the clock, as it ticks towards a stack of consecutive meetings. I’ve just finished a long drive, reset to write, and will jump back into the day. This pause keeps me sane, more effective when I switch back “on” and overall happier in my life. I’m eager to begin the day, as opposed to being stressed about what I’m forgetting or rushing to a meeting cursing and distracted. I’m all in on the open spaces in the calendar. They make the rest of it more of a waltz than a forced march. Isn’t that a better life?

    • Memories, Kept Secretly

      “What we are given is taken away, but we manage to keep it secretly. We lose everything, but make harvest of the consequence it was to us.” – Jack Gilbert, “Moreover”

      The Carolina Wrenn has been singing to me all winter. I thought he might have gone south to try the dating scene down there, but instead he calls out for companions here. Maybe the mild winter encouraged him to stay, or maybe it’s the seed I offer to the wild birds. Whatever his motive, I appreciate his distinctive voice in the choir of cardinals, blue jays and chickadees.

      Things and people come and go in our lives, as we come and go from other people’s lives. We have images of old friends, our children as younger forces of nature, older relatives long gone from this world and of ourselves as very different people that flash in our memories. Every relationship is temporary; whether five minutes or fifty years. We live and grow and move on, and each experience and relationship brings a measure of depth to our own life. What do we offer of consequence in return?

      This morning I’ll top off the feeders and leave the nest for a week of travel, leaving others behind to watch over things. The feeders will be close to empty when I return; the songs of the fed unheard. The irony isn’t lost on me. We do what we can to build things of consequence up in our lives, and these things enrich us on our own journey even if we don’t always fully experience it. I’ll leave sore all over from a full day of labor on renovation of a bathroom. I must admit the new floor looks good. I always say I’ll never do this again but deep down I like the work and the feeling of accomplishment for having done it myself. I look around at this nest and mentally check off the hours of work I’ve put into it over the years. The bathroom is just the latest project. Eventually, inevitably we’ll move on to other projects, or another house, and this will just be another memory, kept secretly in our minds, with old friends and old relatives, our younger children and maybe, if we’re lucky, the unmistakable song of a Carolina Wrenn.