Alexandersmap

    Month: May 2020

    • Treasure Hunting

      “It’s not enough to reach the treasure, one must bring it back.” – Roger Lipsey

      I’m a collector of words and music.  I find them in the wild and then bring them back in quotes and playlists.  Perhaps that’s enough for the blog or drinks with friends, but I have all the other treasure that I’ve found that deserves another format.  That treasure I keep polishing and dodging and returning to again.  That treasure needs to be brought back.  That treasure nags me like the Arc of the Covenant burning through the box in Raiders of the Lost Ark.  It wants to get out there.  Quit dodging.

      This weekend, in an exercise in futility, I’ve cleaned the oak catkins out of the pool over and over again.  I’ve taken a leaf blower and blown them off the deck and off the driveway.  I’m being mocked by oak trees each time the wind blows and the sky fills with more catkins floating down onto just-cleaned surfaces and into the pool.  I contemplate the wisdom of putting a pool on the edge of this tree orgy, and grab the skimmer yet again.  Maybe the chainsaw would be the better tool…  but I’m committed to what was here before me.  The next owner of this house will someday have to make the same choice.  I wish them well.

      Weekends are filled with time sucks like catkin cleanup and lawn care and an endless task list.  Weekdays offer their own time commitments.  All of this is my choice.  But I the treasure won’t wait indefinitely.  I can hear it calling me even now.  What’s this?  Catkin cleanup?!  Time isn’t your friend, and I want to be set free. I’ll honor the call – promise – but first I need to clean out the pool skimmers.  And take some allergy medicine.  But the treasure grows impatient, like a jilted lover looking for another partner to dance with.  Quit dodging already.

    • American Outrage, Revisited

      I’m past the point where I tell my adult children that they should be patient, that things will work out, that this too shall pass.  There’s outrage in this country over politics, race, sexual preference, identity, infringement on Rights, and countless other injustices.  But injustice has been a part of American life since Myles Standish stuck the head of Wituwamat on a pike and the Pilgrims left it there for years as a message.  The Pilgrims may have come to peacefully coexist with the Native American population, but within a generation they were sweeping aside that illusion and the march across the continent began in earnest.  Brutality and injustice have been under the surface of American life from the beginning. Those in power get to choose the narrative, until that power shifts.

      There’s a simple formula for understanding America.  We use our personal freedom as a rallying cry of ME.  I have the right to [fill in the blank] and nobody can tell me I can’t have it!  Some bend or outwardly thwart the rules to get what they want, and some celebrate this as uniquely American.  The heroes of Industry and Commerce, carved right into Mount Rushmore alongside Presidents.  But when YOUR personal freedom gets in the way of MY personal freedom, conflict happens.  And when the amplification mechanism of listen/watch me media ramps up, things get ugly.  We’re in a particularly ugly period in our history at the moment.  American outrage is back in force.

      But America is a pendulum that always swings eventually to what is right.  We’ve swung too far to the ugly, and you’re seeing a societal correction in action.  It’s horrifying to watch, and I think about the scars it’s leaving on all of us, but we must pay a price for having swung too far to the ugly.  We must purge that ugliness, clean up the mess and find a way to move forward together.  And I think we can all agree that there’s a real mess right now.  Lean into the law, lean into generosity, lean into fixing what’s broken, lean into the work that must be done.

      Americans unite for common causes, and divide on everything else.  Hitler, Hideki Tojo and Bin Laden learned the hard way not to unite Americans in a common cause.  Sometimes we need a smack in the mouth to sharpen our focus.  I thought maybe COVID-19 would be that unifying event, but apparently not enough people feel it’s more than an inconvenience to “living their best life”.  It would surely help if there was a leader who united people to a common cause, but the current leadership is anything but unifying.  It would help if there was a unified media making it clear that we all need to be in this together, but too many succumb to the outrage for profit platform.  It would help if there was robust, proactive social outreach for the disenfranchised, but that would chip away at profitability.

      America has swung to extreme ugly recently, but humanity is still largely united and pulls the pendulum back to center.  We need to stop amplifying the angry voices on the edges, stop enabling outrage, stop allowing those in power to game the system, and start rewarding the positive work being done in this country and the world.  This is an election year, and it’s a great time to focus on what we want America to be in one year and in the next hundred years.  I’m optimistic that we’ll get it right eventually.  There’s a big mess to clean up, beginning now.  The pendulum must swing back to middle ground.  Turn that outrage to productive work.

    • Sea Change

      “The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.” – Jules Verne

      I’ve been to the desert, and I’ve been at sea. There’s magic in both places, but give me the ocean. But what of the trees? I write this listening to the trees that surround me alive in the wind, with life stirring on all sides. Surely there’s magic here too? True, but I’m too far inland to smell the ocean, and that just can’t stand forever. And what of mountains? Aren’t they also alive, singing their siren call in seductive whispers? Indeed, but the waters of the mountain yearn for the sea and so do I. My mind’s on the sea, for I’ve grown to be a salty dog and prefer the ocean swells to the shifting sands and even tree song and mountain whispers. The sea is alive on all sides, and it stirs life in me when I’m a part of it. And haunts me when I’m away. I’ll return again, as the mountain stream inevitably does, and will rejoice in the union.

    • Act

      “To act is to modify the shape of the world.” – Jean-Paul Sartre

      It’s a shame that the phrase have a bias towards action spun into cliché business speak, because I do believe having a bias towards action serves you well in this world.  For me it’s a kick in the ass reminder to get going already.  To use another cliché, to just do it already.

      I took a few steps to try to shape the world today, in my own modest way.  Shouldn’t we all?  Time will tell if I put a dent in the universe or simply sputter into a sea of indifference, but at least I’m acting.  And isn’t that something?

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

    • Revisiting Belém Tower

      Perched on the Northern Shore at the Mouth of the Tagus River, Belém Tower is a time machine back to the Age of Discovery.  It was built while Ferdinand Magellan was still making the first circumnavigation of the globe, a high point on a string of maritime milestones for Portugal.  It was designed by Francisco de Arruda as a “permanent ship” to help defend Lisbon and the river, and features the Portuguese Manuelino style popular during the lifetime of King Manuel I.  That it stands largely as it was built 500 years later is a blessing.  Countless souls have walked through Belém Tower, from kings to prisoners to tourists from all over the world.  I’m lucky to have been one of those souls.  As travel remains a dream for the future, I thought I’d return once again.

      Belém Tower is an island dropped in the waters of the Tagas River. To visit it you purchase a ticket next door and go stand in line on the small pedestrian bridge that spans the lapping waters that swirl around the base of the tower underneath you and then splash up the stairs that circle the tower on shore.  Apparently the island was once further out in the river but an earthquake shifted the land and moved it closer to shore.  Better for tourism today, and it’s likely that the prisoners held in the lowest level didn’t really care about a 360 degree water view anyway.

      You enter into the bastion at the base and the arched ceilings grab your attention.  There are views of the magazine from when it was a fort, or where the prisoners were held when it was a prison.  As you climb, you visit the Governor’s Hall, the King’s Hall and the Audience Room.  I quickly learned that the staircases are very tight, and require you wait your turn to climb up or down in a controlled fashion.  I didn’t expect to be waiting at traffic lights in a building built half a millennium ago, but sure enough I did.  Great indication of just how many people visit, and how cramped those staircases are.  Like other spiral staircases built long ago, these were tight for this tall writer.  There just weren’t a lot of clydesdales walking around in 1520, something I’ve grown to accept as I duck my way through history.  The other thing you notice is the ornate gothic details adorning the building.  This was built as a fortress, but also for a king.  There are wonderful details throughout, and I did my best to take it all in.  Traveling solo, I was able to allocate as much time as I wanted for Belém Tower and managed to explore all parts of the structure open to the public.

      I fell in love with Portugal and wonder when I’ll get a chance to return again.  My visit to Belém Tower in January of 2018 capped off an incredible week in my life that marked a new beginning of sorts for me.  I visited before the tower’s birthday, before the pandemic, before a lot of things.  It would be interesting to return again someday to see Belém Tower with fresh perspective.  To feel the energy of Lisbon and the possibility that the Tagas River offered those who launched their own discoveries sailing right past the tower.  I was so busy looking back during my visit that I wasn’t fully aware of the future that Portugal helped launch for me.  My own age of discovery, if you will.  In many ways, it started right here.

      Inside the Bastion

       

    • Life, Intensified

      “The purpose of art is not a rarified, intellectual distillate—it is life, intensified, brilliant life. – Alain Arias-Misson

      I stepped into the deep end early this morning, plunging straight down to touch the bottom and felt my body slowly rise with thousands of bubbles tickling my skin as we all escaped to the surface together. I slowly rolled over as we reached our destination and looked at the blueness of the sky broken by the oak leaves that were finally, grudgingly waking up to Spring to join the maples in leafing out. The sunlight streamed through them all, coaxing them awake to dance with the light. Of all my morning routines, the plunge is the one I love the most. When you live in the north you think about these moments in the frozen months. You welcome them back with ecstasy in Spring and reluctantly return them to memory in Autumn. These are the moments when the world disappears and you feel most alive.

      I write to wring out these moments of aliveness and capture them in words. To dance with the light and rise above the depths of routine. And I seek out co-conspirators, searching for the vibrancy of fellow light dancers betrayed by subtle actions and a twinkle in the eye. If art intensifies the brilliance of life, the like-minded amplify it and coax you to do more, just as the sunlight draws out those oak leaves. And when you can’t always find them in the wild, you might read their words or see their art and know you aren’t the only one. We all rise together, like a chorus or a thousand bubbles swirling from the depths to break the welcoming surface once again.

    • Owning a Pool

      I dove into deep water Saturday, grateful for the pool heater and the money to pay for the luxury of it.  I’m pretty sure that if I had to do it all over again I’d never have invested in a pool. I’m not wealthy, but I might be if I didn’t have it.  And since I made the financial leap 13 years ago who am I to ignore it now?  A pool has a price that goes beyond the installation and maintenance costs.  It’s an anchor in your backyard that holds you just as firmly as a garden does.  When I installed the pool I had two young children and a highly active Labrador retriever (dog ear infections from swimming too much: yet another hidden cost).  The children are adults now, the retriever has finally escaped the fences of this world, and I’m still looking at a hole in the ground that doesn’t care whether I want it there anymore as long as I feed it money.

      To say I have a tenuous relationship with the pool is an understatement.  But we’ve recently resolved some of our differences.  It involved money, naturally.  If time is money, then I’ve given a lot of my lifetime to this pool, and I was feeling a bit resentful.  The last straw was the pool heater failing a year ago and the water never really warming up to acceptable levels for the masses.  And so it became an expensive water feature in the garden, with trees shading it just enough that it never really got comfortable, even on the hottest days.  And so this year we ponied up the cash and fixed the heat exchanger, dodging a $6000 replacement cost with an $800 repair.  How long it lasts is anyone’s guess, but the pool is warm enough for the fair weather fans.  And I danced the gleeful dance that only a pool owner can understand; I only spent $800 this time!

      Look, I know a large percentage of the population is unemployed and struggling to make ends meet.  I know that having a pool available when you’re under quarantine is surely a luxury, and don’t think for a minute that I’m not grateful for it now.  I’ve been unemployed with the pool and two kids to feed and know both sides of this story.  For the moment the pool and I are peacefully coexisting, and I’m grateful for the good fortune.  With the kids home all summer, the pool may be used more than it has been in years.  But I see the pool liner fading, and the cracks in the stamped concrete, and the louder hum the pump is making, and I know that this toll road continues indefinitely.  A pool is a lot like a boat in this way, but without the travel.  If there was ever a year to have it, it’s 2020.  And so I’ll continue to throw money in the hole and hope for some measure of return on my investment.  That ROI is measured in laps, and I have my work cut out for me to make it worthwhile.  Better jump in again…

    • Memorial Day

      “And if any gaze on our rushing band,
      We come between him and the deed of his hand,
      We come between him and the hope of his heart.”
      – W.B. Yeats, The Hosting of the Sidhe

      Today is Memorial Day in the United States.  A day to remember those who sacrificed everything that we might live in freedom.  I believe that Yeats was on a completely different track with this poem, but I’m drawn to these lines when I think about this particular Memorial Day.  Death came between the hopes and dreams of countless soldiers on battlefields far from home.  And for their sacrifice we should be eternally grateful.  The older I get, the more I recognize this, the more I appreciate their sacrifice, and the more I hope for a day when there are no more sacrifices made to be memorialized.

      In The Hosting of the Sidhe Yeats writes of the supernatural and enchantment by faeries.  I’ve felt this too, in the form of the whisper of a place of significance, in the form of the muse that I channel, and through listening to the land on deep walks in quiet places far from asphalt and concrete and copper wiring.  The beauty of poetry is in the interpretation of the individual.  It means something different for me than to you, and perhaps something else entirely to the author.  Memorial Day itself is subject to interpretation.  I think of weathered gravestones with fresh flags planted beside them that I’ve visited, memorializing heroes of battles long forgotten or never known by most everyone who’s come after their sacrifice.  And those lost in more recent battles we’ve collectively conceded to for reasons we don’t fully understand.  We owe them more than politicians going through the motions at a ceremony and 20% off (this weekend only!) sales.  But that’s the way of the world; it moves ahead anyway, despite that which came between him and the hope of his heart.

      This post is heavier than I wanted it to be.  I suppose the day warrants that.  As the world reflects on the collective sacrifice of all in our effort to keep a virus in check, perhaps take a moment to think of those who sacrificed something more, and act on the hope in our own hearts while there’s still time.  We owe it to them, don’t we?

       

       

    • Rejoice In This Moment

      “Rejoice in the things that are present; all else is beyond thee.” – Michel de Montaigne

      “My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it . . . but love it.” – Friedrich Nietzsche (borrowed from Ryan Holiday)

      “Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.” – Homer, The Odyssey

      One thing that’s impressed me over the last three months is the resilience and grace of so many people facing adversity.  Is the world unfair?  Yes, of course it is, but that doesn’t mean we have to be bitter about where we are in this moment.  Embrace the suck, love the moment and learn from it.  And really, it doesn’t all suck, does it?  There’s so much good happening in every moment – change the focus of your internal lens and you’ll see it more clearly.

      The Homer quote above has stuck in my head since I read The Odyssey at the age of 19.  It’s sitting on a shelf waiting patiently for me to come back to read again like Penelope waiting for Odysseus to stop pissing off the gods and get home already.  Anyway, it’s come in handy over the years, right up there with “this too shall pass” on my list of phrases I say to myself when things get challenging.  And let’s face it, things are challenging at the moment.  But how we react to it is more important than what we’re reacting to.  Amor fati: love of fate, seems to have worked for the stoics, for George Washington, Friedrich Nietzsche and countless others over the centuries, and it will work for us too.

      I’ve been guilty of complaining about things a bit too much, and I’m working to change that little character flaw.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s that complaining just fuels the suck.  It all ends badly for all of us, or it all ends as it should for all of us; it’s all a state of mind either way.  Rejoice in what you can control, forget what is beyond you, and love the moment you’re in.  For this moment, even if it’s not what we might want, is the only moment we have.  This, and we, too shall pass.  Rejoice in this moment.

    • Realizing the Path

      “The path of water is not noticed by water, it is realized by water.… To study the way is to study the self, to study the self is to forget the self, to forget the self is to awaken into the ten thousand things.” – Brian Doyle, from the Forward of One Long River Of Song

      “Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become.” – James Clear, Atomic Habits

      I’ve been thinking about why I write this blog every day. Surely it isn’t for money, or to influence the masses, or even for the thrill of likes and affirmation. Fame? No thanks. A form of immortality? Come on now… No, each post is a step down the path and a vote for identity. I’m a bit overdue to walk this path, but I’m happy to be on it now. Ironically, spending a hour or two writing every morning clears my head enough to be more productive in my day job. I guess it clears the plaque out of my brain cells. It also makes me more focused at home and more engaged with the world around me. All wins in my book. I think that’s enough.