Alexandersmap

    Month: October 2020

    • Where The Knowing Is

      “The explorer returned to his people, who were eager to know about the Amazon. But how could he ever put into words the feelings that flooded his heart when he saw exotic flowers and heard the night-sounds of the forest; when he sensed the danger of wild beasts or paddled his canoe over treacherous rapids?
      He said, “Go and find out for yourselves.” To guide them he drew a map of the river. They pounced upon the map. They framed it in their town hall. They made copies of it for themselves. And all who had a copy considered themselves experts on the river, for did they not know its every turn and bend, how broad it was and how deep, where the rapids were and where the falls?”
      – Anthony De Mello, The Explorer

      Reading this story three times, my mind flashed back on moments over the last year when I transcended the maps: hiking trails where every rock was a wince, Scottish roads that proved narrower and a spouse who grew more horrified by the non-existent shoulder than the oncoming truck, carefully arranged graduation reservations scrapped by COVID and a banner at the ready should a party someday be a reality. Each an example of what I thought I knew turned on its head. Each a learning experience.

      2020 was the big number on the horizon we all wondered about. Places we’d be, events we’d experience, moments we’d celebrate. Now we’re all living through the actual 2020, in ways that we didn’t anticipate. It’s just like any other map or plan in that way. Each event, each trip, each person and each day won’t be what you expected in some way or another. The maps and guides and itineraries and YouTube videos of those who went before help frame things, but you’ve got to go out and experience life to really know anything at all.

      We all think we know how things are going to turn out. But living through the moment, exploring and testing our limits of understanding and endurance, going and finding out for yourselves, that’s where the knowing is. That’s where we fully realize the feelings that flood our hearts.

    • Visiting Waterfalls in the Rain

      Cleveland has a reputation for being all concrete and manufacturing plants on the edge of the lake. The “mistake by the lake” as some would say. But Cleveland is also ringed with an extensive park system, the “emerald necklace” that offers access to beautiful places nearby. All you’ve got to do is seek it out. I’ve made it a practice to be a seeker of beautiful places wherever I go, and this trip to Cleveland wasn’t going to be an exception.

      I stayed in a hotel in Independence, largely because it was between places I was going to for business meetings. What I learned quickly was it was also in close proximity to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. There’s a waterfall in this park, Brandywine Falls, that is supposed to be stunning. I didn’t have the time to visit Brandywine on this trip, but will save it for the next one. Instead I looked at smaller falls within 15 minutes or the hotel and found two very close to each other in the Bedford Reservation: Great Falls at Tinker Creek and Bridal Veil Falls. I silently plotted a visit, and when Thursday morning remained open I had my opportunity to see them both.

      Waze told me I was 16 minutes from Great Falls, and I made my way there first. It was pouring out, reminding me of visiting the Isle of Skye exactly a year ago with the constant soaking raw rain. And here I was again, chasing beautiful places in soaking rain. I stopped at a store and bought a $6 umbrella that felt like it would fold in half in the first gust of wind. It turned out to be just enough for me to ignore the rain and focus on the task at hand: finding the falls.

      Waze sent me to the viaduct instead, and after walking on the paths down to the edge of a long drop to the river I realized this wasn’t the place. Getting my bearings using the park maps I figured out where Waze had steered me wrong and saw that I was actually closer to Bridal Veil Falls and went there next. The benefit of the steady rain was I was joyfully socially isolated. No COVID in the park today, thank you. The mask remained in my pocket. The drawback was nobody to offer recommendations, but heck, I’m an explorer at heart. Go explore.

      Bridal Veil Falls was more obvious, with a parking lot and good signage. There’s a boardwalk that helps you navigate the walk down to the falls easily. This makes this site good for all ages. With the stairs it would be challenging for wheelchairs to get all the way to the falls using this path, but there seemed to be an alternative on the other side of the river that might have worked. Bridal Veil Falls was roaring from all the rain, and reminded me of similar falls I’ve visited in Ithaca, New York.

      Bridal Veil Falls, roaring on this wet day
      Deerlick Creek above the falls. Wooden bridge and pathway up to the road.

      Checking my watch I knew I had time to visit the elusive Great Falls, and reviewed the map again. The problem wasn’t Waze, it was the operator who put Viaduct Park in as the destination instead of Great Falls. As is almost always the case, it was user error and I was the user. A quick drive got me where I needed to be and I took my cheap umbrella for another walk.

      If Bridal Veil Falls is deep in the park, Great Falls is on the edge of town. Cleveland Metroparks offers this description of the site: “Great Falls of Tinkers Creek shows the natural beauty and historic relevance to the development of Bedford“. Hint: “historic” and “development”. The falls are beautiful but the site isn’t pristine. There are ruins of an old grist mill on the edge of the falls and graffiti from some misguided soul that ruined a beautiful photo op. Just downstream is a large stone viaduct that used to support trains. These falls had a vibe closer to the Pawtucket Falls in Lowell, Massachusetts. Still beautiful, but more… “industrial revolution“. The rain ensured I had it all to myself, and I was careful with my footing on the wet leaves and mud. Didn’t want to be that tourist who slid into the river with his cheap umbrella and iPhone.

      And with that it was time to drive to the airport, only 30 minutes away, but seemingly much further. That’s the benefit of parks like this; you can be deep into natural beauty in minutes. And as I drove past a sea of concrete and steel and asphalt on my way to the rental car drop-off, I was grateful for the reprieve. You never know what the world offers just around the corner until you go look for it.

      Great Falls of Tinker’s Creek
      Stone Viaduct with the modern railroad bridge just downstream from Great Falls

    • Questions

      “Said the monk, “All these mountains and
      rivers and the earth and stars—where do
      they come from?”
      Said the master, “Where does your
      question come from?”
      – Anthony De Mello, The Question

      One part of the writing process I value is that it fuels better questions. What’s the story behind that monument? How did this mountain I’m hiking get its name? Where do we go from here? What is the author really trying to say here? And of course, spiritual questions about creation and science and the place in the middle where they meet. And this morning, awake much sooner than I ought to be, I dove into another Anthony De Mello book, The Song Of The Bird, in search of better answers… or at least better questions.

      Today I seek a bit of adventure, even as I press on with my business trip in the middle of a pandemic. I found myself silently angrily at a couple of unmasked men getting off an elevator I was waiting for this morning. They’re supposed to be wearing masks as mandated by the Governor, with reminders on signs all over the hotel, but they opted out. My anger wasn’t with them – that was frustration at their disregard for others – but instead at myself for putting myself in a position to be concerned with their unmasked presence in the first place.

      And so I decided I need to get myself outdoors. It’s raining out there. It’s raw. There’s a short window of time I have between where I am and where I have to be later. And yet I’m getting outdoors anyway. I have a few questions that need answering. There’s truth out there in the cold, wet outdoors.

    • Process and Persistence

      “Process saves us from the poverty of intentions.” – Elizabeth King (via Seth Godin & Tim Ferriss)

      “You begin with a subject, gather material, and work your way to structure from there. You pile up volumes of notes and then figure out what you are going to do with them, not the other way around.” – John McPhee, On The Writing Process

      Blogging is a process that saves me from my poverty of intentions. I’ve intended to write for years, but pushed it aside in pursuit of everything both worthy and irrelevant. Sure the site needs work, the writing has typos now and then and Yoast SEO is fixed in a permanent frown, but so what? If you’re along for the journey, welcome, you’ve apparently overcome a ton of SEO blunders on my part to get here.

      If there’s a common theme throughout life, its the fact that we can never do quite enough to reach perfection. I’m nowhere near it myself. But I walk the path one step at a time, writing, editing, publishing and starting again at the beginning every day. And that’s a victory in itself. Screw perfection – give me process and persistence.

      “Mastery is the process of narrowing your focus to a tiny element of success, repeating it until you have internalized the skill, and then using this new habit as the foundation to advance to the next frontier of your development.” – James Clear, Atomic Habits

      And that’s where I am, focus narrowed and repeating daily towards a level of mastery I may never achieve. But I’ll be closer for the effort. There’s some measure of the Pareto principle in that James Clear quote. Focus on the 20% that achieves the goal. SEO doesn’t necessarily matter. Likes and follows don’t necessarily matter. The work matters. So do more than focus, do the work.

    • Observations While Flying in a Pandemic

      It’s been eight months since I’ve flown anywhere or even been in an airport. A lot has happened in eight months, and the pandemic is relentlessly marching along with no regard for whether we want to flip the switch back to normal again. I’m not sure it ever will be normal again, but whether we get there or not I had obligations that put me on a flight to Cleveland. What was commonplace less than a year ago was now unique, outlier stuff. And I felt compelled to note the changes.

      TSA outnumbers passengers 20:1
      That flight eight months ago coincidently departed from the same gate I was departing from on my flight to Cleveland. But instead of walking into a cue of people trying to bypass the regular TSA line and finding a line of our own, I walked straight to a lonely TSA agent who scanned my passport and asked me to take the mask down to verify my face matched the photo. By my count there were at least twenty TSA agents for every person going through screening.

      Every row, not every seat
      I boarded a plane that was being seated from back to front and found my way to my seat. This plane was small – two seats on either side of the row. Everyone had a window seat except for the couples flying together. From a social distancing perspective I was at least six feet from the person on the opposite window seat. But they were also seating every row, so the person in front of me and the person behind me were only three feet away. But masks were required, right?

      Mask etiquette
      The rule was pretty straightforward: wear your damned mask while you were on the plane. You couldn’t walk into the airport without the mask, let alone get on the plane. Simple right? Yet I was braced for the one flake who would take off their mask and scream about their rights. But thankfully this plane was full of functioning adults without delusions of grandeur. Everyone wore their mask the entire time. Until they didn’t.

      Food and Beverages
      The smell of food on the plane shortly after sitting made me question someone’s mask etiquette. I’m no expert on such things, but eating a chicken sandwich seems challenging while keeping a mask on the entire time. But it demonstrated the challenges of enforcement. Then the crew announced they would be coming through with snacks and beverages. No booze and no hot coffee or tea options, but water and soft drinks. Airline-sanctioned bending of the mask rule. And again I thought to myself, how exactly are we going to be responsible mask-wearing passengers while eating and drinking? I accepted the snack and water and stuffed them into my bag for after the flight. Mask stayed put.

      First in line to take off?!!
      As with the TSA line, there was literally no line of planes awaiting take-off. We taxied to the end of the runway and simply took off. Granted it was an afternoon flight, but for me that was a first at Logan International Airport. As we soared over the islands I spied a lonely sailboat cruising Boston Harbor, and wondered where they were going. They might have been looking up at the plane wondering who in the world is flying in a pandemic. Me, folks. The answer was me.

      Exiting the plane
      The routine in Cleveland was similar to boarding in Boston. Stay seated until the people in front of you stand up and exit. A few rebels stood up to grab bags from the overhead bins, but most of us just played along. Perspective is a beautiful thing. None of us wanted to dance with COVID-19. Walking out into the terminal, it felt different from Logan Airport. More people for sure. Cleveland was much more crowded than terminal C in Boston. Here too masks were required and social distancing applied. And more stores and restaurants open in Cleveland than in Boston. I suppose every place is different, and just as each country handles things differently, so too does every state. But overall people were showing respect for the pandemic here as well.

      Real PPE Hurts
      This flight was about two hours. Wearing a KN-95 mask instead of my cloth mask gave me even more respect for healthcare workers geared up for the pandemic for hours at a time. The elastic bands began to irritate the backs of my ears over time and I found myself pulling the elastics back off my skin for relief. If I were to do a cross-country trip I’d have to rig up a hat with buttons or pull the bands back with string to avoid this. But I wasn’t going to complain, I was wearing a mask to stay healthy and to keep other people healthy should I be infected but asymptomatic. It seemed a fair tradeoff.

      Like Riding a Bicycle
      Despite all the strangeness, travel came right back to me. Walking through airports, renting cars, and checking into hotels are all part of the deal when you travel for work. It took no time at all to feel I was back in the flow of things. Masks, heavy doses of hand sanitizer and soap and water, avoiding touching the face and maintaining social distance made it all clear that the routine was different even as it was the same. Some of these habits will remain with us long after we figure out this virus, and honestly some of these measures are welcome changes to the petri dish traditional travel placed you in. I wondered about the future of travel even as I welcomed a brief return to it.

    • You Do You

      “We see people and things not as they are, but as we are. That is why when two people look at something or someone, you get two different reactions.” – Anthony De Mello, Awareness

      I’ve been off of Facebook for 23 days, promising myself I wouldn’t go back on until after the election in the United States. For the most part I haven’t missed anything but birthday wishes for friends. Instead I text or call them with wishes. Seems old school to actually speak to someone on their birthday, but I like living on the edge a bit.

      So the Facebook fast has gone well, but I did cheat a couple of times and log on to see what I was missing. Two or three minutes of quick scanning to see if people are healthy and doing well. No likes or comments, in and out quickly. But then I read a post a friend made. He was wondering where all the coverage of the Hunter Biden story was and why everyone was burying “the truth”. That was almost the breaking point for me, I wanted to break my fast and reply educating him on what matters in this country and what may be merely crap that they’re slinging to see if it sticks. I took a breath, logged off and cleared the history of my browsing just to ensure I would have to physically log in again to get back on Facebook.

      I get a similar reaction when I see someone I know with a Trump sign on their car or in their yard. My perception of that person changes, even if they remain the same otherwise. And I realize that the issue isn’t them at all, but my reaction that matters. I wonder sometimes at the world, but recognize that I can’t change the world at all, only myself and the impact I have through my own actions.

      So I’ve begun using the phrase “you do you” in my head when I see or read something that annoys me. You do you, and I’ll do me. And maybe we’ll meet in the middle on a few things. Or maybe not. But offloading the stress of what other people think is liberating. My vote cancels out his vote, and I’ll rely on other cooler heads to prevail.

      Focusing on changing others by nature means we aren’t focused on changing ourselves. We have plenty of blank canvas left to paint in our own lives, and a few mistakes we’ve all made along the way that could use some painting over as well. The more we focus on our own path the further down that path we may go. There’s plenty to work on right here.

    • Calm

      “Real power is not in momentary desires, but in complete calmness.” – Leo Tolstoy

      I have a bit of nervous energy as I write this. I’m traveling tomorrow for the first time in seven months and there’s a vibrating exhilaration deep inside knowing that I’m getting on a plane again, going to another state and driving around to places new to me. Mind you, its not like I’m flying to Antarctica for an extended climate change study, I’m going to Cleveland. I’ve been to Cleveland at least a half dozen times that I can recall and maybe a time or two beyond that. But it’s travel in a time of no travel, and this year that alone creates a buzz.

      I got the same vibration hiking solo up Mount Tecumseh earlier this summer. Not because it was a particularly challenging hike, but because I was hiking it alone late in the day. Just enough risk to raise the level of uncertainty, but calculated risk. Hiking alone at night inherently offers risk to the hiker. You just don’t have people walking by you to offer assistance. So you take extra care or alternatively, you charge ahead brazenly challenging fate.

      Calmness in the face of potential stressors is a superpower. In an age of talking heads stirring the pot of anxiety for advantage, of a pandemic ramping up for killing season, of a time when we teeter on the brink of a deeper recession or a depression and irreversible climate change should we get this wrong, in this time the calm prevail. We can take the bait and react, or swim calmly in the present storm.

      “Do not be concerned too much with what will happen. Everything that happens will be good and useful for you.” – Epictetus

      The posters used early on during the Blitz, “Keep Calm and Carry On” naturally come to mind. Those posters weren’t successful at the time as people viewed them as patronizing, but the expression has exploded in popularity in the last twenty years. Whether you view it as patronizing or nostalgic now, the expression does carry weight as a stoic reminder to keep your head about you. For in calmness we find clarity.

      During that time when the British were facing down Nazi aggression, Viktor Frankl was living a nightmare in a succession of Nazi prison camps, ending at Auschwitz before finally being freed at the end of the war. He observed that state of mind had a lot to do with who survived and who didn’t as much as the whim of fate. Some people were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but others just gave up in the face of hopelessness and horror. Some people survived simply because they had a purpose for living. Based on this experience, he wrote the extraordinary book Man’s Search for Meaning after the war.

      “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
      – Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

      Today we live in a time when everything is hyper-scrutinized, everything is a perceived affront, everything is designed to invoke a spark of fear or outrage. But when we swim in our sea of calmness, we overcome the efforts of those who would inspire a follow or a like or another cycle of commercials before they tell you the rest of the story. A calm mind sees the truth in the world and in ourselves. It remains the best foundation for a life of purpose and happiness. Want to improve the state of world? Be calm. And yes; carry on.

    • The Endless Stream

      “Make a list of the activities that are non-dual in nature… Meditation, yoga, creating art, playing, reading for fun, writing, journaling, creating a business for fun. Not fooling yourself, paying attention to yourself. Not taking yourself too seriously. Examining your own thoughts for first principles. Doing activities for you and not the external world,” – Naval Ravikant, on The Tim Ferriss Show Episode #473

      I walked the endless stream again Thursday night. By endless stream I mean primarily the rail trail with its endless stream of bicycles rolling past in both directions. I had tried this for the third time since March to take a long walk on the rail trail, and found yet again that it wasn’t the charm but instead the third strike. Like going to a crowded beach you just don’t get any deep thinking done when people are moving past you in close proximity. Sprinkle in a pandemic and the maskless masses become distracting. It’s just not meant to be until the weather turns.

      I’ve used this go-to rail trail a few times in recent years to sort through various consequential life chess moves. Like Naval’s list above walking is non-dual, offering a bit of exercise and a chance to meditate while moving. Walking has always been the cork screw that opens the mind, but it sneaks up on you. I don’t generally have eureka moments but often experience slow dawns. I suppose I have a slow-twitch kind of brain that’s built for pondering, not the fast-twitch brain built for the rapid decisions that fighter pilots and gamers have to make. But I think the world needs deep thinking more than it needs gamers.

      And that’s the other endless stream we navigate: the endless thoughts that run through our head, all demanding attention. In other years I would take that thought and jot it down in the bullet journal and categorize it somewhere in the Getting Things Done way of emptying your head. In 2020 I categorize less than ever before. I don’t believe this is beneficial. But I ponder more.

      “The world is nothing but change. Our life is only perception.” – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

      As I walked distractedly on the rail trail, not coming to any revelations, I thought that it encompassed the madness of the last seven months perfectly. An endless stream of distractions coming at you, a jumble of things to sort out in your head, and an out-and-back journey that didn’t really bring you anywhere but back where you started. And yet I was better for having done it. If that analogy holds true then there’s hope for humanity and the earth for having lived through this particular trip around the sun. We’ve all learned a collective lesson about how we treat each other and the planet. We’ve all suffered through an endless stream of setbacks to return again to the beginning and a fresh, more hopeful starting point.. One can hope anyway.

    • The Flying Tree Dance

      Removing a tree from the yard is always a painful decision. I’ve cut down a few trees over the years, and a part of me is cut out with every one of them. But sometimes they have to go. And I had a clump of them that were ready to go wedged in a tight cluster with trees I wanted to keep. Well above my skill set to cut these down, I delayed for years until now. But it was finally time.

      A giant crane, a bucket truck and a third truck towing a wood chipper arrived and their drivers started positioning them for the tasks they each performed. First in was the bucket truck, limbing up a large oak that would be in the way of the crane. This was opportunistic work, as the neighbor wanted that tree limbed up anyway, and so they negotiated a separate deal to get it done. Capitalism on the fly.

      Next came the big event. The crane was extended, chain saws were readied, men positioned in familiar roles. The most notable was the man who would fly. Clearly the most fun job of all, and the most dangerous. He harnessed up, attached himself to the crane cable, and slowly flew into the air with his chain saw and rappelling gear. He would wrap a strap around the tree trunk of choice, secure his rappel rope and lower himself down to the ground. He then cut the base of the tree as the crane held it up, clear out of the way, and it was time for the tree to sky dance. If I were a tree and it was my last day on earth, I might choose one final pirouette across the sky as this tree took.

      But then the performance was over, the tree laid across the driveway, and the second act began. a second cable was secured halfway up the trunk and the tree was now hanging from two cables. A few branches were trimmed away, and then the machinery took over. I realized what was about to happen and put my fingers into my ears. The cables and men fed the entire tree, trunk first, into the wood chipper. The chipper roared its horrific roar, and the tree flew in chips into the truck bed to live its second life as mulch. A second flight for the tree, not quite as grand as the first.

      This performance continued for the morning and early afternoon and then the machines and men and mulch drove away, leaving empty sky and stories. Some of the felled trees remained, to serve as firewood in a season or two. Then they too will fly as well, as smoke and a pagan tribute to their final day.

    • Striving for Prévoyance

      “C’est une prévoyance très nécessaire de sentir qu’on ne peut tout prévoir.”
      (“It is a very necessary forethought to feel that you cannot foresee everything.”)
      – Jean-Jacques Rousseau

      Prévoyance. The word tantalizes me, capturing my imagination, tauntingly just out of reach. It’s a French word, essentially translating basically to “foreseeability”. Prévoyance is powerful when applied to the markets, or business, social trends or simply whether to bring an umbrella with you on your walk. It also helps greatly when managing our own lives. I heard a richer and more profound definition from David Hackett Fischer when describing this trait in Samuel Champlain. He defined prévoyance as “the power of a prepared mind to act upon chance events in a world of deep uncertainty.” My French hasn’t reached that level of nuance just yet (and never will without immersion), so I’m grateful when people point out the magic sprinkled in such words.

      The problem with learning is in learning what you don’t know, or levels that you haven’t yet reached in life. But within that inherent underlying frustration lies growth and progression towards a higher self. And that’s where I find myself: decades into life and scrambling over jumbled bits of acquired knowledge in a climb to wisdom and higher truth. The promised land that I’ll never quite reach, but a step closer than I was yesterday or the day before. Sisyphus has nothing on me.

      “It was better to be in the right place than to be smart and work hard. It was best to be cunning and focus on results rather than inputs. Acting on a few key insights produced the goods. Being intelligent and hard working did not.” – Richard Koch, The 80/20 Principle

      In this life I find myself climbing a succession of mountains, looking around with a sigh, and descending back down to climb yet another (refer to yesterday’s post). Perhaps with a bit more prévoyance I might have climbed fewer mountains, and chosen the right one much earlier in life. But such is life: we don’t know what we don’t know until we gain experience or acquire and leverage knowledge from others who have had the experience.

      “What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

      That distinction between greatness and meanness lies in which mountains we climb, and how soon we turn back down the path to ascend a different mountain than the one we’re climbing. And that leads back to foreseeability, to prévoyance, and acting upon chance events in a world of deep uncertainty. And so I stuff the brain with as many bits of knowledge from as many perspectives as I can consume, for knowledge, well-used, is the key to prévoyance. This blog, in many ways, is the public-facing library of that accumulated knowledge (such that it is), and the breadcrumbs on the path of where I’ve been recently. And in the 370,000 thousand published words, perhaps it telegraphs where I’m going too.