Alexandersmap

    Month: May 2021

    • The Practice

      “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” – Kurt Vonnegut

      “The practice of art isn’t to make a living. It’s to make your soul grow.” – Kurt Vonnegut

      This blogging business can be a grind if you think about it the wrong way. I try not to think about it the wrong way. Still, it pops up in my head in certain moments. What the hell am I writing for? I don’t actively accumulate followers and don’t chase likes. Nor will this site be monetized. So what’s the point?

      The writing is a discipline; a routine of consequence. A practice of art carrying me towards who I fancy myself to be, and I chase it down relentlessly every day. And though I wonder sometimes at what the point of it all really is, I already know the answer. It’s simply to write.

      Kurt Vonnegut was one of those people whom I’d have around that dinner table, along with a cast of characters larger than life through their practice of being what they pretended to be… and thus became. Then again, I hang out with them all the time through their contribution. Or at least the character I think them to be. For they were just people like us, who chipped away at their work until they built something of consequence.

      And there’s that word again: consequence. What are we building in our daily work? Followers, or our souls? I may not ever meet my great-grandchildren if they should ever debut in the world, but I fancy them someday knowing something about me from the way I stack words together… just… so.

      The crew of SV Delos (Brian and Karin) had a live stream conversation on Mother’s Day. For those who don’t know, they sail around the world and post videos on YouTube. They’ve been cranking out videos for years, first as a way to share experiences with family and friends and later as an income stream as it became apparent that plenty of people were interested in what they were doing. Watching their 300+ videos helped me get through the void of travel-less lockdown during the pandemic.

      One thing Brian said caught my ear. He spoke about people who keep working on their boats, project after project, waiting for things to be perfect for them to set out on their own passage. And of course that day never comes because nothing is ever perfect. The point being to just go when things are ready enough.

      On a much smaller scale, blogging is the same sort of passage that Delos is on. You chip away at it, maybe picking up a follower or two along the way (thank you) and see where the passage takes you. And maybe that’s enough. Then again, maybe there’s more.

    • Something Bigger Than Yourself

      “This idea of ‘just follow your passion’, I don’t even have an understanding of what that means. Even though my whole life I have been very clear about the way I wanted to create change, and for whom, it wasn’t this out of the box understanding that we were going to use different forms of capital and support it with the right kind of talent to work a system to create real change …. I would say just start.

      Don’t start by asking ‘what is my purpose’, what is my passion? Start by asking what are the problems that need to be solved? Which ones attract me? And take a step towards that. Take one step and the work will teach you where you need to take the next step. Build tools in your toolbox. If you still don’t know what your passion or your purpose is after you take those steps, follow a leader and learn from that leader. There’s something so powerful… in apprenticing. I would say I apprenticed for fifteen years. And… skipping steps, particularly because life is shorter than we think it is and it’s longer than we think it is, it doesn’t serve the world and it doesn’t serve you.

      Just commit to something. This we don’t tell young people, or even old people. We don’t expect that enough. I think the cult of the individual is also the cult of optionality. And the secret is that when you commit to something, particularly something bigger than yourself, it will set you free. And suddenly you will find a freedom and layering of life that you never understood you had.” – Jacqueline Novagratz, from The Tim Ferriss Show

      The funny thing about Commencement speeches is that they’re full of grand visions and language and guidance for the graduating class. Yet few ever act on the very best advice they hear that day. The quotes above offer some of the best advice I’ve come across for people stepping out into the unknown world of their “career path”: Build tools in your toolbox. Take one step towards solving the problems that need solving, and then another. See where it takes you. When you’re unsure, find a leader worth following and learn from them.

      The thing is, this isn’t just timely advice for the Class of 2021 (or the frustrated Class of 2020 for that matter). It’s great advice for any of us from someone who has walked the path, tripped a few times along the way and risen to greater heights as a result. For all the talk of changing the world most people profess in unguarded moments of truth, the vast majority of us walk the path of career growth and embrace the cult of the individual (living my best life!). There’s nothing wrong with individualism, it just doesn’t do much to change the world.

      Deeper in the interview, Novagratz speaks of tackling problems that won’t be solved in our lifetime. There are plenty to choose from: poverty, racial equality, fixing the climate change mess and a hundred other problems that warrant solutions but are too big for one person to tackle. It’s a funny thing, thinking about taking on a project that you won’t live to see solved. But aren’t we all working to create things that will outlive us? Raising children, building a business, making art, writing… all are beyond ourselves. And so is meaningful change.

      When I hear someone like Novagratz speak, I recognize the small thinking I’ve been guilty of in my own lifetime. Thinking about things bigger than yourself is a path towards immortality, in a way. It’s creating something that will outlive you. Shouldn’t it be something that positively alters the course of humanity? If that seems too bold, well, maybe we aren’t giving ourselves enough credit for what we might accomplish. If we’d just commit and do the work. The work of our lifetime.

    • Mothers

      Mother’s Day 2021 seems to be trending back towards where we were before the pandemic, if forever different. Before you just showed up with flowers or a gift, broke some bread and tried to sync with siblings to be there at the same time. Now there are things to consider, beginning with who’s vaccinated and who isn’t.

      Fathers have something to offer beyond teaching kids to drive and fixing things, but let’s face it, in most families mothers are the glue that keep everyone together. I see that in my own mother, and I see it in my wife and how she connects with my daughter and her mother. As a father I like having the kids around, but it’s mom that makes that happen.

      Ryan Holiday promotes this Stoic idea of Sympatheia, which is “a connectedness with the cosmos” and “the interconnectedness and mutual interdependence of all things in the universe”. That interconnectedness doesn’t just happen in a vacuum, it happens one mother at a time, connecting people together and teaching us to see it ourselves. That connection goes beyond family, but family connection is where it starts. And that starts with Mom.

      Happy Mother’s Day to you mothers out there, and particularly to my own. Grateful for the work you all do to keep things interconnected. The universe, and I, thank you.

    • Living Atypically

      “We all know that distinctiveness – originality – is valuable. We are all taught to ‘be yourself.’ What I’m really asking you to do is to embrace and be realistic about how much energy it takes to maintain that distinctiveness. The world wants you to be typical – in a thousand ways, it pulls at you. Don’t let it happen.” – Jeff Bezos, from his final letter to shareholders as CEO

      That pulling at you bit is the trick, isn’t it? We all want to be integral in the lives of those who mean so much to us. We all want to be the glue that holds it all together. We all want to belong, somewhere deep down. And it feels like for that to happen you must be… consistent. Predictable. Who you’re supposed to be.

      I don’t know what atypical means to Jeff Bezos. What’s the ask here? To work relentlessly for the company objectives and scratch and claw your way to the top, or something entirely different? The Amazon culture received plenty of bad press along the way. But doesn’t everything atypical? And Amazon is atypical, and in being so, culturally transformative. Bezos also said this in his letter:

      “If you want to be successful in business (in life, actually), you have to create more than you consume. Your goal should be to create value for everyone you interact with.”

      I can’t argue with this, can you? So what of us? As the world slowly opens up again, what are we to do with the freedom of movement? Will we return to what we once were, or gently alter course towards what we’ve always wanted to be? How are we creating value? For we’re more than individuals living our “best life”, we’re a part of something bigger than ourselves.

      “You have to pay a price for your distinctiveness, and it’s worth it. The fairy tale version of “be yourself” is that all the pain stops as soon as you allow your distinctiveness to shine. That version is misleading. Being yourself is worth it, but don’t expect it to be easy or free. You’ll have to put energy into it continuously.”

      We have this wee bit of time, and then the dance is done. The challenge is to keep thinking bigger, adding more value and meaning in your life and for those around you. This in itself is atypical in a way, isn’t it? So many bury themselves in distraction and pettiness and mock outrage. Where’s the value in that? Get outside of yourself and go build something of substance from that burning vision you have.

      I encourage you to read that shareholder letter. There’s a lot of boldness in there, and it’s clear that Bezos isn’t done yet. And neither should we be done. For there’s so much more to do. In our own unique way.

    • From Fenway Park to Barred Owls in the Night

      Yesterday afternoon I changed up the routine and watched the Boston Red Sox play the Detroit Tigers at Fenway Park. Day games are a different vibe than night games, and all games are a different vibe during a pandemic. But we’re slowly coming out of it, and going to a baseball game on a beautiful day felt pretty cool.

      It’s been decades since I’d seen that many empty seats at Fenway Park. Social distancing requirements demand low capacity, and we were among the lucky few to get in to see the game. Honestly the game was a mess of bad pitching and horrific defense for both teams, with 21 total runs scored. But being back inside the park after a couple of years, and especially the last year, made it special.

      The entire experience, like everything else nowadays, occurs with appropriate precautions. They zip tie the seats you’re not supposed to sit in, and have some ushers walking around asking you to put your mask on if you aren’t eating or drinking. I saw plenty of people breaking this rule, but people are spaced so far apart that it didn’t matter much. The group I was part of is fully vaccinated and more comfortable than we might have been otherwise. No food vendors walking up and down the stairs pitching hot dogs and popcorn, and there were limited options below. But we were still at Fenway Park and loving the afternoon vibe.

      Back at home in New Hampshire and ready to call it an early night, I heard the calls of Barred Owls in the woods behind the house. Loud. Close. And what sounded like three or four owls. We don’t generally have Barred Owls in the neighborhood, mostly because we have Great Horned Owls and they stay clear of each other. But here they were, and the night was filled with the apocalyptic sounds of Barred Owls in the night.

      You can’t just slip away to dreamland when there’s a cacophony of owl calls outside. So I walked outside on the deck and stood listening to them in the dark. High up in the tree canopy, making baby Barred Owls or at least deep in negotiation. I thought about the contrast between Fenway Park and the woods of New Hampshire on this beautiful day in May. I’m not sure what this “new normal” will be, but if this was it, I felt lucky to have been a part of it.

    • Poems and Cat Puke

      The clouds have left the sky,
      The wind hath left the sea,
      The half-moon up on high
      Shrinketh her face of dree

      She lightens on the comb
      Of leaden waves, that roar
      And thrust their hurried foam
      Up on the dusky shore.

      Behind the western bars
      The shrouded day retreats,
      And unperceived the stars
      Steal to their sovran seats.

      And whiter grows the foam,
      The small moon lightens more;
      And as I turn me home,
      My shadow walks before.
      – Robert Bridges, Dusky Shore

      There’s a moment when expectations meet reality. Certainly we all expected more out of 2020 than we got, and I can say the same about this morning’s blog. It started with a poem – Dusky Shore, as you see. It became cleanup in aisle 5.

      I’ve toyed with Bridges’ famous poem for some time, undecided about whether to dance with the classic romantic lines, or leave well enough alone. It has all the ingredients sprinkled together just so – the moon and the sea, post sunset dusky bliss and a turn towards home… but it still misses the mark for me. And I’m not sure why.

      I believe it’s in the way the words are stacked just so. It feels like he’s playing to the audience a bit to me, instead of mining his soul. But still the words are lovely in the way that a Thomas Kinkade painting is. Pretty, I suppose, but not really my style.

      As I walked down the stairs contemplating this poem and whether to go there, I came across the apocalyptic mounds of yellowish cat puke on the area rug that announced my quaint dalliance with Dusky Shore was going to take a back seat for the moment. As the designated early bird in a house full of night owls, I’m faced with such moments more than I care to remember. You either pretend not to see it or grab the paper towels and deal with it. I’ve learned it’s best to tackle the demons head-on and get on with your life. There’s nothing more demonic than cat puke on an area rug.

      I wonder about Robert Bridges, turning from the white foamy sea towards home, shadow walking before. As he opened the door to his humble home, what greeted him? For all the beauty of the prose, every now and then a little cat puke intrudes upon your Rosebud Cottage. It may be unwelcome, but it teaches you a bit about who you are when the moment of bliss is interrupted.

    • Worthy of Good

      “Isn’t it more appropriate for us humans to endure and be strong? We understand, after all, that we suffer for the sake of something good, either to help our friends, to aid our city, to fight on behalf of women or children, or for the most important and weighty reason of all, to be good and just and self-controlled. No one achieves this without pain. And so I conclude that because we humans acquire all good things by pain, the person who is himself unwilling to endure pain all but condemns himself to being worthy of nothing good.” – Musonius Rufus

      Looking back on the last year I wonder at the person I was a year ago, optimistic yet unsure about the pandemic. Working from home all the time was new; different and unfamiliar. A year later, the work is once again taking over. But we’re different, aren’t we? And so is the nature of the work.

      Ultimately, we either do the work or become masters at hiding from it. In general, and over time, this becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy for us. Do the work that matters, harden the softness that threatens your effectiveness and eventually good things will come your way.

      The days fly by when you’re deep in productive and rewarding work. Over the last year there were plenty of days that felt both unproductive and unrewarding. Sometimes you feel that things will never get back to normal. But the rewards are there for those who push through the pain and frustration and loss. Which makes me wonder, have I done enough to be worthy of those rewards? Are we doing enough now?

      If we know we can do more, shouldn’t we?

    • There’s a Tool for That

      Tool collections speak to me. You know what someone has done when they’ve got shelves full of well-used tools. If you’re observant, you can tell when they picked up a certain skill along the way too. I walked into the basement of an older gentleman I know who doesn’t get around much now to change out his dehumidifier. His tool collection was accumulated in the 1950’s through the 1970’s. And it could still do the job today.

      My own collection of tools grows with every to-do list. It took off when I began working construction jobs during college breaks. And then started rigging boats, maintained a temperamental F-150, pulled network cable and finally as a homeowner a few times over. I added an angle grinder last weekend because it’s the only good way to cut vinyl siding. How I’d gone so long without one is a mystery to me, but now it’s handy for the next odd project that requires that certain tool.

      There are some tools you buy in case you need it later. Those tend to grow lonely and still look new years later. Tools shouldn’t be bought on speculation. A tool is best acquired when you’re in need of it. The immediacy of the task demands a quick learning curve, and a lifetime of working towards mastery. Tools patiently wait for you to develop the skills to use it to its potential.

      I don’t ever worry about working, because I could leave my dress clothes behind today and start a small construction business. Or simply work for someone else. There’s always work in the trades, and never enough people willing to roll up their sleeves, grab their tools and get to it. What’s more permanent, the forecast I’m contemplating or the brick patio I laid down in 2006?

      A guy I worked for a long time ago once told me that there was nothing to any profession but learning the tricks of the trade. Every trick is now easily found on YouTube. Mastery is a different story, but you can make that up with time and patience (and a few do-overs). Those projects just need a willing apprentice to tackle them. And, of course, the right tool.

    • Present

      “No one imagines that a symphony is supposed to improve as it goes along, or that the whole object of playing is to reach the finale. The point of music is discovered in every moment of playing and listening to it. It is the same, I feel, with the greater part of our lives, and if we are unduly absorbed in improving them, we may forget altogether to live them.” – Alan Watts

      “For there is never anything but the present, and if one cannot live there, one cannot live anywhere.” – Alan Watts

      There’s no moment to reflect on the present quite like a Monday morning. It informs where you are in meeting the expectations you have for yourself. Looking ahead at the work that must be done, and looking back at where you’ve just been. So how does that symphony sound?

      The last two days flew right by as I worked on my garage doors. If spending your entire weekend in your garage sounds off-putting, I understand. It’s not Paris or a beach in the Caribbean, but mix the focused work of crafting something of lasting value with a greatest hits playlist and suddenly the garage wasn’t such a bad place to linger after all.

      A weekend of accomplishment meets the quiet reset of another week. When you come off the glow of building something of substance, what do you do the next morning? Hidden in that Monday morning to-do list is our purpose and direction (sometimes its really well-hidden).

      Weekends are great, but 72% of our lives is lived between Monday morning and Friday night. Life presents us with a succession of Monday mornings, all asking the same question: How do you like me now? Love the tune or not, it’s your move.

    • The Parking Lot Pop-Up Exhibit

      The impact of the pandemic goes well beyond the health crisis. You can see it in the price and availability in a growing number of items in the store. You can see it in the awkwardness of once commonplace routines like whether to shake hands or have an actual face-to-face meeting with someone. And yesterday, you could see it scattered throughout the parking lot of an orange home improvement store.

      Committed as I was to spending the stack of gift cards on the latest project on the house, I’d foolishly arrived at the store on a Saturday morning thinking I might just get a lumber cart. It seems there is a distinct lack of lumber carts at this location, for as carts are damaged they aren’t repaired but retired permanently. And replacements are apparently hard to come by. So that left people wandering the parking lot like zombies in an apocalypse movie, looking in vain for the one or two lumber carts that might still be available.

      Stubbornly creative in such moments, after two laps of the parking lot and one through the inside of the store, I decided to grab an orange shopping cart and use it instead. I wasn’t getting heavy lumber, I was getting PVC trim boards, I figured. Since weight wasn’t an issue, it was all about balance. And who’s more balanced than me?

      Stacking eight foot PVC trim boards is a simple matter. Adding ten foot trim boards on top of those is also simple. I even positioned the boards in such a manner that the stickers were ready for easy scanning. Fitting them into a car was completely secondary, I’d achieved proper balance on the cart and glided effortlessly through the store. Lost souls still searching for lumber carts nodded in understanding. The laws of the jungle apply in adversity.

      As you might have guessed, this masterpiece worked perfectly on the poured concrete floor of the big box store but didn’t pass muster when I started rolling across the parking lot. Vibration became the primary factor, creating instability, and the entire pile slid gently but uncontrollably forward and right off the cart. I’ve learned not to catch the sliding stack, for there is where injuries occur. I simply waited for the sculpture to speak to me. Luckily a father and son quietly joined me in putting the masterpiece back together again (quiet, but I knew what they were thinking – Wow, this guy is a genius!).

      And then I got the stack to the small SUV and began the process of fitting all of this in. I enjoy a good puzzle now and then. But here is where I missed having a truck. I might get creative with a shopping cart in a store, but the public roads are a different story. Soon I was back in the store purchasing a saw to make it fit just so. You do what you must in this apocalyptic world.