Alexandersmap

    Month: February 2022

    • Enough

      You try to accomplish things, to win, to reach goals.
      This is not the true situation.
      Put the whole world in ambition’s stomach,
      it will never be enough.
      — Rumi, I Met One Traveling

      I’ve been mentally stacking mountaintops, places to summit in my short time here. You tend to feel you’re falling behind when you’re always chasing something more. Maybe each blog post, such that it is, is my summit for the day. But I wonder, sometimes, is this the right mountain to climb at all?

      Maybe for one more day.

    • The Crunch of Now on an Icy Trail

      Friday offered heavy rain that turned to sleet and finally snow. With temperatures plummeting, this quickly turned into a frozen mess on the roads. And temperatures stayed well below freezing, guaranteeing that anything frozen was likely to stay that way for a few days. The snow was transformed to rock-hard ice, with a light frosting of granular snow atop it. It was perfect for slipping on boots and micro spikes and heading for the trails.

      The same conditions that make roads miserable transform trails into magic carpet rides. Most of the sins of the trail are locked below the frozen hard pack, and with the right gear the trail is a joyful peregrinate through the wonders of the forest. Streams and waterfalls become sculpture. Granite recedes from primary feature to delightful accent locked in the ice blanket. The trail itself offers an entirely different experience than it did just days before when snowshoes were the kit of choice. In winter every day brings something new, should you go out to find it.

      Much like the landscape around you, walking alone through the woods on a frozen but brilliant sunny day you become intensely embedded in the moment. You don’t walk with purpose to a destination, the walk is your destination. Every step becomes the point of your being here. With micro spikes announcing their grip on the ice, every step becomes a cry of Now! Here! Now!

      I visit a frozen waterfall. I only seem to visit it in winter, when it’s locked away in ice, and each visit I tell myself I ought to stop by in spring when the water is running angry. We all feel locked away ourselves in winter, I suppose the waterfall and I are kindred spirits in this way. My visit becomes a vote of solidarity with the falls behind the ice. I promise once again that I’ll be back, and believe I mean it this time. The frozen waterfall is indifferent to my promises. All that matters is the present for a waterfall. The future lies upstream, waiting for its moment. Whether I’m here for it doesn’t matter to the waterfall.

      I come across a few people along the way, couples and dog walkers and snowshoers gamely giving it a go on the ice. Read the room, folks. The trail betrays all who have come before me: fat tire tracks, boots, paw prints and snowshoe tracks. We believe we’re the only people on earth when we’re alone in the frozen woods, yet here was proof of all who came before, with all that you chance upon. You aren’t really alone in the woods, you’re alone in the moment. And there’s a measure of delight that washes over you as you make your way towards your own future.

      Waterfall, locked in the moment
      Frozen granite

    • Living a Bit More Like Thich Nhat Hanh

      “People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child—our own two eyes. All is a miracle”. — Thich Nhat Hanh

      When Thich Nhat Hanh passed away in January, I didn’t treat it like a celebrity passing, I didn’t mention it at all, really. I let the moment pass with a virtual bow. He may have passed from this world, but he’ll live on as Thoreau or Mary Oliver or Marcus Aurelius lives on. Such is the power of the written word.

      “I promise myself that I will enjoy every minute of the day that is given me to live.”

      We live in a contentious, angry world. And yet, you and I aren’t angry or contentious. You and I are living a contemplative life, a celebratory life. We embrace every moment for all that it implies. We walk through this world like our feet are kissing the earth, gently embracing our time here. We fight the urge to amplify hatefulness, and offer love instead.

      “Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.”

      If we pick up anything from Thich Nhat Hanh, it ought to be this hyper-awareness of each moment for all that it offers to us. We will surely slip back into the hectic and annoyed frenzy of our purposeful action bouncing up against an indifferent world, for life isn’t just meditation and sipping tea, but his wisdom offers an opportunity to recenter ourselves. A chance in the madness to pause, breath in and celebrate the miracle of that particular heartbeat.

      “My actions are my only true belongings.”

      Sure, celebrating each moment of aliveness is lovely, but what are we offering back to the world for our being here? What is our contribution? This is where East meets West, for we all want to bring something to the dance, don’t we? The very question means we don’t see the forest for the trees. Our lives should be a positive vibration that tickles the fancy of those we touch, that inspires a smile for the encounter. Maybe that’s our ripple.

    • Can’t See the Open Road

      Mellow is the man who knows what he’s been missing
      Many, many men can’t see the open road
      — Led Zeppelin, Over the Hills and Far Away

      Huddled in a group at an Irish pub, four men scheming for the future: one free of obligations and ready to roam, one surfing the peak of his career and working to cash in before it crashes, one just riding the swell and hoping this time—this time— he’d caught the right wave, and me, a would-be writer and wanderer observing the human condition. I’m surfing my own wave, of course, but don’t we all dream of coming about, hoisting the main and sailing away instead?

      “We labour at our daily work more ardently and thoughtlessly than is necessary to sustain our life because it is even more necessary not to have leisure to stop and think. Haste is universal because everyone is in flight from himself.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche, Untimely Meditations

      Nowadays we can all see what we’ve been missing in YouTube videos, Instagram and Facebook posts, or wherever you choose to live vicariously through the lens of others. My own favorite footage often involves drones flying above stunning landscapes, as if I were flying myself. And don’t we all wish to fly?

      But the question is, do we wish to fly away from something or towards something? For life is short and we can’t waste our precious time running away from ourselves. Yet so many do, in distraction and debauchery and debate. It’s easy to run away, but impossible to really get away from that nagging discontent.

      Old friend Henry David Thoreau pointed out that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” He would also say that, “So thoroughly and sincerely are we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of change. This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre. All change is a miracle to contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place every instant.”

      In other words, life is change, everything is changing around us even as we debate what we ought to do with ourselves. Which brings me back to a constant refrain: We must decide what to be and go be it. And be content with that which we leave behind.

    • Make the Ordinary Come Alive

      Do not ask your children
      to strive for extraordinary lives.
      Such striving may seem admirable,
      but it is the way of foolishness.
      Help them instead to find the wonder
      and the marvel of an ordinary life.
      Show them the joy of tasting
      tomatoes, apples and pears.
      Show them how to cry
      when pets and people die.
      Show them the infinite pleasure
      in the touch of a hand.
      And make the ordinary come alive for them.
      The extraordinary will take care of itself.
      William Martin, Do not ask your children to strive

      Sleet and freezing rain tap against the windows. It’s not a day to be outside in the elements, and yet I consider the consequences of a walk. We take the world as it comes to us, make of it what we can, celebrate the ordinary and find the magic where we may.

      Celebrating ordinary isn’t what the world highlights. Everyone is hyper-focused on placing themselves in the most extraordinary places, doing the most extraordinary things, living their “best life” (whatever that means when you stop to think about it). Perhaps our focus should be on the moment at hand, wherever we might be.

      I celebrate waking up this morning, hearing that tap, tap, tap of the rain and sleet and the roof over my head that makes it all seem so far away. I celebrate the conversations I’ve had with those I love, listening to how their day went, and celebrating with them the moments that made their ordinary more alive. I celebrate the quiet in an often chaotic world, removing myself from the noise but listening for the voice of those in need.

      Life is infinite pleasure when you focus on the small joys. Life is more realized when we wrestle with our pain and loss and setbacks. Each moment informs, when we are taught to see. Learning to savor our ordinary vitality is the path to a magical life. A life worthy of our short dose of days.

    • A Wednesday Walk in the Woods

      “Listen! Let the high branches go on with their opera, it’s the song of the fields I wait for, when the sky turns orange and the wind arrives, waving his thousand arms.” — Mary Oliver, Wind

      The woods were quiet save for the steady clump, swish, click of this clydesdale making his way through the fields and woods on snowshoes. The snow had transformed from powdery bliss Sunday to snowball clingy in the warm sun. In New England you work with whatever Mother Nature gives you, and a lunch walk on a warmish day brought isolation from humanity and companionship from thousands of naked old friends biding their time to bud in Spring.

      Steadily I make my way through the forest to revisit favorite spots. I have memories of who I once was in certain places, for the trail whispers. Why do we settle on the familiar so often, when the world offers so much to discover? The trick when walking in familiar woods is to look for the different. The most obvious tell was the snow itself, tracks and consistency completely transformed in a few days, and it will be again on every visit.

      Autumn leaves lay scattered near a dug-up clump of snow. Deer tracks? No… Canine. The tracks and leaves tell the rest of the story. I realize I’m telling my own story with every step. I wonder who might read it? The trees stand stoic and unmoved.

      I climb up a small rise on virgin snow. Something catches my eye and I walk closer for a look. Someone built a lean-to between two oak trees, with netting and fallen tree branches making up the roof. This wasn’t new, just unnoticed on prior walks. They’d wanted it that way, of course, building it up away from the trail. I wondered at the builder for a moment, and left the mystery unsolved. The world is full of questions, I don’t feel compelled to answer every one of them.

      Turning back, I recalled this line of poetry from Mary Oliver about tree branches waving in the breeze. We know this song, the woods and I. Looking around one last time I look for an excuse to linger. They stand in cold indifference and show me the way home.

      Biding their time

    • Tom Brady in Five Quotes

      What do you do with consistent excellence? How do you process it? How do the average masses view the brilliant contribution of the few? Many dismiss it as trickery, cheating, luck, or chance. This minimizes the painful gap of comparison. For others, recognizing that brilliance leads to hate for what it brings: defeat and frustration. Excellence is a mirror, and when we look at it we see our own shortcomings.

      Tom Brady retired. Why is that a surprise? He’s 45 as I write this, won 7 Super Bowl rings for two teams and long ago became the G.O.A.T. for those who celebrate the level of excellence he’s reached. Those who would knock him down a notch or two for perceived slights or for the extreme discipline he lives by grudgingly note the results. This isn’t a guy who does things half-assed.

      When you live in New England, and you’ve lived through the really, really dark days of professional sports in New England when every team was losing in heartbreaking fashion every year from 1987 until 2001, well, you recognize the difference that one or two people can make in a game, or on a team, or in a region. Tom Brady was a sparkplug for New England, and winning became contagious. It became expected. Because the standard was raised, and it remains higher than it was before he rose up to lead that first Super Bowl win in the aftermath of 9/11 for a team called Patriots.

      There are a million Tom Brady quotes out there. I mean, the guy played Pro Football for 22 years; you accumulate a lot of quotes in all that time! But here are five that I found most enlightening about the man. Thanks Tom, it’s been fun seeing excellence on display for so many years:

      “It’s never come easy for me. I don’t think my mind allows me to rest ever. I have, I think, a chip on my shoulder, and some deep scars that I don’t think were healed.”

      “A lot of times I find that people who are blessed with the most talent don’t ever develop that attitude, and the ones who aren’t blessed in that way are the most competitive and have the biggest heart.”

      “I think I have a certain respect for people, you know. And I guess a lot of times I expect that respect to go both ways.”

      “If you waste your time and energy on things that don’t matter in the outcome of the game, then when you get to the game you’re not going to give your teammates the best that you have to offer.”

      “I knew I became a professional when I stop paying attention to what time it was.”

    • Strategic, Interested Experiencing

      “When people stop believing in an afterlife, everything depends on making the most of this life. And when people start believing in progress—in the idea that history is headed toward an ever more perfect future—they feel far more acutely the pain of their own little lifespan, which condemns them to missing out on almost all of that future. And so they try to quell their anxieties by cramming their lives with experience.” — Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals

      Burkeman’s statement isn’t something you just fly by without contemplation. I have people in my life who would be indignant about the very idea of there being no afterlife. You might say I’m more open to the concept. But no matter what your belief about what happens next, most would agree in the concept of the infinite unknown. It was here before we were conceived and began our march through borrowed time, and it will envelope us again sooner than we’re comfortable with thinking about. Really, it’s all around us, we’re just stubbornly alive beings bumping up against infinity every day until we rejoin it. Giddy-Up.

      We get busy in life, marching through our days and obligations. I was just thinking to myself that I’m a bit short on micro-adventures lately. Blame it on my day job running parallel to this blog. I have a few friends that question my sanity for trading so many of my four thousand weeks for a career. But life is more than chasing waterfalls and sunsets. You’ve got to make something of your time, don’t you? Or do you need to do something in your time? Can you do both? Can we really have it all?

      Burkeman recommends “strategic underachievement”, which is simply “nominating in advance whole areas of life in which you won’t expect excellence of yourself” to mitigate the underlying stress of living for both commitments and experience. Focus on what you want to excel in, and gently put the rest aside on the priority list—placing the not-so-important stuff into tomorrow is a gentle way of punting what doesn’t really matter in this brash act of living life on our own terms.

      “Tomorrow is for the lazy mind, the sluggish mind, the mind that is not interested” — Jiddu Krishnamurti

      The answer, I believe, is to focus on the things that make you feel most alive, things that put you right in the mix of a fulfilling, satisfying life. That might be a sunset in the tropics or washing the dishes with your favorite song playing louder than it should. Embracing the mundane and the remarkable as it comes, but prioritizing that which places you squarely where you might maximize these experiences. We ought to decide what we want to savor most, and what to let fall away.

      Let’s face it, passively waiting for life experiences to come your way leads to a whole lot of waiting. Strategic underachievement in one area of your life means you’ve got to proactively work to strategically overachieve in other areas. Be interested in this business of living! Get up off your passive expectations about living and go out and meet the things you most want to achieve, be and do in this short life. Not so much “cramming experience”, but rather, strategic, and interested, experiencing. Wherever we might be.