Alexandersmap

    Month: September 2022

    • A Lifetime of Closing Doors

      Death twitches my ear.
      “Live’” He says, “I am coming.“
      — Virgil

      The twitch is there, reminding me to make the most of each day. You may have noticed a lean towards Stoicism early on in this blog. Stoicism celebrates every moment of life, because we remind ourselves that infinity is calling. So decide what to be and go be it. To be or not to be, that is the question that Hamlet forever ponders. And so must we.

      My favorite barista retired. I walked in to chat, er, to get a coffee made just so, and she hasn’t been there. Then again, I haven’t been there, traveling and such, but back again and eager for the banter of familiarity. After a couple of tries, I asked a new barista where Sue was, only to find out she’d simply…. retired. Moved on to try new things with her brief dance with light. And I was momentarily floored by the abruptness of it all. It’s not life and death, not yet for either party, but it was one more door closing in a lifetime of closing doors.

      I have a cat that meows incessantly if there’s a door closed that she wants to be on the other side of. Pick her up, give her a treat, try to ignore her at your peril: nothing resolves the meowing but an open door. We all have this curiosity, perhaps expressed less annoyingly (perhaps), to know what’s on the other side of the door. We aren’t in a rush to find out, but we’ll find out one day. And knowing that, we must accept that the door is closed for a reason. It’s not our time to dance with infinity, it’s our time to dance with light. So dance, friend.

    • Working To the Contrary

      “Never waste valuable time or mental peace of mind, on the affairs of others — that is too high a price to pay.” — Robert Greene

      The world may feel off-kilter, and in fact it surely is, but we must choose a path of productivity and consequence anyway. We can’t produce anything consequential if we’re constantly wringing our hands in anguish at the world around us. We must build towards a better future, despite the crushing combination of very real and completely artificial distractions spinning around us. We must firmly set aside the noise so readily at hand and do the work that beckons us to possibility. For our time is short and the price of procrastination is far too high.

      There are a lot of musts in that last paragraph, and it risks sounding far too demanding. But shouldn’t we ask ourselves, in the quiet moments when the world remains at arm’s length from our thoughts, about what really resonates? It’s likely contrary to what the world would ask of us. And isn’t it fair to then ask, when will we complete the work that matters most if not now?

      We ought to then get to it already.

    • The World, Unmasked

      “You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” — Franz Kafka

      We stumble over the universe most days. Distracted, harried, willfully blinded by the frenzy of staking a claim on our lives. The world unmasks itself when you look up and meet its gaze, and otherwise marches on to infinity without us.

      There’s no way we can possibly see everything, attempting to is a fool’s game. Still, an embarrassment of riches roll to us in waves when we offer our attention. We ought to rise to the occasion and meet the world halfway.

    • Islands

      There’s something about a coastal island, surrounded by water yet firmly locked to the earth, that is deeply compelling. It offers tangible isolation from the madness of the mainland, yet is close enough to feel its gravitational pull. Some combination of luck and inclination brings me to islands occasionally, where my gut tells me it’s not nearly enough.

      Maine has over 4600 coastal islands, big and small. Some are barren rock knobs, others are quite large, and covered in forest and diverse landscape. Visiting each is nearly impossible, property rights being what they are, but if you visit enough of them you might just realize you aren’t really seeing them at all. The right island soothes a restless soul, and like a soulmate, you’ll know it when you find it. Isn’t it far better to linger with a favorite or two than to endlessly collect names on a list? Islands, as with all such things, ought to be savored.

      Would an island offer enough of the world to satisfy a vagabonding soul? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I hear their whispers, and wonder if I ought to pay more attention.

      Sunset on Long Island, Maine

    • Something to Savor

      “How terribly sad it was that people are made in such a way that they get used to something as extraordinary as living.” ― Jostein Gaarder, The Solitaire Mystery

      When we think back on our days, how many are frosted with magic and delight? The very definition of ordinary points to the relative sameness in each day. Sprinkling a bit of magic on each moment seems frivolous, unorthodox, and perhaps a little… irresponsible. Shouldn’t magic be saved for weddings, holidays and other such highlight reel moments? We can’t very well sprinkle magic into everything, could we? For wouldn’t that make the magical mundane?

      Don’t listen to the nihilists and the fearful, for they have no taste for spice. We must look up at our remaining time and decide to meet it. We can enhance the flavor profile of our life one dash at a time. And make our lives something to savor.

      Raising our standard doesn’t inherently level the field of play. On the contrary—we just play at a higher level. Our lives won’t run out of magic until we stop making it. So go on, stir a bit more audacity and adventure into your day. Punctuate each moment with purpose. You may just develop a taste for it.

    • Beating Dragons

      ‘Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.“ — Neil Gaiman, Coraline

      We talk about evil in the world, the worst of humanity, beasts of unimaginable strength and viciousness… but most dragons aren’t out there in the world, not really. Most dragons reside within us. The beast isn’t rising up to sink our ship; it’s holding us back from setting sail. The true dragons are bad habits and that voice inside our head that tells us to snooze a bit more, for you’re too inexperienced or established or young or old to dare change things now.

      Slay these dragons.

      We often think about the gaps between our desired state and our current state as a chasm, when mostly it’s simply a gap. The business of closing gaps is as simple as establishing routines, doing the work one day to the next and moving past what we previously thought possible to discover and close another. We know this intuitively, yet we still listen to dragons. Until their fearsome voices fade into the distance as we build new gaps between who we are now and what we once were.

      Life will throw its dragons up at us, but we might prevail anyway. Simply take the next step. Like a toddler learning to walk it’s invigorating and delightful to see where our steps might carry us, one after the other. Make soup of those dragons. It turns out they taste a lot like chicken.

    • What Energy Remains?

      “Everything is collage, even genetics. There is the hidden presence of others in us, even those we have known briefly. We contain them for the rest of our lives, at every border that we cross.” — Michael Ondaatje, Divisadero

      I read this on the two year anniversary of the passing of my favorite Navy pilot. That this particular quote should pop up on September 12th is easily explainable, of course, being the birthday of the author Ondaatje. Yet it was this particular quote, dropped into my circle of awareness at precisely the moment when I needed to read it, that reverberated for me. And I wondered, what border am I crossing this week?

      We ought to rise up to meet our moment. We ought to raise our voice and lend our hand, for these are the things that demonstrate that we care just enough about something other than ourselves. The question is in the meeting—just what might we offer to another in our brief time with them? The answer to that question lies inside, but generally it ought to be all that we can give.

      Every interaction is an opportunity to lift. We create ripples of positive or negative energy simply by the friction generated in our words and actions. We dance with each, making our mark on the moment, and move on. But have we met a higher standard or did we let the opportunity slip away? What energy remains?

      Our hidden presence lingers even after we move on. You may think back on the energy rippling from the soul of another you interacted with this morning or a decade ago. What is it, exactly, that reverberates from that moment that stays with you even now? How do we process that and return it to the world?

      When I think back on each interaction with my favorite Navy pilot, the ripples tell me to seek more: More joie de vivre, more humor, more effort to measure up in the moment, and more focus on each personal engagement with another as I continue my march through time. These are his ripples passing through me to the world. His energy, continuing to reverberate, even as I remember what was lost.

    • What Escapes Us

      “Our life is also what we have not dared to do … what escaped us.” — Javier Marias

      Javier Marias passed away on September 11th, triggering a series of tributes to a productive literary life. This quote stood out for me, for all the reasons you might expect from this particular blogger. If there’s a theme woven throughout, it’s Stoic: Memento Mori, Amor Fati, Carpe diem.

      Life is a series of leaps forward from one identity to the next as we cross the chasm of our brief time, yet some bits of our stardust are never fully changed, other paths remain untaken. And we think sometimes about where it might have carried us. What might have been.

      Does that read as regret? It’s not meant to be so. Life is full of choices good and poor. We celebrate where we’ve arrived at either way. Regret is a useless emotion best reserved for the instant you realize you’ve driven off the cliff or studied the wrong material for the exam. Otherwise it’s distraction from the path forward. We all ought to accept the guidance of previous decisions without living in the past.

      We know what we said yes to, because it brought us here. We must also accept what we say no to in our lives. We ought to celebrate the omissions for where they brought us. For these things are as much a part of who we become as the things we do choose. Every no is a yes to something else. Each decision carries us, transforms us, and we dance with the music we’re left with. Mostly it’s a real toe tapper.

      Do remember though, as we dance with where we’ve arrived at, that daring is always on the table.

    • Mastering the Omission

      “Storytelling reveals meaning without committing the error of defining it.” — Hannah Arendt

      There’s an art to telling stories. You see it masterfully displayed in the work of certain authors and public speakers. Everyone knows a great story when they hear it, but many don’t understand the craft of actually creating something that becomes compelling. As a would-be writer and occasional public speaker, I chip away at storytelling with the natural hope of drawing in the reader or audience, instead of lulling them to sleep.

      Like any craft, storytelling requires apprenticeship and time. The artist grows into everything of consequence that they’ll ever create. We hone our skills, witness firsthand the impact of our work on others, and go back to the drawing board to try anew. Everything we do is a hit or a miss, and good timing is, if not everything, essential.

      I say this as a lifetime apprentice to the craft of writing. A blog is like balsa wood for the aspiring storyteller, allowing the writer to carve out a sympathetic audience. But The Thinker wasn’t carved out of balsa wood. One must eventually step out of one’s comfort zone and take more risks. A journeyman reaches mastery when they create a masterpiece. We all reach a moment when we believe that the journeyman gig isn’t nearly enough.

      Any masterpiece includes certain elements that demonstrate the fine skill of the craftsperson. In storytelling we often think about what to include, but often forget that true mastery includes omission. To draw an audience in, we must leave the space for them to fill.

      As you’re doing right now.

    • Weaving a More Effective Life

      “Habit is a rope. We weave a thread every day, and eventually we can’t break it.” — Thomas Mann

      “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” — Aristotle

      This business of repeatedly doing is leading somewhere, with our destination highly dependent on what we repeatedly do. Such is the way. Mann’s observation rings true as well, for habits become nearly impossible to break once established. Each small choice is another thread—another resounding, audacious statement about who we want to be.

      Our natural inclination is to be a part of something. To build an identity around community or family. This can reinforce positive behavior, or amplify the worst in us. The choice isn’t always ours to decide which pond to swim in, but we may choose whether to keep treading above the surface or drift down into the muck on the bottom.

      When our identity is wrapped up in a community that is slowly drifting away, as people get older or recede from view towards other communities, we also choose how to react to that. People come and go. Our health and work and feelings about the world we live in change moment-to-moment. To be highly effective in life we ought to weave a thread of consistent activity that remains independent of the whims of fate. When the world unravels around us, and eventually it will feel that way for all of us, just how resilient are we?

      “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”— Viktor Frankl

      Life is constantly testing our mettle. We control so very little in the big scheme of things. Frankl’s famous observation reminds us that we do get to choose how we react. We have a say in what we might become in our brief dance with the universe in all its harsh indifference. We still might decide what to be and go be it.