Alexandersmap

    Month: October 2022

    • Realizing the Benefits of Repetitive Action

      “One thing I’ve found… the road rarely rises up to meet you until you’ve begun walking.” — Michele Jennae

      On my one day off this weekend, on a day of rest no less, I walked twenty thousand steps around my house while pruning trees and shrubs, raking up leaves onto a tarp and hauling them into the woods beyond the fence out back. For good measure, I mowed the front lawn with my push mower to get every last leaf off that lawn. As I write this it’s still dark outside, but I imagine that it’s chock full of leaves again. The oak trees delight in teasing me just so: waiting until the day is done and sprinkling their gifts all over. I’ve come to accept this as the price of keeping the trees when I built this house almost 24 years ago. They were here first and deserve to have their say.

      We either have a bias towards action or we don’t. Is life meant to be spent doing things or lounging around in leisure? I know plenty of folks who embrace the latter. That’s not my way. Spending my one day of rest actively cleaning the yard may seem useless at best, and a frivolous abuse of my brief time on this earth at worst, especially considering that there will be even more leaves sprinkled on the lawn today. Action ought to be married with productivity or it ought not be done, you might point out fairly.

      Yard work should be viewed in the same way that we view doing the dishes or making the bed. Eventually we’ll have to do it all over again, and over and over again still, but that doesn’t make it less worthwhile for having done it today. It’s the price of greatness in a world filled with average performers. We either pay someone to do the work or do it ourselves. There’s an opportunity cost in either choice, and we must ask where we receive the best return on our time investment.

      The thing is, we often know what we’re missing out on when we choose one thing over another, but a bias towards action requires we make a decision and embrace all that comes with it. This applies equally to a career, a marriage, raising children, writing, or a hundred other things. Things like raking leaves instead of hiking or watching a football game. Life is what we make of it: to be meaningful and productive, it requires that we follow through on one decision after another to the best of our ability.

      Showing up for our work every day can feel a lot like raking those leaves. We know that there will be more to do tomorrow and the next day. But repetition pays dividends through discipline. The benefit of repetitive action isn’t just the momentarily completed job at hand, it’s the person we become by following through on our commitment to ourselves day-after-day. As Aristotle said, we are what we repeatedly do.

    • What is Beautiful

      “The sea is not less beautiful in our eyes because we know that sometimes ships are wrecked by it.” ― Simone Weil, Waiting for God

      Two things I rarely write about are religion and love. The meaning of each is in the eye of the beholder, and the fastest way to divide a room is to carry on too much about either. Even writing that statement will turn off a true believer or two. So be it. We each wrestle with ourselves and our place in this world. Relationships, whether with God or science, your true love or platonic love, are complicated. We’re not on this earth long enough to know everything, but our journey isn’t about the finish, it’s about who we become each step along the way.

      Some people want certainty in their lives. So they only marry someone who believes in the same god, or goes to the same church, or no church. Or maybe it’s politics or nationality or favorite sports team that dictates who they choose to associate with. This is inherently limiting, of course, for it keeps us in a box of our own making. They might as well make it a casket.

      The thing is, we all have our core belief systems and tend to seek out that which reinforces that identity. Over the years I’ve wrestled with strong feelings about everything from musical genres to whether the house lights are left on at night. None of it matters in the long run, it’s just positioning of the self in an indifferent world. Writing every day is the miraculous clarifying tool which brings me closer to understanding it all. Perhaps it is for you too.

      When the year is over, barring some last-minute heroics, I will have read fewer books than last year. And yet the lift is heavier this year, with some significant philosophical works in the mix. This may be my What’s it all about Alfie stage of life, but I think not. I’ve always been this way; I just make better choices now. As you grow you tend to explore your openness to new influences a bit more.

      As sure as I believe there’s a heaven above
      Alfie, I know there’s something much more
      Something even non-believers can believe in
      I believe in love, Alfie
      Without true love we just exist, Alfie
      Until you find the love you’ve missed
      You’re nothing, Alfie
      — Burt Bacharach / Hod David, Alfie

      The world is wrestling with nihilism and division at the moment. It will eventually swing back towards unity, hopefully before too much damage is done. All we can do is be active ambassadors for openness and unity. What is beautiful in our lives may wreck us, but it might also be our salvation. What is life but a journey to discover that which resonates most for us? We reach awareness in our own time, and learn to cherish the experiences and influences that bring us there.

      Whatever the package it comes from, that which is derived from true love and honesty is beautiful. We may learn from it, or turn away from it, but the truth remains. Our obligation to ourselves and the world is to be open. What is beautiful will find its way to us.

    • Florida Inversion

      “I think in the old days, the nexus of weirdness ran through Southern California, and to a degree New York City. I think it’s changed so that every bizarre story in the country now has a Florida connection. I don’t know why, except it must be some inversion of magnetic poles or something.” — Carl Hiaasen

      Some of the nicest people I know live in Florida. More, some of the nicest people I know move to Florida to fully embrace the lifestyle that comes when a state is a peninsula dividing the tropical waters of the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. No doubt, there is a culture of kindness and inclusion, exhibited in multi-cultural, synergistic and exponential growth. But there’s a reason Hiaasen novels are so popular: Florida is chock full of oddballs behaving badly, and he blends it into his characters masterfully.

      Maybe it’s inevitable when you’ve got so many people wanting a piece of paradise that corruption, madness and division swirl in with the Rum Runners. Inevitably some of it surfaces, some if it settles on the bottom like sludge, and somewhere in the middle of all that is clarity and joy. We make of our environment what we will, but as any Floridian will tell you, we should also watch where we swim.

      When you talk to people who grew up in old Florida, they describe the complete transformation of their state from sleepy agriculture and tourist state to booming and connected concrete jungles. Florida is sprawling madness. After visiting Dale Hollow Lake and seeing the subdivisions plotted out there, I think of Florida as it once was and now is, and how that will soon happen there. As Joni Mitchell says, “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”

      The thing is, you go to a place like Florida and can easily see yourself building a life around the best of what it offers. Buy in and you can blend right in, crazy and all. Spending time here and you begin to love the tropical vibe, easy living and immersive vitamin D possibilities. We all should ask ourselves, “where might we optimize our potential?” And align with the answer. My own answer lies much farther north; I wouldn’t want to live there, but Florida is a nice place to visit.

    • Uncorking the Day

      “Do you think that I count the days? There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.”
      — Jean-Paul Sartre

      “You are — your life, and nothing else.”— Jean-Paul Sartre

      There are days that feel bigger than others—weddings and epic vacations quickly come to mind, but really every day is epic for the gift it represents. And being here as we blessedly are to dance with this magnificent day, we ought to celebrate and honor it, as one does with any cherished gift. For this is our moment.

      Sartre is pragmatic and concise in his observation that we are this: Right here, in this moment and in what we’re doing with this gift. We are surely the sum of our days, for they carried us here, but yesterday was taken away from us like empty wine bottles on recycling day. Appreciate them, but focus on uncorking this moment and all it offers.

      Cheers!

    • An Offseason Visit to Dale Hollow Lake

      “Dale Hollow Dam and Lake was authorized by the Flood Control Act of 1938 and the River and Harbor Act of 1946. The project was completed for flood control in 1943. Power generating units were added in 1948, 1949 and 1953. The project was designed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and built by private contractors under the supervision of the Corps…. The dam impounds a length of 61 miles of the Obey River creating Dale Hollow Lake with 620 miles of shoreline, 27,700 acres of water, and 24,842 acres of land for recreational opportunities. ” — US Army Corps of Engineers, Nashville District

      Dale Hollow Lake is named after William Dale, a government surveyor who came to the region to survey the border between Tennessee and Kentucky. He settled in the region and later drowned in a boating accident while taking part in the War of 1812. That drowning would prove prescient. The land was originally the region of the Cherokee tribe, and retains its natural beauty, though the Cherokee and William Dale would hardly recognize the place now, hundreds of feet underwater in places they once walked.

      The shoreline is controlled by the Army Corps of Engineers and protected from development, largely preserving the area as a pristine natural environment. Beyond the shoreline, development is grabbing hold of the region, but the lake remains a beautiful statement for preservation, even as it conceals what it stole away. There’s a town named Willow Creek under this lake, built before the Revolutionary War, a ghost lingering below the water hinting at times past. We forget sometimes, living in our moment of now, that there was so much we don’t know about what was here before us. The region whispers its Cherokee and early settler history when you stop and listen.

      Being out on a boat on a raw Late October day, it was easy to listen. The hundreds of houseboats, pontoon boats and fishing boats were largely dormant at marinas. I imagine in summer the area is a bit “Ozark” crazy, but we couldn’t have seen more than a half dozen other boats out on the water with us, all of them fishermen. Off-season has it’s perks.

      Turning off the engine, you quickly drift past slate and limestone beaches created when they lower the lake for the winter. The shoreline is composed of countless bits of broken slate, brittle and pliable underfoot. This doesn’t seem a great place for walking barefoot, but as with anywhere, when you dress for the environment it makes all the difference. Walking on those broken sleet beaches was fascinating and wonderful.

      And I do wonder at this place. The region is going through an identity crisis of sorts. On the one hand, you have the people who have always been here: farmers and hunters and people scraping together a living in an area desolately beautiful. On the other hand you have land speculators scooping up property at ridiculously low prices (for a New Englander) and building vacation and retirement communities. Just as the lake swallowed up Willow Creek, there’s an entire community here that is slowly drowning in change, and reacting to it as you might expect. Trump and “Let’s Go Brandon” signs are everywhere, crime is rising as some misfit locals break into vacant houses packed with luxury goods. There’s friction in change, and the changes here are accelerating. Like the lake, some will drown in it, and others will find opportunity to flourish.

      Hilltop turned island
      Pillars of slate exposed when lake is lowered in winter
      Dale Hollow Lake is split between Kentucky and Tennessee
      When the lake is lowered it exposes a slate and limestone “beach” worth exploring

    • Schemes and Dreams

      “A thousand Dreams within me softly burn:
      From time to time my heart is like some oak
      Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.”
      — Arthur Rimbaud, Complete Works

      We all dream of things beyond the scope of our present situation. It’s human nature to dream, and we tend to collect dreams like books waiting to be read. How many books can we read in a lifetime? When you think of your average, it’s a surprisingly short number. So it is with dreams: we may dream an unlimited number, but accomplish but a few. We ought to make them our favorites.

      Dreams are evasive distractions until we start working towards them. Dreaming is unproductive on its own, for we must scheme as well. Without a plan, we risk walking in circles. Or maybe we dance in circles, happy in our own little world, content to linger with our dream. But we humans like to scheme too, and soon we’re dreaming of the next mountain to climb.

      Schemes and dreams pair well together in this way. But we’ve all experienced moments where we’re forever planning our next big move, but never actually beginning the climb. Excessive planning is procrastination. Dreams and schemes are just a dance without action.

      We tend to think we’ll be productive and get things done in good time. But great ideas don’t transform themselves into completed work, the muse just chooses a different author willing to dance long enough to make it real. That trip of a lifetime likewise doesn’t happen on it’s own. We must do the work to realize our dreams, or they’ll simply dance with someone else.

    • Forever Working Towards Arete

      “Homer’s epic poems brought into focus a notion of arete, or excellence in life, that was at the center of the Greek understanding of human being…. Excellence in the Greek sense involves neither the Christian notion of humility and love nor the Roman ideal of stoic adherence to one’s duty. Instead, excellence in the Homeric world depends crucially on one’s sense of gratitude and wonder. …. the Greek word arete is etymologically related to the Greek verb “to pray” (araomai). It follows that Homer’s basic account of human excellence involves the necessity of being in an appropriate relationship to whatever is understood to be sacred in the culture.” — Hubert Drefus, All Things Shining

      My first memory of hearing the word arete was when a history professor I was quite fond of suggested we use it as the name of a new rowing shell our crew had acquired. The Greek word for excellence seemed as worthy a name as any to aspire to, and so I proposed it. The rowing coach, never one to embrace such things, chose a different name. And it turned out that we never did quite achieve excellence, settling somewhere into better than average. I wonder if we’d chosen it we might have been inclined to be so? One can’t very well name a rowing shell Arete and finish in the middle of the pack.

      What’s become clear to me over the years since that first encounter with arete is that it’s been my objective ever since. We reach, fall short, move a step closer and reach again. That’s how we move forward towards something greater than our previous self. Living with a sense of gratitude and wonder, embracing that which is sacred, and working towards excellence is a blueprint for a lifetime.

      We can’t control everything in life. Surely things happen along the way that may be chocked up to luck, timing or serendipity. But certainly, what we aspire to makes all the difference in how full our lives turn out to be.

    • Alphabet Soup Air Travel

      Call me old-fashioned if you will. Call me privileged in a first world sort of privileged way. But I prefer an assigned seat when I travel. The budget airlines like Southwest built an empire on first come, first served, which merged into assigned groups. My particular group is C21, which isn’t good folks. There are 140 people boarding before me, making it likely I’ll be checking a bag and sitting in a midfle seat. Poor me, right?

      The thing is, I don’t mind any of this except for the lack of an assigned seat. Middle seat? Not ideal but will make it work. No room for my bag in overhead ? Don’t lose it please. But the mystery of musical chairs? I can do without it, thanks. Give me predictability in business travel.

      We all have our crosses to bear—this is one of mine. Wanna get away? Check in early. But on the plus side, I finished this blog post during the wait for my middle seat.

      Look for those silver linings!

    • To Be On Our Way

      In the deep fall
      don’t you imagine the leaves think how
      comfortable it will be to touch
      the earth instead of the
      nothingness of air and the endless
      freshets of wind? And don’t you think
      the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
      warm caves, begin to think
      of the birds that will come – six, a dozen – to sleep
      inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
      the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
      the everlasting being crowned with the first
      tuffets of snow? The pond
      vanishes, and the white field over which
      the fox runs so quickly brings out
      its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
      bellows. And at evening especially,
      the piled firewood shifts a little,
      longing to be on its way.
      — Mary Oliver, Song for Autumn

      Autumn whispers to us through trees. For trees, naturally rooted to place, learn a thing or two in their seasons. Whole communities once thrived in places where only trees stand today. Old stone walls and cellar holes, old road beds and grooves in stone that once served as a simple mill. These things become more apparent when we act like trees and linger awhile.

      Humans aren’t rooted to a place, not really, we’re too prone to wandering. In this way, we’re more like the leaves, sailing off to find our place in the wind, eventually landing and becoming a part of the place we settle into in our time. If leaves become loam and feed the forest, don’t we too feed the future in our service to others?

      But there’s a restlessness in many of us. Perhaps remembering our time as leaves and longing to fly once again, a fire burns inside. Our fire, when fully expressed, may transform and carry us to places we couldn’t imagine before we fed the spark. Feed the fire, autumn whispers.

      Surely, ash returns to earth just as leaves do. But how far might it soar before it turns back towards the earth? We live in days, but ought to think in seasons. Everything has its time. The earth awaits.

    • A Day of Reckoning in Autumnal Sunshine

      “I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” ― Nathaniel Hawthorne, The American Notebooks

      I write this knowing what awaits me. Today is the day of reckoning for a lover of trees. For in late October we turn our eyes from the skies to the work at hand, and sweat and toil to relocate those countless, blessed fallen leaves from the yard and place them with their kin in the woods. This process will repeat itself several times before it’s done, and this writer will bow to the trees in the order of their fall; the maple and elm, hickory and oak, even the pine sheds itself of old needles. Autumn is called fall for a reason, after all, so fall they must.

      My secret is a fondness for such labor. It’s a workout to be sure, but work that fills the soul, as weeding or washing dishes fills the soul when meditated upon in the moment. Our singular focus on any one thing is preciously rare in this world of sound bites and notifications. Leave the phone behind and get back to the work—and find yourself in the process.

      There will be no rider mower efficiency in this work. I made the choice to walk my lawn when mowing a few years ago, and don’t regret it. There is a soreness that offers solace on a crisp October day, earned through such moments wrestling fallen leaves. If this seems wonderful to you, come celebrate with me. For there are more than enough leaves to share, and only so much autumnal sunshine to work with.