Alexandersmap

    Month: October 2026

    • Buried Deep

      “The friends we have lost do not repose in the bosom of the earth, but are buried deep in our hearts; and it has been thus ordained that we may always be accompanied by them.”
      — Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      This may be the last quote I offer from this novel, as I’ve finished it and resolved to move on to the next great read. Having spent a fortnight off and on with Dumas, I believe that his classic will stay with me for as long as my memory does. Great books, like great people, have a way of residing within us even when we’ve had to move on in our lives.

      The quote had me thinking about a few people from my past recently. Some have passed away, some have slipped away. Time marches on, but I can still hear their voices and still smile at something said once upon a time. Those who passed away are locked in the amber of our moment together. Those who slipped away feel like they’re one chance encounter from being back in my life again. But more than likely they’re like the dead: ghosts that we knew.

      Did they recall our time together and smile, or were they simply relieved that they’d moved on? I suppose that depends on how much I held up my end of the bargain in our time together. We all ought to remember that time is short, and to make something of the moment at hand.

      After thinking about past acquaintances, I thought about some people in my present. Some are already receding into memory, some continue to stubbornly hold on (as we hold on to them). Deep connection isn’t mined in a day, it takes a shared history, shared highlights, and yes, shared suffering. The fact is, people come and go, while we keep going. Life is full of loss, but also full of discovery and the occasional happy reunion.

      Then again, they’re all still with us, in their own way.

    • Sagacity

      “It is only with prudence, sagacity, and much dexterity that great aims are accomplished, and all obstacles surmounted. Otherwise nothing is accomplished.” — Napoleon Bonaparte

      Having wisdom without purpose makes us worthy of nothing but trivia night at the local pub. What is the use of being wise if we don’t then use our accumulated sagacity to navigate the complexities of life with greater efficiency and tact? If purpose is our fuel, and action our engine, then wisdom may be thought of as our navigation system.

      We age, acquire knowledge, and fill our cache with street smarts. It’s easy to believe that we have it all figured out. But in a time with so much foolishness in the world, sagacity clearly isn’t a given. Just because our average lifespan increases doesn’t mean that wisdom is keeping pace. To be learned, we must be inclined to learn.

      With that in mind, I’m trying to use my time to advantage. When I tell people that this book isn’t going to read itself , I mean it. Reading isn’t the only way to gain wisdom, but it’s a proven path to greater insight. When we graduate out of the classroom, our path to wisdom is only just beginning.

      In order to finish what we start, we’ve got to persist in the activity to its conclusion. It’s appropriate to then ask ourselves what we’ve learned from what we just traded some of our life to obtain. Each great lesson advances our wisdom, each wasted opportunity stalls our advance.

      As with everything, reaching our potential is largely dictated by what we say yes or no to. We cannot control everything in life, but we do have the agency to choose how sagacious we might become. Rather than hoarding wisdom, sagacity may be a gift we offer to help others rise above the din of dim wit that passes for clever nowadays.

    • Hold Your Hat

      Dogs lay down in the evening heat
      Fish do worse when they leave the sea
      Songbirds only end up where they’re going
      In this autumn town where the lights can change
      Some get mercy and some get blamed
      Some get lost when they feel the river flowing
      It’s all holy smoke and the flame dies fast
      We hold our hats while the days fly past
      Cold wind comes and we wait but it keeps going
      Father, Sons and Holy Ghosts
      All come back or they all come close
      Songbirds only end up where they’re going
      Some get hard and some go home
      Some want flesh and some want bone
      I just want to see you in the morning
      — Iron & Wine, Autumn Town Leaves

      Taking a lunchtime walk yesterday, I finally saw the grapes I’ve been smelling on evening walks. The grape leaves have largely vacated the vines, leaving the grapes exposed for all to see. I left them hanging for the birds and squirrels to eat. I savored them this season with my other senses, and that’s enough for me.

      This will be written and published on the tenth day of the tenth month. Two years ago, according to my line per day journal, we had a tremendous aurora borealis lighting up the skies. The great thing about a line per day journal is that we are reminded of things like that as we enter this day’s line.

      Some days bring more to wonder at than other days, but they all might be savored. The objective, of course, is to do something eventful enough to be noteworthy. Magic may or may not ensue today, but surely we can make it interesting.

      How the days fly by while we hold our hats and lean into our lives. Go for a walk in the woods, go to the orchard for apple cider donuts and pumpkins, feel the warmth of the sun counter the These are days to remember, as we live them. Whatever we do, be there for it.

    • Declaration

      My declaration
      will be
      absolute.

      An arrival
      in the here
      and the now.

      Then
      there will
      be little else to do.

      I will have become like
      the madman running
      to see the moon
      in the window,
      the hawk
      I saw tracing the cliff edge
      above the river.

      I will be the man
      I have pursued all along
      and finally caught.
      — David Whyte, Mortality My Mistress

      Declarations are nothing without action executed to conclusion. We must learn to keep our promises to ourselves and others, and to back up our words with results. We are where we are because of our actions, not because of some declaration.

      There is a growing awareness that may reveal itself through the accumulation of years. We grow wealthy given time and compounding interest. Call it wisdom or call it experience, it’s collected through deliberate action and an inclination to be present with life as it unfolds before us.

      Not all who grow old grow wise, any more than gathering years mean that we have gathered experience. Gathering is itself a deliberate act.

      Not all who age grow old. Youthful vigor is derived from receptivity multiplied by energy. We are as alive as we allow ourselves to be, no matter our age.

      If an arrival infers place, a declaration suggests direction towards something more. We may savor place while aspiring for more. At least that’s the mindset I have as I arrive at this place with an eye towards the next. Today, we are as fit and wise and wealthy as yesterday has made us. This is nothing but currency to spend as an investment in the present and future person we wish to be.

    • Enjoy Yourself

      Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think
      Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
      The years go by, as quickly as you wink
      Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think
      — The Specials, Enjoy Yourself

      Thanks Ted Lasso, for reminding me of this old gem. Joyful noise is my kind of music. I collect it, play it louder than I ought to, dance to it until the knee and ankle remind me that it’s later than I think.

      It’s all going so very quickly, isn’t it? Tempus fugit. Might as well enjoy the ride while it lasts. Sure, the world is a hot mess, the fools will always be foolish, the planet is ready to shrug humanity off for good, but all of that aside, this is the one go at things that we’ll ever have. And sure, the years go fly by. So get up, get out, and dance already.

    • Each Hard Thing

      “Unless the lake was actually frozen, I would go out on it.” On winter days, he adds, “The first four kilometres are hard because you can still feel your hands. After that it gets easier, because your hands are numb.” — Oliver Zeidler, Reigning Olympic and world champion in the men’s single sculls, article “What Makes a Champion?” from Flow

      Ever wonder at how hard it is to row a single scull against elite athletes for 2000 meters? Row 2000 meters on a rowing ergometer for time and see how you feel. It dents your soul in hurts so much. So I laughed when I read Zeidler’s quote, because “numb” applies to more than overcoming the cold. Elite athletes push aside levels of discomfort that sideline the rest of us.

      I write this fresh off a kettle bell circuit that made me question my own sanity. I made it through the workout, rested long enough to manage typing, and began typing this blog post. My rest involved reading the article quoted from above. We tend to be most open to positive action when we’ve already done something good for us. The opposite is also true, of course, so avoiding one bad habit helps us avoid a string of other bad habits.

      And this brings me back to doing hard things. Each hard thing done makes it more likely that we’ll do another hard thing, and another, and soon we’re surprising ourselves with all that we’ve accomplished in a day, a week, a year… and onward to a lifetime. That’s one reason I tend to write and publish every day, because it feeds the next hard thing I want to get done. What have we done today to make us proud of our effort? There’s still time to add something to that list.

      Ironically, the kettle bell exercise that makes me feel most alive is called a gravedigger. It will get your heart rate up quickly, and reminds me of the rhythmic swing of rowing, without the cold hands. That workout was fresh on my mind when I read the interview with Zeidler, and surely influenced my decision to seek it out in the first place. Reinforce the positive, whenever possible. Momentum ensues.

      We probably shouldn’t aspire to numbness in our lives, but pushing through discomfort to perform at a higher level is a worthy aspiration. Today’s discomfort is tomorrow’s excellence. And why wait any longer than that?

    • Something Beyond

      What did the tree learn from the earth
      to be able to talk with the sky?
      — Pablo Neruba, The Book of Questions

      I ought to stop while I’m ahead. Quote a couple of breathtaking lines from a poet and leave well enough alone. But this isn’t a quote repository, it’s a blog, so onward already.

      As I wrote this earlier today, a neighbor had an oak tree limbed up. It seems that they’ve had enough of the tree’s relentless elbowing for more room. An oak tree can be a tough neighbor, but we moved into a neighborhood that was once a forest, with a developer who took great pains to keep it as much a forest as he could. The trees act like they own the place, and we mostly let them. Still, I understand the need to preserve the house from bombardment; the acorns are bountiful this year. We do what we must to keep order in the places we call home.

      Living in a valley amongst the trees is an implied agreement. We coexist as best we can. The trees offer beauty and shade and a sense of place literally rooted in decades watching over the land. The implication of being a good neighbor is to simply do no harm while maintaining a tidy yard. We all have done our part in this respect.

      Sure, I may write about trees more than I ought to. I may also quote poems with a frequency that either inspires or repels. I follow the suggestion Cheryl Strayed’s mother once gave her to put myself in the way of beauty. Why then keep it to myself, where it will suffocate and die? Learning was never the point, it’s using what we learn to do something beyond our previous norm. If we reach far enough beyond, we may even reach extraordinary.

    • Tomorrow’s Tale

      I drove past the trailhead of a favorite walking path last week, telling myself I ought to stop for a walk. Instead I kept driving, memories of ghostly trails in long ago Octobers on my mind. ’tis the memories that haunt us, not ghosts. But some places make you believe otherwise, and that trail was one such place. I remember walking the trail one day many years ago, feeling like I was being followed. Of course, there was nothing there but swirling leaves, and yet I’m still being followed by the memory.

      I have no fear of supernatural beings, and I have never heard it said that so much harm had been done by the dead during 6,000 years as is wrought by the living in one single day.” — Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      I know people who believe in all sorts of things. Belief is a funny thing, or a tragic thing, depending on where those beliefs lead a person. It’s when someone demands that their beliefs must be our beliefs too that things get rather complicated.

      That trailhead attracted me more for the fond memories of lunchtime walks early in my career, before life got busy and the world got insane. We all have moments in our lives that whisper to us, even something as simply as a trail through the woods on an autumn day. It was the trees that I remember, not as ghosts, but as a welcome respite from an office cubicle.

      The lesson was then, and is now, to get outside and listen to what the universe has to tell us. Tomorrows memories are made today. Whether we make it a fairy tale or a ghost story, the choice is ours.

    • Last Chance

      Look, I want to love this world
      as though it’s the last chance I’m ever going to get
      to be alive
      and know it.
      — Mary Oliver, October

      A hot air balloon landed just down the street this morning. The pup growled slowly, deciding whether to bark or to let it go. I spoke to her soothingly, suggesting now was not the time to bark. She generally goes the way I go on such things (a fact that I’ve abused for sophomoric pleasure). Indeed, it would be a lovely morning for a balloon ride, but I used the morning to browse online for houses or boats instead. One day the world will align on the perfect example of each, but alas, not today.

      Perhaps October was an easy choice to quote from, yet I don’t believe I’ve ever used it in any of the eight Octobers that I’ve been writing this blog, nor in the countless Mary Oliver poems that I’ve sampled from. As its name infers, October was originally the eighth month of the year, and the eighth year of writing this blog ought to inspire me to do something memorable with it. Like new homes and new boats, the chances are good that things will remain the same for a while longer.

      The pup sighs and looks at me again, wondering when we’re going to go for a walk. The balloon people have packed up and moved on to mimosas in some parking lot somewhere. The morning’s browsing has done nothing to move the needle on progressing towards change, so I guess we’ll just need to settle in for another October in New Hampshire. That’s not such a bad consolation, is it? We only have so many magical months to savor. Might as well reward the pup’s patience and have a look about.

    • Once Devoted

      “So, preferring death to capture, I accomplished the most astonishing of deeds, and which, more than once, showed me that the too great care we take of our bodies is the only obstacle to the success of those projects which require rapid decision and vigorous and determined execution. In reality, when you have once devoted your life, you are no longer the equal of other men, or rather other men are no longer your equals; and whosoever has taken this resolution feels his strength and resources doubled.” — Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      As I march through a thousand pages of The Count of Monte Cristo, I wonder why I used this book for years as nothing more than a way to lift my laptop up a couple of inches for a better Teams shot. I know the answer already; I simply wasn’t ready to read it then. Now I am and I use the time to devour it. In reading, I mine golden nuggets like the quote above, to ponder and write about.

      Most of us barely scratch the surface of our potential, but the truly great among us reach levels hardly imagined by the average. And thank goodness for that! Who are the average to determine the heights to which the great may reach? Do we wonder at such things as personal excellence nearly enough, or are we content to just be what we’ve always been? Just who are we to wallow in average when arete whispers to us, “Just ahead, if you’ll only keep going beyond this present level.”

      Perhaps we may agree that purposeful action elevates us beyond the norm. We may disagree on whether we ought to be chasing such dreams, when things are comfortable enough as they are. It’s okay to be average, it’s okay to settle; it’s just not excellence. The point is, there’s still time to exceed our expectations of ourselves. At least for now. There’s still time to do and dare, but dare not wait a moment longer.