Alexandersmap

    Author: nhcarmichael

    • Dancing in our Seats

      “To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful… This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking” – Agnes De Mille

      “It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance.” – Xiaolu Guo

      Out for dinner with my bride on a Friday night,
      the place packed like it used to be
      before pandemics
      and not a mask in sight
      Obviously everyone is vaccinated…
      right?

      I know, that poem needs a lot of work, but this isn’t a post about the poem, but the moment. A packed tavern, literally hundreds of people jammed into the building for a wedding down the hall, trickling over to celebrate in the tavern. A mile from our home and looking around we don’t know a soul in there. Even the waitstaff is entirely new. So forget social bubbles, the place was bursting.

      And, it seems, if we are to compare COVID to the Spanish Flu from a century ago, we’ve entered the roaring 20’s phase of our collective story about the pandemic. And honestly, there’s a big part of me that’s ready to dance again. We’ve done our part, socially isolating, getting vaccinated, and trusting the science. At what point do you just get out there and start living again?

      My bride and I are sitting at a hightop table in the back corner of the tavern, having drinks and dinner. Laughter and conversation all around us. And the music pumping through the sound system is the hits of the disco era. One hit wonders and big boogie groove things pulsing through the crowd. And I see my bride transform into the kid I fell in love with, twinkle in her eye and dancing in her seat song after song. And I dance a bit myself, just a bit, and smile in the moment.

      We’re out, and outside ourselves. If this place had a dance floor we’d have been on it. Without one we dance in our seats, waiting for our meals and another round. And life ever so slowly begins to be a celebration of all its possibilities. Glory on earth, once again.

    • Roses Rise

      and out of the silent dirt
      the blood-red roses rise.
      – Mary Oliver, Both Worlds

      The tea roses bloom in abundance in June, and reward you with blooms in bursts of fragrant joy the rest of the season. This is the time when rose petals pile up like seaweed at the edge of the surf, for the dance is so very brief for each individual flower before it rains down to the dirt to make way for the next budding star.

      I’m considered a tall man, and the tea roses reach up to my height, wanting very much to overtake the neighboring crab apple tree and maybe even the oaks should they be so bold. Tea roses love to dance with the sky, to catch the breeze and perfume the air with their subtle scent. Year-after-year they return, despite the relative neglect they receive compared with the pampered annuals.

      I’ve held this line from Mary Oliver in my mind since winter. I thought then of the blooming tea roses (pink, not red in the garden I’m subservient to). Winter is a time of dormancy and darkness, not at all the explosion of delight that June offers in New Hampshire. Each year the blooms are a miracle, and I gratefully celebrate their return.

      For all my talk of travel and exploring the world, I bask in this short time together with the roses each year around this time. A time when the roses rise to meet me at eye level. As if to ask me, why would you ever want to leave us?

      Tea Rose Time

    • What’s the Score?

      “Many people need desperately to receive this message: ‘I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.” – Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake

      I’ve realized recently that the things I was so good at before the pandemic, things like travel and meeting with people, are different now. I’m different now. It’s almost like starting over again. And maybe we all are.

      People are coming out again at their own pace. Lately I’ve been with some people who I haven’t physically seen since the pandemic began. It’s like seeing an old friend from school years later. Filling in the holes in your lives since you last saw each other, figuring out who’s been up to what. Looking someone squarely in the eyes and asking them, so what’s the score? Are you doing okay after all of this?

      Vonnegut has another great quote, one I’ve used before in this blog, about being trapped in the amber of the moment. We’ve all been trapped in amber, and in many ways we still are. The world isn’t anywhere near normal yet, it’s just slowly getting back to it. This amber is tricky to navigate through.

      I’m no longer sure what the score is. All I’m sure about is that the game has changed. We all have, haven’t we? But slowly, we are once again a part of something, and – hopefully – less apart.

    • Beauty, Reflected

      “When Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.
      “Why do you weep?” the goddesses asked.
      “I weep for Narcissus,” the lake replied.
      “Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus,” they said, “for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand.”
      “But . . . was Narcissus beautiful?” the lake asked.
      “Who better than you to know that?” the goddesses said in wonder. “After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!”
      The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said:
      “I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.”
      – Paulo Coelho, Prologue to The Alchemist

      Great writing reflects. It collects the beautiful essence of living in this world and polishes it up to reflect back on the reader. It’s what any writer worth their salt aspires to. It’s what I aspire to here and elsewhere. Call this blog a work in progress. What is published daily isn’t as polished as a Fleetwood Mac song, you get maybe the second or third draft here. But I try like hell to make it worth our collective time.

      The garden is well past the dance of the Daffodils. Maybe the timing of this quote should have been aligned with their peak, but looking back on my posts from that time I see my focus turned towards other things in this world. Such is the way with writing, you can’t possibly capture it all. The very process of focusing on one thing allows other things to escape notice.

      In all art you hold up the mirror in the moment, reflecting what you can with the tools you have at hand. Developing an eye for beauty is perhaps the most important thing any artist can aspire to, more than a steady hand or a grasp of the nuance of language or paint colors or lenses. An eye for the beautiful allows us to see what others might miss. And in seeing it, attempt to reflect it back on the world.

      Narcissists aren’t generally looked upon favorably. The brilliant turn in Coelho’s prologue is in showing that even Narcissus inadvertently offered something to another. To write at all is to wrestle with the narcissism within. To expect greatness of ourselves is bold, just who are we serving in our attempts? Nothing smacks the ego like the silence of the universe when you say “ta da!”

      The hardest part of creating something is seeing the beauty and not measuring up to it with your reflection of it. But each clumsy attempt brings us a bit closer to the possible. Beauty, reflected, casts a light on both sender and receiver. The best work will come. That which is beautiful patiently sparkles in anticipation of you seeing the best in yourself through your efforts. And, maybe, lighting up the world.

      But do try not to drown in your reflection.

    • Wiggle Your Way Out

      “Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon.”
      – Edward Lear

      The moments I feel euphoric are when I’m outside of myself. Dancing, rowing, celebrating life with others, walking in the clouds or swimming below the surface. I think this is common for all humans, we’re most miserable when we’re bottled up and feeling the pressure. Pop that cork and pour out the worst of it. For there is life to be lived.

      When the world weighs you down, wiggle your way out. Move. Dance your way free of the madness. Walk until you forget what you’re walking away from. Climb so high that you lose sight of the troubles you left far below.

      Simple, right?

      The world is more complicated than that, of course. But state changes happen when we engage the body in the conversation, not just the mind. We get so focused on the challenges that we forget to move. That kind of conversation is a bit too one-sided.

      The world could use a collective wiggle. All of us out there in celebration of our short dance together. Imagine the stories. Imagine the joyful euphoria. Dancing by the light of the moon, hand in hand.

    • The Magical Hours

      Water patterns reflect on the tree trunks, illuminating the bark and lichen in a dance of morning light. The wave patterns slowly fade as my bathing suit air dries in the early warmth. Birds and chipmunks fill the air with a soundtrack of their greatest hits. It’s going to be a scorcher today, they seemed to agree.

      The house wren that moved into the bluebird house dominates the conversation, but the chipmunks have a lot to say too. Until I stand up and abruptly reset the agenda from banter to assessing the new guy. In the sudden hush I catch the sound of a woodpecker, unseen, seeking a meal in a tree somewhere in the woods. The bass tone indicates deep work.

      It’s such a short time, these magical hours spent in outdoor spaces when everything in the world just seems perfect. No bugs, no pollen, no shoes, no problems. That these days exist at all is a blessing. I imagine this is why people live in Southern California, where every day is this kind of perfect. Here we take what we can get while it’s here, and boy do we love it when it’s here.

      Early mornings are reserved for the knowing few. I catch a glimpse of a neighbor out watering potted plants as I do the same with my own. We nod a greeting to each other and return to the work at hand.

      The garden isn’t the same as Mother Nature. Magic doesn’t just happen in a garden, you’ve got to put the work in. These are the days when you’re rewarded (or punished) for the work invested in a yard and garden. Harvest is still weeks or months away for the vegetables, but we’re entering peak season for the flowers.

      How do you know when you’ve reached a peak? When the world aligns in moments of wonder? When everything just seems to click for you? Or do you have to wait until you’ve declined from your peak, when things aren’t going as well and you see, maybe for the first time, just how good that moment was?

      I’m past peak when it comes to athletic performance, but haven’t yet peaked in my learning. If fitness is the flowers in your garden, learning and mental development is the fruits and vegetables, often taking until the very end of the season to fully develop. Like flowers your fitness level doesn’t have to stop midway through your season, and like vegetables you can find enlightenment well before the end of your season.

      There are no hard and fast rules in life or gardening, but there are seasons to honor and work to do in each. In each day there are moments available to appreciate the blessings that have come your way. Those magical hours that seem to fly by so quickly when life seems just about perfect in every way.

    • Choosing to Be

      “Every individual has a place to fill in the world, and is important, in some respect, whether he chooses to be so or not.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

      The ground rules are simple, really. You either embrace where you are in this world or you don’t. Some folks are quite happy with where they landed in life. But if you aren’t amongst the blissful few, you can join the chorus of disenfranchised, low agency complainers whoo thrive on misery. Or maybe choose to be something else. To work on that alternate vision for your one wild and precious life.

      Be means a few things. To be is to continue. Fine. But it can also mean to act. To do. Be is a choice.

      Choosing to be engaged, to be a part of things instead of apart from things, to be alive while you’re living, these are the things that fill the world with your individualism. Your uniqueness. That vibrant otherness that is different from the rest.

      Choosing to be out there, doing things, building things, making connections. Seeing things. Learning to understand and feeling the hunger pangs that come with knowing you don’t know enough.

      If you’re reading this you woke up this morning, which straight off makes it a good start. What will we not settle for? What burns inside us, waiting for us to set free to fill the world with? What will we choose to be?

      This might all feel like fluffy prose. I get that and write it seeing the eye rolls from a few of you. But what’s the alternative to choosing to be something more? Something less? More of the same old, same old?

      Screw that. Be so much more. Go fill the world.

    • Smaller Bites

      George Bailey : [George hears a train whistle] There she blows. You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are?
      Uncle Billy : Uh huh. Breakfast is served; lunch is served; dinner…
      George Bailey : No no no no. Anchor chains, plane motors and train whistles.
      – Scene from It’s a Wonderful Life

      I’m eager to get back out in the world again. That’s no secret to readers of this blog. And really, I could go at any time now. But this is a time of graduations and funerals postponed while the pandemic was raging. Of catching up with people you haven’t seen face-to-face for a long time. And celebrating the freedom that comes with being fully vaccinated even as we remember what we lost along the way.

      “Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.” – Og Mandino

      I’m not the sort to walk away from people. I see a lot of myself in George Bailey. I don’t subscribe to the concept of “ghosting” someone. I check in on the neighbors, friends and relatives and generally hold things together, remaining available for those who want or need to reach out. And this works out to be a richer life for having done so. The trade-off in time to explore the unknown remains in my mind even as I embrace the moments with connections.

      Connections… You’ve gotten better at them over the years, but that cold stoic exterior is tough to penetrate. You learn to drop it and get busy living as life progresses. As you recognize that moments are fleeting and people come and go from your circle.

      We’ve only just begun to know each other, really, when they announce that it’s last call. Do you want that last conversation you might ever have with a person to be a checkbox of bland “how’s it going?” questions or a deeper dive into the soul of the person you’re engaged with? There are two ways to ask that question: the surface level way and the grab you by the hands, look squarely in your eyes and mean it way.

      This world wants to divide us. It wants to cancel people, categorize people, shun those with differing opinions. We all tell ourselves stories, and we all wonder what the hell that other person is thinking when they expose their beliefs. Who’s right?

      Who cares? We aren’t going to get anywhere in this world if we don’t start living empathically and seeking to understand the underlying story that frames someone’s worldview. For the world to progress, we must learn to see past the party affiliations, nationality, skin color, orientation and generational biases and learn to connect human-to-human. For we might never have this opportunity to engage with each other again.

      Worldview… How do you gain a bigger worldview if you don’t get out and see the world? Well, maybe by taking smaller bites. Human-to-human interaction instead of continent-to-continent leaping. At least for now. He said. Convincingly. And wrote a poem to boil all these words down into 23. For George. But also for me:

      So, my friend
      I know I keep asking,
      “when are we going?”

      but, you know
      what I really meant was,
      “how’s it going?”

    • Leaving Long Shadows

      “Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

      The march through time continues. What will the shadow that we cast behind our lives look like? I’m reading through a couple of weighty tomes that run through evolution. Don’t know why the stars aligned in such a way that I’m diving deep into evolution at this particular moment, but here we are.

      Maybe it was the subject matter but I absently sketched a dinosaur on a notepad and thought about these giants who came and went millions of years ago. Millions. So what is a hundred years or so for us? Not a whole lot.

      Or maybe it’s enough, if you use it well.

      The point is, we’re all leaving shadows behind us. What will our shadows be? Long and notable or brief and forgettable? In some ways it doesn’t matter when you look at life through the lens of millions of years. But then again, doesn’t it all matter in the end?

      This planet has been spinning around in the universe for billions of years. Dinosaurs roamed millions of years ago. These are big numbers. But this? This is our time. Shouldn’t we make the most of it, and leave the longest shadow we can? I should think so.

      Time Flies

    • Breaking from the Routine

      “If you wanna fly you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.” – Toni Morrison

      It’s simple, really. You decide what to be and go be it. But then the excuses begin. The commitments. The stuff to do. The comfortable routines that drag you back to reality (the reality you choose) and keep you right where you were yesterday and where you’ll be tomorrow.

      Habits are a path to fitness, wealth, knowledge and power. But habits are also a path to sloth, financial stress, mindless binge watching and low agency. The choice, friends, is ours.

      Do you really want to fly? Then break away from the things that hold you down (Morrison put it more succinctly). That might be stuff, mortgages, and relationships, or it might simply be habits. More likely it’s a combination of both.

      There are very legitimate reasons for not traveling right now. But no reason not to explore. To get up early and ride or walk to places nearby that you’ve never seen before. Burning calories and firing up the imagination.

      The pandemic either jolted you free of the routines that held you back or boxed you more tightly in. The fitness world exploded last year even as it imploded. You couldn’t get a bike or kayak or pair of snowshoes to save your life. But you could walk out the door and keep walking until you reached your goal. You don’t need stuff to fly. You need courage to break away.

      I picked up one of the barbell plates stacked neatly on the weight rack and walked around with it for a while. It was exactly the weight that I wanted to lose. Exactly what I was already carrying around with me with the excuses for not losing it. It was a wake-up call. A reminder of what I’ve drifted away from lately. Of what I’d drifted to.

      If you want to fly, you can’t be weighed down with shit. This applies equally well to anything that matters: reaching peak fitness, accumulating knowledge, reaching peak earning power, and efficiently exploring the world.

      I put that weight plate back on the rack and then walked around without it, looking at the accumulation of stuff in the house, thinking about the accumulation of obligations… and recognized that the routine was quietly killing me. Something had to change. Someone has to change. And I took the first small step.