Alexandersmap

    Author: nhcarmichael

    • 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.

    • That Dreadful Routine

      “One travels to run away from routine, that dreadful routine that kills all imagination and all our capacity for enthusiasm.”— Ella Maillart

      Two years ago I chose to step away from business travel. I occasionally feel a pang of loss when a trade show in a city I love to visit comes up and I’m not there, but on the whole, I’ve enjoyed the tradeoff of dining with my bride every night and walking the dog with the stars and not-so-distant howl of coyotes for company.

      This week I met with several people who still live the life I walked away from two years ago. It’s reminded me of the old routine, and I find I don’t miss it much at all. Those early morning trips to the airport to make a flight to make a meeting in some faraway place gets old after a couple of decades of doing it.

      The fullness of our lives is in direct proportion to the creativity of our routines. The more we habituate adventure into our days, the more adventurous our lives. Likewise, the more we travel or venture out to meet other people, the more integral a part of the world we will be. We are what we repeatedly do, after all.

      Still, the travel bug never went away, it was simply channeled into travel with people I care about in places I wanted to go. The routine changed to meet new priorities. The routine will change again, no doubt, as I look to the future. We all ought to scrutinize our routines now and then to determine if it’s become a little, well, routine. And then decide what to be and go be it.

    • October Initium

      My life a spreading ring
      of quiet, like the trout’s brief
      in-breath
      at the surface of a river,
      like the slow
      outward movement of a raindrop
      spreading on a still lake.
      — David Whyte, Death Waits

      Initium is the Latin word from which initiate is derived. It simply means a beginning. Today is the first day of October, which seems an appropriate day to begin something beyond a new month. We don’t have to wait for New Year’s Day for such things as life change, we simply need to decide to begin.

      What is a great life but the steady expansion of personal experience? We are collectors of days, filled with that which enriches us. To leave a day empty feels wasteful. Do something with the gift, or squander it. We rise each day facing the same choice.

      Initiative is only the beginning. We must act upon it. On this first day of October, seize what flees. Carpe diem.

    • Lean In

      Oh we’ll talk about
      These days twenty years from now
      Lean in and look around
      The golden days are happening now
      — Layup, Golden Days

      Some days we don’t talk to a soul. Some days surprise us with more souls crossing our path than we ever expected. Today was a surprise, encountering enough old acquaintances to field a baseball team (maybe they would fare better than the one playing the Yankees as this is published). The secret? Getting out there and putting oneself in the thick of things.

      I should be watching that ball game, but instead I’m writing this blog post. I don’t view pro sports the way I used to. Or maybe I simply value my time a lot more now. As Bonnie Raitt put it, time is mighty precious now that there’s less of it to waste.

      What do we make of a day? We see a few old friends, we check off the essential few things that make a day complete, and maybe we add in one or two things that make us feel like we’ve done something more with this one day than we might have otherwise. Lean in and do that which best fills the hour, because when it comes to time, gold is made through what we do with it. Surely making gold is better than squandered hours.