Alexandersmap

    Author: nhcarmichael

    • Our Cosmic Dance Together

      “Move on to the next moment, uninfluenced by the previous one… eternal life is now, in the timeless now.” – Anthony De Mello

      It’s that time of year again, when you start thinking about time passing.  It’s not just the end of a year, it’s the end of a decade.  Whoa. Another decade passed by?   So it goes.  Ten spins through space around the sun; our cosmic dance together.  The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older…  Ain’t that the truth.  But so what?  What’s timeless anyway?  Granite?  The ocean?  Khakis? We’re all just spinning around on the same planet as it moves around the sun, and doing the best we can in our moment.

      “All you really need to do is accept this moment fully. You are then at ease in the here and now and at ease with yourself.” – Eckhart Tolle

      The more trips you take around the sun the more at ease you become with yourself.  At least for many of us.  There are plenty of people who grow more insecure with age, as if their entire identity is wrapped up in youthful beauty or athletic talent or the hustle of burning the candle at both ends.  There’s a Twitter debate going on right now about how successful people work 80+ hours per week.  That’s not my definition of success, that’s my definition of serfdom.  I’ve worked in toxic cultures before, and anyone telling you to sacrifice your life for work is toxic. Time is the ultimate currency, why give yours to a con artist with big promises? Better to dance to your own beat, I think. Eventually we all have to leave the dance floor, so why not enjoy it while we’re on it?

      So our odds of seeing 2020 improve by the hour, but if you aren’t learning and growing all you get is a better pair of New Year’s Eve glasses than 2019 offered. I’ve grown a lot this year, and I’m optimistic about the future too. Hopefully we all arrive back at this point on our next trip around the sun better for the journey. Whatever that time brings, I plan on appreciating each moment.

       

       

    • Restlessness Met Sadness And They Both Smiled In Recognition

      Life is like the 55 meter indoor hurdles run by klutzes for its briefness and the lack of elegance with which we all get through it.  Family gatherings during the holidays offer the opportunity to take stock.  How have you been and what are you dancing with now?  Jamming multiple family events into one day means not spending enough time with any one person, but instead getting quick downloads between eating too much and taking pictures for posterity and InstaGram.  The latter offers immediate notification of what you’ve been up to for your followers (some of whom are in the picture), the former is the path highlighted for you years later when everything has changed.

      In the last family event of the night, after all the caloric intake and the unwrapping of gifts and the catching up on what you’ve been up to, I realized I was way too warm and needed a walk outside in the cool air.  Looking at my watch I calculated how realistic it was to hit 10,000 steps and weighed it against the limited time I have with these people in my life.  I settled on a quick walk around the block and resigned myself to getting the rest done in the shrinking time left in the evening.  I’d get over the mark eventually, with an hour to spare in the day.  Should’ve knocked it off first thing in the morning but such are the holidays.

      When I have a goal in mind I get restless, and sitting in a chair for hours isn’t going to cut it for me, so it wasn’t long before I needed to walk around the house a bit.  So I left the crowded room to walk around the kitchen and into the formal living room, built for showing furniture that people don’t sit on.  There standing by the door was the oldest aunt of my wife, waiting for a ride home that wouldn’t come for awhile as my father-in-law chatted in the other room with my kids.  In that moment she looked like a teenager, though she is dancing with 90, waiting by the door to go.  We talked about sports she used to play, for she was a very active in tennis and skiing for much of her life, and her eyes welled up as she talked about not doing those things anymore.  We smiled and talked and eventually it was time to go and we opted to bring her back to her apartment and chatted more with her as we drove.

      My restlessness met her sadness and they recognized each other.  The sadness was rooted in her own frustrated restlessness, doomed to an older body and an aging mind battling dementia.  She missed Thanksgiving on a bad day, but on Christmas she was lucid and sharp, seeking out conversation and connection.  And we connected and smiled at stories of past glories, recent small victories and setbacks overcome.  And I thought about my own restlessness and wondered when it would meet sadness again.  We all look in the mirror and see our story.  If I’m lucky enough to get there I want the sadness in my old age to be for the things I can no longer do, not the things I never did.

    • Season’s Greetings

      “And so this is Christmas
      And what have we done
      Another year over
      A new one just begun”
      – John Lennon, Happy Xmas (War Is Over)

      Lennon always breaks through the crush of Christmas songs this time of year, challenging and reminding me that yes, another year is indeed over and what have you done?  And in 2019 it turns out I’ve done a lot, but we humans are never really satisfied are we?  So much left to do, and 2020 is just around the corner.  But today I’ll pause and reflect and be grateful.  Peace be with you.

    • A Changing New Hampshire

      It’s the morning of Christmas Eve, and the creatures are stirring. This morning I watched the horses run free on the snowy fields beyond the woods. Closing the trunk of my car, I spooked a dozen deer I hadn’t seen between those horses and me. We don’t always see what’s right in front of us.

      On mornings like this I’m grateful to live here, even as the area changes with more development encroaching on the woods and fields I take for granted. Southern New Hampshire is changing. There’s been so much development in the three towns around me that they’re piping in water from reservoirs to the north to keep up with rising demand. Politicians celebrate the increased tax revenue of Plus 55 housing that comes without the hit on the school budget that more families would bring. So conservation is an uphill battle. You either fight development or you look the other way. Unfortunately I tend to look the other way, focusing instead on career and family. But the people who get things done find a way. It’s all priorities and focus, isn’t it?

      Open land is like the deer I saw this morning. You’re so focused on other things that you don’t notice what’s right in front of you until it’s too late. As I’ve referenced before, they’re paving paradise to put up a parking lot. I’m already missing what’s gone. So what am I going to do about the rest?

    • Sorting Out The Walk

      The funny thing about walking 10,000 steps every day is that I don’t lose weight doing it.  10K is a minimum recommendation after all.  But I’m healthier for having done it.  At the very least I’m not eating or drinking when I walk, so those calories float away.  But walking 10-12K isn’t going to burn a lot of calories.  I know from experience that if I’d rowed every day for the amount of time that I walked, I’d lose weight pretty quickly.  And with the holidays here perhaps I should be rowing more to get ahead of the calories.  But I like to walk and so I do it.  I feel the mild ache in the morning and know that I’ve been doing something positive.  Back when I rowed we’d call it the good kind of sore.  That rowing soreness was a whole body sore.  Walking is a different sore altogether, but still good.

      I tend to walk early in the morning or late in the evening.  When you walk in the neighborhood in the middle of the day it turns into a chat instead of a walk.  At night the neighbors notice me walking as they drive by or call in their barking dog (thanks), and I carry a flashlight so they know it’s just me, walking again.  I give a wave and explain away this walking at night behavior with a generic “gotta get those 10,000 steps” statement, at which they smile knowingly.  Or maybe uncomfortably, as in just humor him and let’s move on.

      Walking feels like forever only when I’m trying to check that 10,000 step box.  On the treadmill this is misery because it takes so long.  Walking outside I forget that I’ve got this goal of 10K and just walk, and it just happens.  There’s a lot to be said for being outside, when outside offers solitude anyway.  Yeah, there’s that too.  I’m a social being and enjoy walking with other people, but there’s a lot to be said for walking alone too.  I try to sort things out as I walk.  I assess my general health when I walk (Why is my heart racing going up this hill?  Too much caffeine?).  Or sometimes I don’t think about anything and just look at the stars and, this time of year, the Christmas lights in the neighborhood.  But mostly I walk, and feel better for having done so.  And isn’t that the point?

    • Every Morning, So Far, I’m Alive

      “Every morning I walk like this around
      the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
      ever close, I am as good as dead

      Every morning, so far, I’m alive.  And now
      the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
      and burst up into the sky – as though

      all night they had thought of what they would like
      their lives to be, and imagined
      their strong, thick wings.”
       – Mary Oliver, Landscape

      I’m doing Mary Oliver an injustice not putting the entire poem here, for the full meaning of a poem comes from reading the entirety, but then again I’m pointing emphatically towards all of her work, imploring you to read more.  When I first read this poem, Landscape, it was a gut punch for me.  I’ve returned to it a few times and these lines still grab me, for they perfectly capture the frame of mind I’m in in my own life.  It’s not lost on me that Mary Oliver passed away in 2019, and somewhere along the way that may have been how I found and keep returning to her work.

      2019 has been a profound year of growth and change for me, from stoicism to spirituality to poetry, immersive trips to some places close to home and some bucket list travel to places further away.  There’s friction in me that the writing has revealed, whether that’s mid-life nonsense or creeping unfinished business that gnaws at me, disrupting my day-to-day thoughts.  I’ve become a better person this year, but know there’s a long way to go still.  For as much as there is to be grateful for, Memento mori whispers in the wind, and I can hear it more than ever.  Remember, we all must die…  but every morning, so far, I’m alive.  What shall you do with this gift?  More, I say to myself, and this De Mello challenge comes to mind:

      “People don’t live, most of you, you don’t live, you’re just keeping the body alive.  That’s not life.” – Anthony De Mello

      This isn’t a call to leave all that you’ve built, but instead to be fully alive and aware of the world around you.  Break off from the rest of the darkness and be fully alive.  Thoreau didn’t leave Concord, he immersed himself in the world at Walden Pond but still maintained contact with the people in his life.  But his awareness grew in the stillness.

      “Be it life or death, we crave only reality.  If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business…  Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.  I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is.  Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      So I’m doing better at this awareness thing, and this making the most of the time you have thing, and I keep flapping the wings and fly when I can.  Life isn’t just stacking one adventure upon another one, real living is immersion and awareness.  Mary Oliver joined De Mello and Thoreau on the other side of life this year, this very year that I’ve made a few leaps forward in being more alive.  Maybe adding her voice to the chorus of whispers from those who have left us was the tipping point, or maybe I was already there.  But I’m grateful for her contribution nonetheless.

    • Looking Out The Window On The Day After The Shortest Day

      I wonder what the Mourning Dove says to the squirrel as they both dine at the seed buffet dropped from the feeders to their feet.  They both look around timidly, ready to dart to safety from threats real and imagined.  But they’ve learned to coexist with each other, knowing deep inside that this other species isn’t a threat to me.  Other birds – Chickadees, Jays, Cardinals – drop seeds to the ground as they sift for that special treat for themselves (or maybe as a nod to those below), and the ground feeders take over from there.  They seem to take care of each other even as they compete for the same food.  But they don’t look at each other as food and maybe when you’re both on the same link in the food chain that’s enough.

      The coating of snow offers little in the way of camouflage for the parade of animals that move through the woods behind the house.  Protected land close to a stream is a refuge during hunting season, and a bridge between wild places the rest of the year.  Standing in front of the window, invisible to wildlife, that snow offers a spotlight on the animals that move through the woods.  This morning three deer moved quietly by, nuzzling the snow aside in search of acorns.  They’ve come to the right place and find plenty to nibble on before quietly moving on in a pattern of walk, nuzzle, eat, pop head up searching for threats, repeat.  A month ago there were ten deer walking this route, and I wonder if the cold or the hunters got the rest, or if these are just other transients moving down the wooded safe route.

      The other day I watched fourteen turkey walk through the woods in a tactical formation the Marines would be proud of, each assessing threats, stopping to see what was available to eat, moving forward with precision.  I wondered how long it would be before they found the feeders, and of course I should have known they already knew about them, they were just approaching with full situational awareness.  In a few minutes the turkeys running point were scratching the snow and nibbling seed, soon others joined them, but never more than a half dozen at a time in one spot.  The rest occupied the perimeter, with a couple rotating in now and then.  Turkey pecking order was on display, and I wished I’d had a better camera with me than my iPhone offered. But there’s no coexisting with turkeys, and the squirrels and Mourning Doves steered clear until the turkeys moved on.

      This is my version of New Hampshire, at the edge of the woods on the day after the shortest day of the year, as viewed from behind the window pane. The days are getting longer now, and I look forward to getting back outside on warm days, observing this world from outside. But I know it would be different when I’m out there, as some wildlife avoid humans. So this view offers something you don’t get outside, and today I appreciate the difference.

    • I Must Get Back To The Sea

      “The sea 
         isn’t a place
           but a fact, and
             a mystery”
      – Mary Oliver, The Waves

      It’s been less than two weeks since I’ve visited the ocean, and it feels like forever.  We’re deep into the holidays now, and the end of the quarter, the end of the year and the end of the decade.  There’s no time for the ocean right now, but on the other hand there’s no better time for the ocean.  I’m planning at least two trips to the ocean in the next week, for exercise and sanity and a bit of winter beach solitude.  I’m close enough to salt water that it’s not going to break either the time or financial banks.

      I noticed a lot of fresh water experiences in 2019, Lake Michigan, Lake Ontario and exploring a double-digit number of waterfalls in New York, New Hampshire, Connecticut and Scotland. I’m hoping 2020 brings even more opportunities to ponder the mysteries of the ocean.  I know I have a good head start teed up for New Year’s Day.  For today, I’m using this Mary Oliver quote as inspiration for a four of my favorite moments with salt water in 2019.  

      Camusdarach Beach: My bucket list beach, and I’m grateful I had the chance to check this box in 2019. Sure, it was a rainy November day, but it was still as beautiful as I’d hoped it would be. I’m already plotting a return.

      Plum Island: My go-to winter beach, close to home and blissfully isolated on a cold weekday. My lunchtime walk was my favorite long walk on a beach this year.

      Sailing on Fayaway: I shake my head thinking I only went sailing once this year, which was the fewest number of times on a sailboat I’ve had in years. I’m grateful for the crew of Fayaway for giving me the opportunity to sail with them. I’ll get out more in 2020, I promise myself.

      Buzzards Bay: Home away from home. The sunsets are stunning, but I’m partial to the sunrises. Swimming in Buzzards Bay doesn’t offer surf action, but it makes up for it with warm, salty water you can float in forever. At least I wish sometimes it were forever. The last swim of the year is always bittersweet, and, like sailing, I always hope for more next year.

      We only have so many days, where do you prioritize the time you have? If I’ve learned anything in reviewing the year, it’s that I need to double down on my time with salt water. On the beach, on an oceanside trail, on a boat, or swimming in it, I must get back to the sea.

    • International Arrivals Gate

      You want people watching with stakes? Hang out at the International Arrivals gate for awhile. Hugs and smiles and screams and tears are commonplace at Arrivals, but every reunion is different. That stoic gentleman standing next to you? That teenager feigning indifference? They light up when that special person walks through the International Arrivals gate, with waves and shouts and a run through the crowd for giant welcome hugs.

      The International Arrivals gate is an amplified version of the Domestic Arrivals gate, not just for the distance traveled to get these people face-to-face with each other, but for the big differentiator in International: the reveal. As a passenger you walk off the plane, walk twenty miles to check into the country, stand in line for customs, and then to baggage claim. This process can take minutes or hours, all the while your loved ones await unseen on the other side of a secure door, watching the doors open, hopes rise, but ahh… someone else walking through. Someone else’s reunion, with flowers and signs and joyful celebration. The reveal amplifies the intensity. The anticipation grows, and the doors open and you watch another reunion, and another… until finally you see the person you’re there for and it’s your turn to turn from stoic stranger to wild hand-waver and giant bear-hugger.

      As you roll overstuffed bags around the crowd of people staring past you at the gate waiting for the next reveal, it emphasizes our human connection. We’re all the same, really, and we’re all in this together. The International Arrivals gate shows people letting their guard down and being humans connected to other humans. None of the divisive nonsense, just reconnection. And that’s what brought me there too. Reconnection. It’s nice to have the nest full again, if only for a little while.

    • Sunrise in Bitter Cold

      It’s no secret in my world that I’m a sunrise junky.  There’s nothing wrong with sunsets, and I love a good one as much as anyone, but there’s something to be said for earning the show the way getting up early for a sunrise does.  There’s also the mindset of the beginning, rather than the ending to the day that I appreciate.  I like beginnings it seems.

      This morning the sunrise rose over the hills, split into fragmented rays by the trees in the woods, and finally reached my face as I did some outdoor chores before work.  It’s been bitter cold the last few days, but the sun would have none of my complaints.  Blame your Mother for turning a cold shoulder on me, the sun seems to say.  And I nod, silently thankful for the warmth that does reach me.  And I thought of a beautiful turn of words from this Mary Oliver poem that I’d read recently, appropriately named Sunrise, “it is another one of the ways to enter fire”:

      “… I thought
      how the sun

      blazes
      for everyone just
      so joyfully
      as it rises

      under the lashes
      of my own eyes, and I thought
      I am so many!
      What is my name?

      What is the name
      of the deep breath I would take
      over and over
      for all of us?  Call it

      whatever you want, it is
      happiness, it is another one
      of the ways to enter
      fire.”
      Mary Oliver, Sunrise