Alexandersmap

    Author: nhcarmichael

    • State Change

      Everything has changed. Well almost everything. New sounds; I’ve never heard that dog bark before. The rumble and back-up beeping of construction equipment is new too. Seems to be road work happening at the top of the hill. A young squirrel is working the oak tree in the neighbors’ yard and there’s a constant drip of acorns plummeting through the leaves and thumping onto the ground.  Seems early for the dropping acorns but the squirrel seems to know more than I do about the matter.

      Some birds remain, like the brown thrasher I spent all summer trying to figure out. But the bluebirds are gone, and with them the feeling of early summer. Some new birds sing but I can’t place them. Migrating from someplace to another destination, with a quick stop in my neighborhood. I don’t know birds like I know some other things. But the more I know about anything the less I seem to know about that very thing.  Such is the way of the world.  I’ve learned to respect the journey of self-education, and hate myself for falling into the trap of thinking I know everything about anything.  Worse still is acting so.  Better to be open to the world around you; a sponge not a bullhorn.  There are far too many bullhorns already.

      Autumn is in the air. I felt it on Buzzards Bay as the winds shifted. This is first day of school bus stop air, and we aren’t yet halfway through August. And here in New Hampshire with the cool, humid air and white noise background buzz of crickets singing their late summer song.  Getting outside away from media opens the senses and the mind alike.  But other changes are in the air. A quarter of the family flying to London soon state change kind of air.  Another quarter entering senior year in college kind of air.  And what are we doing in this big house with all this stuff kind of air.

      Gone for a week and everything is different.  It would have been different if I’d been here too, but the daily gradual change isn’t noticed the way it is when you step away for a bit. Everything changes constantly. And so do I. A little for the better in some ways, a little for the worse in others, but generally more growth than decline. We all know what the ultimate end game is, but that doesn’t mean you have to live like you’re dead already. I know too many people who live in virtual bubble wrap, watching the world pass them by. I want to shake them loose, and whatever cobwebs I’ve grown myself, and shout “Embrace the changes; there’s magic in the air if you’ll only feel it!”

      I have a drive to Connecticut to get to.  That drive brings me from New Hampshire through Massachusetts to Connecticut, then the reverse this evening for the drive back.  Four hour round trip drive time, and more like seven hours with meetings thrown in the mix.  I could probably stay overnight in Connecticut, but there are compelling reasons to get back home this week, and so I’ll do the round trip instead.  My state change is both literal and figurative today.  But I do enjoy the journey.

    • On Writing and Ritual

      This morning the blues were running into shore again, hundreds of thousands of silvery fry swam in unison to escape the feeding frenzy, growing swirls of terns cried out in ecstatic approval as the desperate columns of fry rose to the surface. Individual fry break for the sky, betraying their unspoken vow of safety in numbers only to prove the point as they’re plucked from the air by the terns hovering for just such a moment. Removed from this frenetic dance of life and death by my place on shore and the couple of notches up the food chain humans are offered, I contemplate the cooler, autumn-like air and the changes to come in the next few weeks.

      “When we take our time and focus in depth, when we trust that going through a process of months or years will bring us mastery, we work with the grain of this marvelous instrument that developed over millions of years. We move infallibly to higher and higher levels of intelligence. We practice and make things with skill. We learn to think for ourselves. We become capable of handling complex situations without being overwhelmed. In following this path we become Homo magister, man or woman the Master. – Robert Greene, Mastery

      I’m a long way from mastery in writing, but I enjoy the pursuit. The daily ritual of observation, contemplation and expression offers me the opportunity to improve my skill set, and perhaps live up to the declaration made by Mr. Harding in that high school English class when he handed back our papers, looked at me and announced to all that would hear, “You will be a writer someday”. 35 years of active avoidance later, I’m finally getting around to it. Or more accurately, putting it out there. Robert Greene writes of focus in depth, and I sense that in the ritual. It bears fruit in productivity, and is its own reward in transformation. Shame that I waited, but I’m writing now and will do so every day that I’m given.

      “If you wait for inspiration to write you’re not a writer, you’re a waiter.” – Dan Poynter

      “I like myself better when I’m writing regularly.” – Willie Nelson

      The sunrise was lovely this morning, but not spectacular. No clouds in the sky, just a brightening orange sky and an eruption of flame as the sun rose up once again. Cape Cod offers a different perspective than New Hampshire, there’s nothing shocking in that statement but the obviousness of it. The last week was a change of scenery as I save vacation time for big travel to come. So the mornings offered me the state change that the rest of the day couldn’t. Even in this there’s nothing new, save for the ritual that documents it. Daily writing offers the opportunity to discover the spectacular. Like the sunrise often it doesn’t reach that level but it can still be pretty good, and I’m better for having done it.

    • Raising the Average

      “Perfection is the enemy of action.” – Ryan Holiday, The Daily Stoic

      Somehow I haven’t found the time to walk five miles every day this week. Busy with stuff. Like finding excuses to not get some exercise. But somehow I’ve managed to knock off a dozen burpees every day. Granted, it’s a small token of daily fitness, but I haven’t broken the streak yet. I’ve established a cadence with burpees. It’s a form of daily ritual, a small gesture towards fitness. It won’t close the gap on its own but it gives me some measure of achievement.

      Seth Godin mentioned in an interview that he writes multiple blog posts every day, essentially building a library of possibilities to post. I have no such library. Instead I write as inspiration strikes, usually in the morning but sometimes late in the day. But I post daily to keep the streak alive, typos and all. I’m not writing a masterpiece, though I surely try. The cadence is what I’m focused on. Hopefully the content meets expectations on occasion.

      Every morning this week I’ve gotten up for the sunrise, alone to catch the sun break the horizon. There’s a feeling of hope for this new day, as there was yesterday and hopefully tomorrow. I haven’t had a perfect day yet this week, but I’ve had good days nonetheless. Perfect days are evasive creatures; I’ll take great days or even average days. Average is still pretty good when you look at how dark the world can be. I woke up today (bonus!), saw a sunrise, sipped some coffee and read a bit of meaningful prose. I’ll take that kind of start any day. Chasing perfection leads you down a path of never good enough, which leads to the darkness. I choose the light, errors and all.

      There’s a great article about Dalilah Muhammad’s world record 400 meter hurdle run in Sports Illustrated this week. She ran an imperfect race, but she didn’t need perfection to get the WR because she’d worked so hard to be at a level of performance where an average race was still far ahead of the perfect race for someone else was. There’s a lesson there for all of us. We can’t reach perfection but by continually raising the bar in our own lives we can reach levels of greatness in our pursuits. Steady improvement over time moves us closer. That seems healthier than never good enough.

    • One Token Ripple

      This morning I stood out on the jetty well before sunrise looking for the pre-event light show. Not much aside from the building gray-to-white-to-orange glow. Limited cloud action and such. As I stood there waiting for the moment I heard the unmistakable momentum of the swells begin building on the rocks and retreated back to higher ground before my shoes soaked through. The wake of some unknown boater from some time before reached the place where I stood. Their ripple intersected with mine and I was the wetter for it.

      Turning around to scan the horizon for my mysterious boater friend, I saw the glint of first orange light up the windows of some house in Marion. They owned the earlier sunrise while I waited for the sun to clear the hills of Pocasset. Turning back to the east I waited out the climb until finally the dark hills caught fire and I became part of the new day too.

      Walking back to the beach I saw footprints and tire tracks below the high tide mark and realized I wasn’t the first one on the beach this morning. Like Robinson Crusoe I recognized I wasn’t alone. Less a shock to me. As the active fishing community here starts their day during my deep sleep stage. I rise early, they rise in the middle of the night.

      I read yesterday that there have been an estimated 107 billion people. I’ve felt the ripple of a small percentage of them, but have been touched by untold others. People I’ve never met, like the boater who’s wake got my feet wet this morning, or the Army Core of Engineers who built the jetty I stood on when it washed over. Or the carpenter who installed those windows betraying the coming sun in Marion. Authors read, and those who influenced them in turn. A chain of 107 billion links; of those who came before and those amongst us still.

      Two cups of coffee later in conversation with a friend who’s ripple has been more profound, we heard the slapping water and boiling sound of a bluefish run right into the beach. Walking down to the water line we watched the swirling ballet of bluefish and fry dance right to the sand and back out again. I saw the reflection of four fry on the sand that had leaped out of the water to escape the frenzy. Scooping them up I flicked them back into the bay one at a time. Perhaps they’ll survive to adulthood and feed some family a year from now. Or avoid that fate and spawn another generation. Impossible to know, but whatever happens to them, it’s one token ripple sent to the future.

    • Osprey

      Few birds inspire awe like an osprey as it hovers and dives 30-40 feet to pluck a seafood dinner out of the bay. I’m grateful for digital cameras as I wasted plenty of shots trying to do the osprey hunting overhead justice. Surely a better photographer than me could capture this raptor more impressively, but here is my attempt to capture the majesty of the osprey.

      Buzzards Bay got its name from explorers confusing osprey with buzzards. I don’t dwell much on buzzards, but appreciate the deft flying skill of the osprey as they search for prey or dance together in the sky. They’re the original navy pilots, striking terror in the hearts of fish and small critters alike. Top guns of the bay.

    • The Stack

      I started last weekend with seven books I wanted to finish. It’s now Wednesday and I’m at nine. The stack grows faster than I can read it. It’s an endless climb, and I can’t say I’m thrilled about it.

      Life is full of choices. What to eat, who to spend your time with, where to work, what to watch, what to wear… endless choices. Reading is another choice, and so is what you read. I’ve decided to be as aggressive with paring down books as I am with choosing what I watch on television. If it’s not grabbing me by the shoulders and screaming look! or isn’t providing useful information that moves me forward then I’m simply not sticking with it.

      Perhaps I’ll miss out on something, but more likely than not I’ll read more, finish the good stuff and give myself permission to get rid of the rest. Enough with partially read but never finished piles on the bed stand or clogging up the Kindle app. It’s time to downsize the marginally interesting to make room for the highly compelling.

    • Diminishing Returns vs. Compound Interest

      Sunrises don’t suffer from the law of diminishing returns the way sunrise pictures do. Getting up for the sunrise in the summer means getting up early, and you’re either in or you aren’t. Yesterday morning I lingered in bed a few minutes too long and missed the sun breaking the horizon. This morning I made a point of catching that moment and still missed it by five minutes. But I managed to witness a decent show nonetheless.

      The thing about sunrises is that once you’re up and experiencing it you recognize it was worth the effort. The thing about sunrise pictures is that they become too much of a good thing already! Too many sunrise pictures on social media and you experience the law of diminishing returns. People like the first, but by the third day in a row of posting that sunrise (or sunset) they’ve had just about enough of you. Best to practice a bit of moderation already. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all.

      The first cup of coffee offers a thrill you don’t get on the second cup. Wrapping your hands around a hot mug of coffee and taking that first sip is right up there with that sunrise for sensory thrills. The last sip in that mug is just trying to capture the last of the fading heat before the dreaded lukewarm blahness takes over. You have the second cup to recapture that thrill but alas it’s not the same (but so worth it anyway). By the third cup the magic is completely gone, you’re just in maintenance mode. If you have another you start questioning your choices in life. Such is the nature of diminishing returns.

      The nature of addiction is similar to that coffee experience; always searching for that thrill, increasing the dose, continuing past the point where you know you should stop. I’m simplifying it and have seen too many people struggle with addiction to treat the topic cavalierly, but I think about it because I’m challenged on it. People toss the word addiction around lightly. I’m not addicted to coffee, but I dance on the edge with it. So too with other things. I’ve danced with the topic of how much is healthy and how much is too much? on many habits; alcohol, coffee, Words With Friends, social media… blogging.

      My wife runs almost every day, and has since well before I met her more than a quarter century ago. She’s a better person after a run when she hasn’t run in a few days. As with coffee so too with exercise: Too much of a good thing offers diminishing returns at best and injury to self at worst. I’ve seen her go beyond her comfort level in training for stretch goals and become injured. 5K to half marathon is her natural range and she thrives in it. Her habit loop is generally very positive and has given her a lifetime of good health and energy in return.

      Self-awareness helps you develop good habits, and so do the people you surround yourself with. If you’re truly the average of the five people you associate with the most, then surely having those five be purpose-driven, physically active, supportive friends is better than the five being aimless, hard-living and dismissive acquaintances would be. Coming back to diminishing returns, those five will reinforce that first, second and third act of a habit. Do one more rep versus have another drink. Habits become more about reinforcing identity and less about the result of an individual act. The return over time builds on itself. The return on moderation, consistent exercise, getting proper sleep and reinforcing good habits with a network of positive influences in your life is the opposite of diminishing returns, it’s compound interest.

      A lifetime of getting up early and seeing the sunrise has generally benefited me more than staying up late watching television or closing out the bar would have been. There’s a place for those things too, but I’ve found the benefits of staying up late offers diminishing returns as I get older while getting up and getting the heart rate up, reading a bit and writing has given me compound interest. And after all, are we riding the wave to the beach or sliding sideways to the curve? The end might be the same but the journey should be more interesting along the way.

    • Kalmar Nyckel

      The Mayflower is famous as the ship that brought the English Pilgrims to settle in Massachusetts Bay in 1620.  Less famous (in the northeast anyway) is the ship that brought Swedish settlers to the lower Delaware River (roughly where present-day Wilmington is) in 1638.  This began the wave of Dutch settlement in the region, largely focused from Philadelphia to Manhattan (New Amsterdam).  This morning I watched a replica of the Kalmar Nyckel motor down Buzzards Bay on her way to visit the Hudson River Maritime Museum in Kingston, New York.  That prompted me to look into the history of this ship I should have known a lot more about.  Sometimes you need the world to remind you of what you don’t know.

      The Kalmar Nyckel was built in Sweden in 1625 and named after the Swedish city Kalmar.  She had two moments in her history that should make the name more familiar than it is.  The Kalmar Nyckel’s most famous moment occurred in 1637, when Governor Peter Minuit negotiated the purchase of land from the sachems of the Delawares and Susquehannocks in the cabin of the Kalmar Nyckel on the shore of what is now Manhattan.  This transaction transferred ownership of the most expensive piece of land in North America from the Native American population to the Dutch, and lives in infamy as the most one-sided transaction ever.  The next year the Kalmar Nyckel sailed to Fort Christina (Wilmington, DE) with that first group of settlers, marking her as the first ship to bring Swedish settlers to America.

      The Kalmar Nyckel was sunk by the British Navy off the coast of Scotland in 1652, in the early stages of the First Anglo-Dutch War.  Her most famous passenger, Governor Peter Minuit, died off the coast of St. Christopher the same year that Kalmar Nickel was delivering settlers to Fort Christina in 1638, either the unlucky victim of a hurricane or a murder plot, depending on who’s account you believe.  Either way, the Kalmar Nyckel would outlive the governor by 14 years.

    • Collectively More Jaded

      In 2016 we took a family vacation to Orlando the same week that a pop singer was murdered there, a young child was killed by an alligator at Disney and the Pulse Nightclub mass shooting occurred. The news from Orlando was about as grim as it could possibly be. And yet we carried on with our vacation, escaping into Harry Potter and roller coasters, aware of the darkness nearby but determined to enjoy our vacation.

      Two more mass shootings in the last 24 hours and no end in sight. Unstable, generally white men lash out in acts of cowardly violence against innocents and we all reflect on the senselessness of it all. The world around us is more enraged and indignant than it was three summers ago, but more cynical too. We mock spineless politicians with their “thoughts and prayers” and grow hardened to what was once uncommon horrific violence. Change comes painfully slow in our society, but it comes. That common sense prevails is proven out over time offers no solace in El Paso or Dayton this morning.

      Terms like “shelter in place”, “run, hide, fight” and “lockdown” were virtually unknown until twenty years ago when Columbine started this endless string of mass shootings. Now people know the types of weapons used and can figure out the manifesto of the madman by where and when it happened. Lower the flags yet again, order the flowers and light the candles. Just don’t mess with their right to bear arms. Mental health screening? Just a foot in the door and before you know it they’re taking everyone’s guns… I know the NRA response as well as I know the rest.

      As with three years ago I’d prefer a vacation without the body count in my head. But if I had my way a lot of things would be different. Instead, of writing about an otherwise beautiful morning on Cape Cod I’m reflecting on mass shootings yet again. Looking up, I watch boats heading out of Buzzards Bay while others bob on the water fishing for whatever is biting today. The world marches on, collectively more jaded than yesterday morning. Maybe this time something will change. Or maybe tomorrow.

    • The Hold of Stuff

      I gave a friend a chain saw that another friend had given me. It was a great saw, and a joy to use. All around me are trees that need trimming or encroach into the yard. There’s no logical reason for me to have given it away, but I felt better about having released it immediately. The saw was never mine to begin with, but I’ve had a couple of moments of regret for having given it up. Such is the hold of stuff in our lives.

      Looking at the garden, it’s clear that I’ve over-planted. What appears to be empty space in May is chock full of healthy plants muscling each other out for space. It’s a common gardening mistake and I’ve made it many times. I’ve got to thin out the garden and relocate some plants that I eagerly purchased just a few months ago.

      I spent the first two months of gardening season pulling morning glory seedlings out of the garden. Like Sisyphus pushing the rock up the hill it’s an impossible task. Once they’re in your garden they’re a part of your life. And sure enough I went away on a business trip and came back to a thriving morning glory population laughing and singing in the sun along with those unruly cherry tomatoes. They’re mocking me, I know it.

      As I was writing this I glanced up and saw a rabbit on the lawn. By the second paragraph there was a second one. I refilled my coffee cup and walked out to see a third. The rabbits were offering emphasis literally right before my eyes. Stuff accumulates in our lives and sometimes an aggressive pruning is required. But you can’t stop with one pruning, because things can get out of hand quickly (The rabbits returned when our dog passed. I can’t say I prefer the trade-off but we’ve learned to coexist).

      So I gave up the chain saw that could help thin out trees encroaching on the yard like those morning glories encroach in the garden. Not the best choice for eliminating stuff, yet I feel better for having done so. I can borrow it back if I need to, and don’t have the burden of ownership that comes with accumulation. It’s a small beacon of hope in a house full of twenty years of this and that and the other thing.

      The friends who gave me the chain saw could teach a master class in simplification. They stepped down from a house full of stuff to an apartment full of less stuff to a sailboat with just the essentials. Nothing forces aggressive pruning like downsizing (It’s not like they can tow a shed around with them). We aren’t downsizing at this time, but the siren of simplification is calling, and it’s time to listen.