Alexandersmap

    Author: nhcarmichael

    • Crazy or Old

      She thinks I’m crazy
      But I’m just growing old
      — Steely Dan, Hey Nineteen

      I imagine that I’d heard Hey Nineteen many times prior to when it took root in my lifetime soundtrack, but it was when I was nineteen myself when it finally resonated. The song was already considered “classic rock” by then, but for Gen X, we were used to discovering the music of the generation before ours on our own terms. At nineteen I rounded up all the Steely Dan albums and proceeded to immerse myself in them for a few years before banishing them with all rock deemed “classic rock” for a decade in favor of my generation’s music. Now that too is called classic.

      Drink with good people
      Get high as a kite
      Before they drift away
      Out of mind and out of sight
      Well that’s not to say you lose
      Everything and everyone
      Hear me out, take your time
      And watch the setting sun
      Take your hands out of your pockets
      Feel the water run
      Don’t worry about tomorrow and yesterday
      Is gone
      — Caamp, Of Love and Life

      Caamp is made up of men who graduated high school in 2012. So they’re decidedly not of my generation, but they’re old souls just the same. We learn that it’s not how old someone is, but what they have to offer. We ought to remember this of ourselves too. Keep offering something to the world and we never really grow old.

      Call me crazy, but I believe in the power of a great song to transform our perspective and set us free to be something beyond our current identity. My soundtrack is made up of old and new, but the songs that resonate and repeat have something to say. Crazy, old or maybe both, I collect poetry in song, and will carry it with me to the end of this ride.

    • Page-Turning

      “Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?”
      — Mary Oliver, Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches

      When Mary Oliver writes, in the poem quoted above, that there is still time left—fields everywhere invite you into them, I admit that I’ve received the invitation, and I’m stepping into the field. But as bold as I am in some moments, there are times when I breathe just a little. Isn’t it that way for all of us? We talk a good game, but then we do what must be done to keep the lights on and the puppy fed. Life is compromise, we tell ourselves. But sure, there is still time left.

      So if you’re tired of the same old story
      Oh, turn some pages
      — REO Speedwagon, Roll with the Changes

      There’s been some serious page-turning going on this year—enough that a scorecard might be appropriate. Global changes. Personal changes. Every day offers a transformation if we let ourselves step outside of our routine long enough to see it. And we ought to keep track of our lives in such a way, through journals and pictures and retrospect. Just see how far we’ve come! And always the question; just where are we going next?

      And still there is time left. Still it feels sometimes that we are breathing just a little, calling it a life. The thing to do, it seems, is to be bold right now: aware and alive, doing that thing that demands our attention in this small measure of time. The next step will take care of itself, if only we would change our story right now. To breathe deeply—while doing that which leaves us breathless, is where boldness lies awaiting action.

    • Why Not Let It?

      “Joy is not in things; it is in us.” — Richard Wagner

      Writing about joy is tricky business. Are you enjoying yourself today? Does delight creep in to wash over the tasks that make up the day? Who even talks like that?

      Each day offers its share of boredom and drudgery, but also moments that sparkle with joy or contentment. We know when we’re in it. The magic is in the layers of the cake. But it’s not all sweetness, or we’d get sick pretty quickly. We aren’t exactly riding around with It’s a Small World playing in our heads. I’ve been stuck on that ride—believe me it’s not joyful for long when you hear it over and over again.

      There are a few Navy SEALs that would remind us to “embrace the suck” that each day throws at us. That grind through the worst of it isn’t pleasant, but it’s bringing us to someplace we are destined to get to. If the suck doesn’t kill us anyway. But they’re on to something: No day is perfect, especially not this one. We can shift our attitude about the mess we’re wading through. We can be aware of but ignore the misery and maybe even enjoy the process of getting through it.

      Enjoy the day. Maybe even embrace the suck if there’s purpose to it. Wherever we are in our lives is where we are. Learn to focus on where are we going. Joy is surely in us, looking to escape and meet the world. It will drag our sorry ass along with it if we let it. So why not let it?

    • Leaf Day

      Spades take up leaves
      No better than spoons,
      And bags full of leaves
      Are light as balloons.

      I make a great noise
      Of rustling all day
      Like rabbit and deer
      Running away.

      But the mountains I raise
      Elude my embrace,
      Flowing over my arms
      And into my face.

      I may load and unload
      Again and again
      Till I fill the whole shed,
      And what have I then?

      Next to nothing for weight,
      And since they grew duller
      From contact with earth,
      Next to nothing for color.

      Next to nothing for use,
      But a crop is a crop,
      And who’s to say where
      The harvest shall stop?
      — Robert Frost, Gathering Leaves

      Every year around this time in mid-November, the oak leaves finally, grudgingly release their grip on mother oak and bed down in the yard. I’m that one person in the neighborhood who waits to clean up the yard until we reach peak optimization—meaning most leaves are down. All of the neighbors are out there with their heavy machinery mowing and blowing at the first sign of a leaf dropping. And with their eagerness, the neighborhood roars like a domesticated NASCAR track. No, thank you. I don’t subscribe to the theory that a lawn should be pristine green. It’s not a golf course, it’s a suburban yard! There’s beauty in fallen leaves too.

      Any homeowner in New England knows that once is never enough when it comes to cleaning up the leaves. If you wait long enough, some leaves will blow away onto those neighboring pristine lawns (you’re welcome), but most will pile up into an increasingly-heavy mass awaiting your attention. Yesterday was that day for my bride and me. The plan was to start early and go until the task was completed. Blow, rake onto tarps, drag said tarp into the welcoming embrace of the woods and repeat. Want a great workout? Join us next year.

      The thing is, I could have paid someone to do this work. They’d have arrived with a roar that would have delighted the neighbors, zipped around the yard for two hours and left nary a single leaf survivor. And I would have sipped my coffee, casually watched them and gone off to do a workout on the rowing ergometer or some such thing. To have done the work myself may not be a noble act, or even the best use of my time, but the ritual of yard cleanup has its own reward. I was reminded of this when I limped out of bed this morning. There’s poetry in labor, when the work is tangible and purposeful. Having completed it for another year, the season is almost complete. Yet even now, looking out on the lawn in the growing light of dawn, I see that it’s covered in the holdouts that watched amused at my industrious labor. No, the work is never truly done.

    • Of More and Enough

      “Our love of our neighbor—is it not a lust for new possessions? And likewise our love of knowledge, of truth, and altogether any lust for what is new? Gradually we become tired of the old, of what we safely possess, and we stretch out our hands again. Even the most beautiful scenery is no longer assured of our love after we have lived in it for three months, and some more distant coast attracts our avarice: possessions are generally diminished by possession.” — Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science: The Joyful Wisdom of Life, Love, and Art

      I’m currently managing the chaos that comes with some home improvement work. Every change has a price to be paid, and temporary chaos is our toll. The constant desire for improvement demands payment in one form or another. Today’s toll is tomorrow’s pleasure. At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

      There’s a reason why those house hunter and renovation programs are so popular. It’s the same reason some of us have an urge to travel to new places all the time, to try the latest trendy restaurant, to buy a bigger boat, to hike to new summits, or to day trade looking for that perfect stock to fall in love with. Divorce lawyers specialize in the consequences of unchecked avarice. Because we humans tend to lust for something beyond what we have. Even the pursuit of personal excellence (arete) is a pursuit of something more than what we possess now.

      As Nietzsche put it: to become tired of some possession means tiring of ourselves. Unchecked avarice is a weakness. To temper the unrelenting desire for more and realize that one has enough is a path to happiness. Good luck with that. Our consumer-driven world fuels a constant desire for more, different and better. It takes conscious willpower to unplug from that and appreciate exactly who we are, with what we have, right here and now.

      I’ve written about my wanderlust before. I’m chagrined by the single passport stamp I’ve gotten this year, compared to last year when I visited seven countries. I forget sometimes that I’ve traveled from coast-to-coast this year, seeing places and doing things that I’d once said I’d get to someday. Add in a few significant home improvement projects and the picture becomes clearer. It’s been a good year in more ways than it hasn’t.

      Comparison is the death of joy, as the saying goes. Simply enjoying the abundance of all that one has and have experienced ought to be enough. When we compare we turn our attention from all we have to what we don’t have. The math will never work in our favor when we compare, because what we don’t possess will always outnumber what we do have.

      Still, there’s so much more to see and do and be. And time is ticking away so very quickly. Is it any wonder that we have this urge for more, now, before it’s too late? We are growing beings, living a brief life before we slip into infinity. We ought to seek growth for growth’s sake. To learn and experience and build is how our species has made it this far. But we’ve also made it this far by eventually settling down and growing roots. A sense of place is uniquely gifted to those who stick around for awhile. The hunger for more is our blessing and our curse, depending on how much we control it.

      That quiet desperation Thoreau spoke of is as real as any possession we have. Desperation comes from not feeling control over one’s destiny. Not following one’s dream to it’s natural conclusion. We grow frustrated and seek relief in the fresh and new, buying impulsively, renovating relentlessly, comparing even when we know it’s a fool’s game. We each deal with the same old avarice within, while trying to be grateful for all that we have in our lives.

      As with everything, balance is the key to a joyful life. We must necessarily seek growth, knowledge and experience to fulfill our potential before the music stops, but we must also learn when we’ve been satiated. To keep consuming after we’ve had enough is gluttonous. To keep wanting bigger and better and different is avarice, unchecked. The gods don’t seek arete, they already have it. It’s we humans who are always seeking more. What is enough in this lifetime? Finding our way to that place may lead us to what we’ve been searching for all along.

    • The JFK Memorial, Hyannis

      “I believe it is important that this country sail and not lie still in the harbor.” — John F Kennedy

      When I was a kid, Hyannis, Massachusetts was the place we’d go to walk Main Street and buy some candy. When I got a little older it was the place to hang out with college friends or to catch a ferry to Nantucket. Hyannis isn’t quaint or quintessential Cape Cod, it’s a bustling village in the town of Barnstable. I practice active-avoidance here the way locals avoid tourist traps anywhere in the world. But I’m not a local, just way too familiar with the place.

      And yet I’d never visited the John F Kennedy Memorial. It’s a quietly-dignified and understated nod to the President who once sailed in the harbor this memorial overlooks. Finding myself with a little time to spare, I fell back on my old habit of seeking out the most interesting and often overlooked places wherever I was at the moment. And this moment brought me to Hyannis.

      I remember having a glimpse of the entrance to the Kennedy Compound from the back of a station wagon as a kid, but to me that’s like watching the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. That’s not for me. Far more interesting is an offseason visit to a quiet memorial to honor the brief, brilliant flame that was JFK.

      The memorial features a fieldstone wall with a placard of JFK. Appropriately, it faces the harbor. There’s a fountain with the quote noted above engraved around it. In the offseason it’s simply a drained pool. I’m sure in summer it’s lively and impressive. But for my purposes, its stillness was appropriate for the somber occasion for the memorial. While it celebrates the life of the man, it also reminds us of all that we missed when he was assassinated that day in Dallas in 1963.

    • The Two Sides of a Crisis

      “When written in Chinese, the word “crisis” is composed of two characters – one represents danger and one represents opportunity.” — John F. Kennedy

      Search that quote by JFK and Google AI will let you know that it’s not completely accurate. The character for “danger” is right, but the other character apparently doesn’t mean “opportunity” so much as “chance” or “point of change”. I say whatever—it’s mostly on point. And that point is, while understandably focusing on the risks associated with any crisis, don’t let the underlying opportunity to learn, grow or pivot that the crisis represents slip away.

      My day started with a series of work-related fire drills that needed to be addressed immediately. Where do we start when so much is coming at us at the same time? The answer is to prioritize the one that cannot be deferred, and then the next, and so on. Breaking the urgent down into manageable tasks allows us to focus on what we can control.

      “Prioritize your problems and take care of them one at a time, the highest priority first. Don’t try to do everything at once or you won’t be successful” — Jocko Willink

      Every day offers both order and chaos. To skate the edge between the two is challenging, but maybe that is why we are here, in this time and place. It’s our crisis to manage. That unique ownership bestowed upon us may be seen as a curse, but isn’t it also a gift? We simply need to figure out what that silver lining is and leverage the heck out of it after we put out the fire.

      “Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.” — Homer, The Odyssey

      There is danger in every crisis, but there’s also a chance to set things straight somehow. Homer had it right. And so did Winston Churchill when he told the British to keep calm and carry on. A calm mind has the ability to focus on priorities and get things done. Viewing a crisis as an inflection point from which positive change may unfold is a healthy, productive way to step forward from however many steps back we’ve just dealt with. The character developed in a crisis is our own. Just see it through.

    • Of Sharks and Auroras

      Some people are shark people. My bride is one. Shark people follow every shark sighting, have the Sharktivity app on their phones, watch Jaws every time it’s on and are completely locked in on Shark Week. The fact that there’s a week+ of programming dedicated to sharks tells you that there are a lot of shark people out there. I appreciate sharks, but I rarely think about them until the shark people mention them yet again. On Shark Week I sequester myself in the office with a good book.

      Some people are sky people. I’m one of them. I have a ritual of walking the dog after dinner and spend most of the time looking up to see what the sky is doing. And it’s always doing something interesting. I have an Aurora app notifying me at all times of night. My favorite movie is Local Hero (if you know you know). Like any self-respecting sky-gazer, I follow things like meteor showers and eclipses and the occasional comet. And naturally I closely monitor solar activity that offers opportunities to see the aurora borealis.

      We all have something we’re fascinated with. Call it a harmless pursuit of something that is larger than our particular niche. Those shark people are fascinated with the serial killers of the sea—mysterious creatures that emerge from the deep to challenge our belief that we are at the top of the food chain. Meanwhile, we sky people look up to the universe for perspective and enlightenment. Who’s to say which is the better pursuit? Do we draw inspiration from cold-blooded killers* or the heavens above?

      * Of course I’m just kidding. I appreciate sharks too. It’s the shark people I’m poking fun at.

      Aurora Borealis

    • Beyond Clever

      “There are so many different kinds of stupidity, and cleverness is one of the worst.” ― Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain

      Clever is one-upmanship. It’s not really listening to what someone is saying, it’s waiting for them to stop talking so you can say something to show how on-the-ball you are. Clever is different from bright and funny. It doesn’t take very long to know you’re in the presence of someone working to be clever. Like porn, we know it when we see it. And we aren’t the better for having stumbled across it.

      I used to work to be clever, until I began to see that clever was weakness on display. It’s a way for insecurity to escape and join the conversation. Whoever really said that it’s “better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt.” was on to something.

      But then I changed again. When everyone is silently waiting for someone to speak up, there ought to be someone who speaks up. Not to be clever or foolish, but to be engaged. To draw out the perspective of another soul and mix it with our own, just to see what develops. Sometimes nothing much develops, and sometimes there’s magic. Who’s to know which unless we practice a little alchemy?

      The practice of conversational alchemy utilizes empathy and focused listening to draw out deeper conversations with others. Which sounds like a clever way of saying that one is a good listener. But being a good listener doesn’t mean much without having something to offer to the conversation as well. Listening skills are one of the leading indicators of success in life, but so is a willingness to go out and experience things from which to build one’s own knowledge and skill, insight and perspective.

      Unless we have a career as a therapist, socialite, salesperson or investigator, aspiring to be a conversational alchemist shouldn’t be our primary aim. But it’s a life skill worth developing to maximize the experience of living through deeper and richer conversation. We ought to engage with others and learn from their experience as well if we are to reach our own potential within the tribe. The tribal experience isn’t everything, and surely not the only path to personal excellence, but engagement with others offers a broad and rich life, perhaps more than simply going it alone.

      Henry David Thoreau, retreating to his cabin by Walden Pond, had regular visitors and a curated ability to communicate with others. That perspective made him a better writer, even as his inclination to retreat to the woods made him an oddball to some in the community. But that retreat also made him a better writer. We can be both engaged with society and strategically removed from it. The right balance is intuitive. Listening to ourselves is another essential skill developed over time.

      “Seek first to understand, and then to be understood.” — Stephen Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

      There’s a reason that seeking to understand makes us highly effective people. Each person we effectively engage with becomes another ally in our growing tribe. It was never about being clever, it’s always been about development of the self in a social world. We may sometimes have a desire to go free solo, but in reality we’re all in this together. Our bond is somewhere well beyond clever waiting for us to reach it.

    • 50 Years: SS Edmund Fitzgerald

      Does anyone know where the love of God goes
      When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
      The searchers all say they’d have made Whitefish Bay
      If they’d put 15 more miles behind her
      They might have split up or they might have capsized
      They may have broke deep and took water
      And all that remains is the faces and the names
      Of the wives and the sons and the daughters

      — Gordon Lightfoot, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

      I’d be remiss to let the 50th anniversary of the sinking of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald pass without a mention. It would be a footnote were it not for the Gordon Lightfoot song that made ship and crew immortal, but tell that to the families. We all pass eventually, preferably peacefully in our sleep a long time from now. An abrupt, tragic end was not on anyone’s mind when those 29 men sailed off into history. One wonders what their final moments were like, but what is certain is that all hands were lost and the ship broke in two. It was the final straw for shipping on the Great Lakes, prompting higher safety standards and oversight. And perhaps that is the ultimate legacy of the Edmund Fitzgerald.