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    • No Other Way

      when it is truly time,
      and if you have been chosen,
      it will do it by
      itself and it will keep on doing it
      until you die or it dies in you.

      there is no other way.

      and there never was.
      — Charles Bukowski, so you want to be a writer?

      Keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. The writing continues for another day. Who it finds is anyone’s guess. But like a spouse bored of life with you it must find a way out. Nothing boring, nothing pretentious, nothing that doesn’t scream to leave you and meet the world.

      A high bar to clear. We’ve all slogged through countless boring books, tedious slogs through the waist-deep piles of words that mean nothing but a thesaurus referred to. And, if we’re honest, we’ve written our share of boring too. All to tempt the muse. All to find the magic and make ourselves a part of it. Join the Great Conversation once and for all, and maybe, if we might be so bold, find a place at the table one day.

      But not today. Not just yet. Today we work through the process. Truly, there’s no other way.

    • To Be Ignorant Is to Be Afraid

      “To be ignorant is to be afraid, and in the dark mystery of the unknown a man cannot find his way alone. He must have guides to speak to him with authority.” — Edith Hamilton, The Greek Way

      And, truly, what of good
      ever have prophets
      brought to men?
      Craft of many words,
      only through
      evil your message speaks.
      Seers bring aye
      terror, so to keep
      men afraid.
      — Æschylus      , Agamemnon

      Both of these quotes were drawn from Hamilton’s extraordinary book. The Gutenberg Project offers the entire English translation of Agamemnon, which the link above will take you to. Hamilton’s life story is itself fascinating and worth a deeper dive another time. For today, let’s focus on the urgency of climbing the steep hill of the informed. History ebbs and flows and, as Mark Twain said, rhymes.

      Much of the world runs on fear and ignorance. Those in the know shake their heads in disbelief at the things the ignorant regurgitate from the talking heads trying to hold power at any costs. That they’re largely successful speaks to the effectiveness of the platforms designed to stoke the fire. We must put out the fires being stoked or eventually be consumed by them.

      We dare not be ignorant. Look around at the world and feel the obligation of the informed, carrying the weight of the ignorant. We must look squarely into the eyes of those who would destroy democracy and rise up to meet them. Many will walk through life with blinders on, lest they witness anything contrary to what they’re told. There’s no nuance in the fears they express, no dance with life, merely a cycle of fear of what others are coming to take from them. They don’t see that they’ve already had everything taken from them by their messenger of choice.

      The thing is, we can’t change the extremists on either end of the spectrum, we can only shine a light on, and be open to, the truth. Life is a dance with either ignorance or knowledge. We must choose our dance partner with the utmost care, and in turn teach others to dance. Feel the rhythm in the rhyming of history and step towards truth. The alternative is wretchedness and fear. What kind of life is that?

    • The Next and Most Necessary Thing

      “Routine will take you further than willpower.” — @ShaneAParrish

      The “next and most necessary thing” is all that any of us can ever aspire to do in any moment. And we must do it despite not having any objective way to be sure what the right course of action even is. — Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals

      I ran into an old friend a while back, someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. We passed the usual compliments to each other about surviving to this point relatively intact, exchanged phone numbers and went our separate ways. We might never see each other again, or maybe we’ll be best friends someday. The only certainty is the next step.

      All we ever have is now and the next most necessary thing. We fall into the groove of routines, and it’s hard sometimes to slip out of that groove and introduce new things. It’s our attractive rut, carrying us to the grave or to salvation, whichever comes first. We remind ourselves over and over again that we are what we repeatedly do. The hidden message in Aristotle’s statement is that sometimes we have to break free of habits and find a new groove. And once in a blue moon we find the right groove and ought to stick with it.

      There are days when it all feels right, and days when nothing does. Routine saves the day more often than not, if we choose wisely. We tell ourselves to move more, eat better, read and write and floss. Each is a habit, a ritual, embedded into the groove of routine. If some part of that routine feels unfulfilling, who says we can’t find a new one? We have the agency to make the most necessary next move.

      Whatever will be will be, surely it will, but we may alter the course a degree or two in our favor. The two or three things that make the most positive difference in our lives ought to be part of our ritual. The things that slide us sideways off the track ought to be replaced with better routines. The question we might ask ourselves in our next chance encounter, with an old friend or perhaps the mirror, is whether time has treated us well or not. We can influence the answer with our routine established now and next. Given that, it doesn’t seem so routine at all.

    • What Falls Away is Always

      Great Nature has another thing to do
      To you and me; so take the lively air,
      And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

      This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
      What falls away is always. And is near.
      I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
      I learn by going where I have to go.
      — Theodore Roethke, The Waking Poem

      We might agree that our lives are a brief accumulation of ideas and ritual, happenstance and things, that are ours today and a part of our history tomorrow. We’re all winging it, it seems, following instinct and a compass that is drawn to comfortable and habitual. Learning this about each other and ourselves, most of us hit our stride in time. Still, some chafe at life and constantly turn it upside down in the hope that there’s more on the other side. What is the right path? Doesn’t that change too? We’re a work in progress, each of us, wherever we are along the path. The view and how we feel about it changes as we ourselves change.

      Looking back is most striking. Old photographs and videos from another time in our lives betray who we were once, and that wave of change breaks over us, soaking us in memories. We recognize that we are not any one moment in our lives, we’re the sum of it, a character study transforming. We each see where we’ve been, but we learn by going. Who we were always falls away. The only way is onward to the next.

    • How We Interact

      I was looking through some old pictures for images of an uncle who passed away over the weekend, images that would be part of a collage of images of interactions he’s made in his lifetime. It occurred to me that he’s never joined Facebook or Instagram. If you wanted to interact with him you needed to do it the old-fashioned ways with a call, a letter, or best of all, face-to-face. Technology is handy, but it will never substitute for a conversation with an engaged, interested human being.

      Writing this, I sit at a desk looking to my right to a Mac screen. Looking left, I might interact with a PC screen. I’m technology-agnostic in this way, as most of us must be. Work to the left, personal to the right. Throw in work and personal iPhones loaded with apps, a Kindle, iPad, and both an Apple and a Garmin watch and it seems I can interact with the world in all manner of ways. But I still prefer talking to humans face-to-face. Call me an old soul if you will.

      Technology makes us scalable and efficient. I can click publish on this blog post and it’s possible for the entire world to read it in an instant. We both know that’s not going to happen, because the entire world is pushing out their own content too, making it a very noisy tech world indeed. To rise above the din you must be louder and more committed to connection, not just more interesting or introspective. I’ve come to realize that accumulating followers is just not me. I celebrate organic growth, but dwelling on it is counterproductive and artificial. I’ll just keep doing my thing, quietly interacting with you and the occasional five hundred-ish other folks, from now until it ends.

      One of these days I’ll fix the blog, to make it easier for people to interact with me. Or maybe not, but just know it’s not because I’m not interested in the humans on the other side. Just not so much the technology that connects us. There’s irony in that statement, but it’s not meant to be clever. It just means I’m more like my uncle than I thought I was.

    • Something Amazing

      “Life is never what one dreams. It is seldom what one desires, but for the vital spirit and the eager mind, the future will always hold the search for buried treasure and the possibility of high adventure.” — Ellen Glasgow

      The very idea of l’élan vital, the vital spirit, of living each moment with rapt attention and the eager anticipation of what comes next is a bold, some might say extravagant, way of moving through our days. But what is the alternative? Practical living? Skating our lane to the last? Give me something amazing, thank you. Give me adventure and the search for buried treasure hidden in the moments to come. Give me joie de vivre. Give me l’élan vital.

      But Glasgow also pointed out that this vitality has a shelf life in the moment:

      “No matter how vital experience might be while you lived it, no sooner was it ended and dead than it became as lifeless as the piles of dry dust in a school history book.” — Ellen Glasgow

      The thing is, an active, vital life isn’t meant to be a singular moment, but singular moments stacked one upon the other, lifting us to a higher level of engagement with the world. What’s done is surely done, but something of it remains within us, a hint of something betrayed in the sparkle in our eye. Those who acquire enough of it emanate a magnetic energy that attracts others. We’re all walking swarms of electrons looking to dance with life.

      I’ve surely lost the physicists with my blog today, but nonetheless, there’s something to being actively engaged in living that increases our vitality. The hunt for the buried treasure in the next moment is a mindset. It reveals a zest for life and a reach for boldness. Aspiring for something amazing in our next moment isn’t setting us up for disappointment, it’s setting us up to find more of what we seek.

    • Little Things

      Elle est retrouvée!
      Quoi? -l’Éternité.
      C’est la mer allée
      Avec le soleil.

      She is found!
      What? -Eternity.
      It’s the sea gone
      With the sun. — Arthur Rimbaud

      Sunsets are routine, often ritualized. Little things, really, repeated daily. I’ve been known for carrying on about such things as the position of the sun relative to where it was in warmer days. Most people, it seems, could care less about where the tilt of the earth is. We are what we focus on.

      “Little things in life, which afford what [Daniel] Kahneman calls “experiences that you think about when you’re having them,” provide a great deal of everyday enjoyment. Because you’re apt to pay more attention to your remembering than your experiencing self, however, it’s all too easy to forget to indulge yourself in these small but important pleasures on a daily basis, thus depriving yourself of much joy.” — Winifred Gallagher, Rapt

      I should think life would be less enjoyable the very moment one forgot to savor the little things. We get used to things that once delighted us, looking for the next big thing to replace that feeling, always chasing. Never really savoring.

      Most writers have an eye for details, and linger in them longer than the average bear, seeking a deeper understanding. There’s pleasure to be derived from digging deeply into what seems trivial. Consider Rimbauld’s twelve words, arranged just so, that draw so much out of what someone else might think of as just another sunset. Poetry itself might be thought a little thing. Ah, but what things they are, sunsets and poems! I think I’ll stick with little things, thank you.

    • Footsteps

      I wonder, now and then, who has tread on the ground I walk on. Surely this thought comes to mind often in famous places where people whom we remember did things that stir the imagination and puts us in their shoes, if only for a little while. The history buff in me lingers in places where famous moments happened. It’s my way of understanding their moment a little better, even as my moment in that place is so very different. I’m a visitor in that place in that moment, they defined the place in theirs. Walden, Culloden, Kehlsteinhaus, Liverpool’s Cavern, Saratoga… each stirred up ghosts as I walked in footsteps. Some we honor, some we simply try to understand.

      There’s that word again: understand. We can never put ourselves in the place of the characters who brought us here, but we can learn from them. History rhymes, after all. When we learn from those who came before us we might change the script, or gain insight into our next move. We’re all just re-writing history, we’re all playing the same chords. We make of it what we will.

      Last week I visited Gljúfrabúi, partly inspired by watching a YouTube video of someone walking into the gorge to experience the hidden waterfall. I re-watched that video, just to see it again from the perspective of someone who has now been there. For all the thousands of people who have likely walked there, the experience of that particular person walking in my footsteps when I’d actually walked in theirs felt circularly surreal for me. It reminded me that each of us is walking in the footsteps of others while also creating footsteps for those who will follow us. Doesn’t it make you wonder, how will we define our place?

    • Create It

      “By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.” — Franz Kafka

      We’re each authors of our story, written daily. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. The novel we’re writing is realized in our daily action, page-by-page. We either arrive at the finished product or we flounder in the minutia of distraction. Nobody said life was fair, friend, only relentlessly present. And we all know the present is our gift.

      “Man plans, God laughs.” – Yiddish adage

      We may not arrive at what we set out to create, but we’ll be further along than had we never begun. Is that enough? I went to Iceland for the Aurora Borealis, and found relentless cloud cover mocking me each night. But I found glaciers and ancient volcanoes expressed as waterfalls and basalt columns instead. Am I the lesser for having gone? The lesson is to leap anyway.

      Kafka isn’t stating that just because we desire something deeply enough that we create it, only that we can’t possibly create it unless we desire it to exist first. Fate and grit play their part in the end. All we can do is do the work.

    • Here’s Your Miracle

      “No matter how long your journey appears to be, there is never more than this: one step, one breath, one moment – Now.” — Eckhart Tolle

      For all the times I’ve reminded myself that there’s only today (memento mori, so carpe diem), I often get swept up in distractions and comparison. Living is a daily wrestling match with what we know to be true and what we wish it to be. So I’m continuously reminding myself that we ought to celebrate the moment more for what it is: a miracle of presence amongst the living. This is it, friend. Do something with it. And strangely, out of nowhere, the sound of Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald filled my head with harmony:

      For once in your life, here’s your miracle
      Stand up and fight
      Make no mistake where you are
      (This is it)
      You’re goin’ no further
      (This is it)
      Until it’s over and done
      — Kenny Loggins & Michael McDonald, This Is It

      I had to face facts. After returning from the epic of Iceland, it was hard to celebrate the miraculous in the routine I’d returned to. And when we can’t possibly celebrate, we ought to at least savor the miracle of being. So for the last two nights I walked out to watch Elon Musk’s Starlink satellites parade past in a long line. There’s something inspiring about a satellite streaking through the sky, and that feeling is amplified into something altogether surreal when you see dozens of them following one another in a long line at exactly the moment that they’re supposed to.

      So in a way, that parade of satellites playing to the soundtrack of a cheesy 70’s song were just the ticket to shake me free from the post-vacation funk that a return to routine subjected me to. It was a good reminder that there’s nothing routine about living. The funk is derived from not being present with being here, now. Step outside of yourself and look up. We must make the most of the miracle while it’s here. And tell me, what’s more miraculous than pulling Elon Musk, Eckhart Tolle, Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald together into one post about Stoic philosophy?