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    • All Things in Moderation (Especially Ice Cream)

      I indulged in an ice cream cone after dinner last night. It was everything you’d expect an ice cream cone on a warm August night to be; delicious, gooey and drippy, with big chunks of cherry and chocolate chip offering flavor bursts and texture. An amazing experience that I paid for with a night of Tums and water propped up on the bed to keep acid reflux at bay. That one ice cream will keep me from having another for the rest of summer. Perfect.

      Portion control is nice, but avoiding certain foods works better for me. If I don’t go out and get an ice cream cone I won’t eat it. If I don’t stock the bowl in the kitchen with M & M’s I won’t mindlessly grab a handful every time I walk by it. Out of sight, out of mind.

      On the flip side, if I buy the blueberries and leafy greens I’ll feel compelled to eat them while they’re fresh. If I keep the workout clothes near the bed, or the backpack packed and ready to go I’ll eliminate any lazy excuse for not getting up and doing what I promised myself I’d do. This is the Yin and Yang of fitness and nutrition. Surf the edge, just don’t drift too far over it.

      That classic summer experience of eating an ice cream cone now and then is perfectly fine. Still, the lines are far longer at the ice cream stand than they are at the farm stand. Probably better to reverse the frequency at each, isn’t it? The reckoning will come, whether it’s overnight or over time. Making good food choices and eating in moderation are key to a vibrant, resilient life.

      Yes, the overnight ice cream chaos could have been avoided with a smaller portion. A lot smaller. All things in moderation and a lesson re-learned. Until next summer anyway.

    • Slow Down

      “Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the world earth revolves – slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

      Some of us have a tendency to rush through things. Eat too fast, drink too heartily, blunder through introductions, breeze through chapters and rush from place-to-place, even on vacations. It’s a way to cut to the chase: to get to the result in the shortest amount of time.

      We know this isn’t the way. Our bodies tell us this when we eat or drink too fast, our minds tell us this when we try to remember the salient point of a book we read a year ago, and we kick ourselves when we learn about that special place we missed that was right around the corner from the spot we rushed to where you and everyone else took their Instagram picture.

      Savor the moment. Slow down a beat, and maybe even another beat beyond that. Appreciate the progression of the moment for all the ripe possibility it offers. The change in the light. The gradual temperature change in a cup of tea. The last few sentences that end a chapter and set up the next. Immerse yourself in now.

      There is no rushing to the future. The present is all that matters. Slow down.

    • The Fight for an Open Mind

      “What prevents people from learning... is not the subject itself—the human mind has limitless capabilities—but rather certain learning disabilities that tend to fester and grow in our minds as we get older. These include a sense of smugness and superiority whenever we encounter something alien to our ways, as well as rigid ideas about what is real or true, often indoctrinated in us by schooling or family. If we feel like we know something, our minds close off to other possibilities. We see reflections of the truth we have already assumed. Such feelings of superiority are often unconscious and stem from a fear of what is different or unknown. We are rarely aware of this, and often imagine ourselves to be paragons of impartiality” – Robert Greene, Mastery

      My quest for an open, more aware mind bumps into smugness. I’ve run into this demon before. We so easily spot smugness in others but rarely detect it in ourselves. It appears as artificial confidence and a sense of superiority and are the tools of a closed mind. As such they ought to be snuffed out at all costs. But the mind buries them defensively, knowing your game, and you perceive yourself as open in your comfortable world until that world is challenged once again.

      I see it in myself by the things I’m offended by. A cache of grudges based on perceived slights, which usually betrays something about your relationship with that person, culture or perspective. This cache, like the one on your PC, occupies space that might otherwise be used for stretching the mind in new directions. And isn’t that the real goal? Opening the mind, becoming aware, delighting in the world around us – if these are truly the objective then we have no room for walls built of resentment, fear and superiority.

      “Around us, life bursts with miracles–a glass of water, a ray of sunshine, a leaf, a caterpillar, a flower, laughter, raindrops. If you live in awareness, it is easy to see miracles everywhere. Each human being is a multiplicity of miracles. Eyes that see thousands of colors, shapes, and forms; ears that hear a bee flying or a thunderclap; a brain that ponders a speck of dust as easily as the entire cosmos; a heart that beats in rhythm with the heartbeat of all beings. When we are tired and feel discouraged by life’s daily struggles, we may not notice these miracles, but they are always there.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

      What are we missing while we wrap our minds are distracted by our own narrative? What miracles are happening around us even as we dwell on the past? These are the stakes. We must hunt and kill our smugness to open the mind for awareness, empathy and a deeper understanding of the world around us. To see at last what we’ve been missing all along. And in pursuing it to finally understand ourselves.

    • The Great Falmouth Drop-Off

      Every year, except for last year, I find myself crawling along in a traffic jam just after dawn, patiently waiting for an opportunity to drop off a car full of runners for the Falmouth Road Race. As a committed non runner, it’s admittedly an odd position to put myself in. But we do what we must for those we love.

      The Falmouth Road Race was established in 1973, beginning at one bar and winding seven picturesque miles along the coast to another bar. It quickly became a destination race for a mix of international runners, including Olympians and elite runners, but largely recreational runners of varying abilities. That bit about beginning at one bar and ending at another is an important piece of information. For it means moving thousands of runners from one place to another at the beginning of the day. Which brings us to the great drop-off.

      Runners gather at the Lawrence School in Falmouth for the bus ride to Woods Hole for the start of the race. Runners are supposed to be at the school by 7 AM, which creates a crush of traffic most years as those seeking a parking spot mix with those dropping off runners. Add in thousands of runners walking from local homes and inns and you’ve got a recipe for gridlock as all navigate the local neighborhoods in this small town.

      2021, with a reduced number of participants, lightened the traffic considerably, but it didn’t eliminate it. This is the price you pay for participation in a great race, with both a local and international vibe. For all the madness, everyone is there to have a good time on a summer day.

      After dropping off runners spectators strategically position themselves at key viewing spots. My preferred location gives me a chance to see my favorite runners twice: just after the 6 mile mark and again at the finish. Don’t tell anyone though, it’s already getting pretty crowded here. With COVID considerations addressed, isn’t it nice being around people again?

    • Follow the Trail and Scatter Light

      Man dreams one day to fly
      A man takes a rocket ship into the sky
      He lives on a star that’s dying in the night
      And follows in the trail, the scatter of light
      – U2, In A Little While

      There are moments in an album or a book or an evening when you recognize the magic. Emotion wells up in you, stirring and amplifying feelings, sending you to another place. A higher place, maybe, or a darker place should the moment direct you that way. I keep climbing to higher places, hoping the view is better. Hoping I’ll become better in the process. And some of it ends up here in this blog.

      U2 hit me a few times over with All That You Can’t Leave Behind. Opening with the hit, dropping in a mournful homage to Michael Hutchence and then the heart pounding Elevation. This was the U2 I’d missed in their experimental days of the late 90’s. These were songs that stuck with you. Ear worms if you will. And then they hit you with Walk On, which grabbed me by the throat waiting for a flight from LA to Boston. When Bono starts singing “Home, hard to know where it is if you’ve never had one” while sleepily waiting for a red eye flight home… well, I’ll never hear the song the same again.

      For all that, the second half of the album is admittedly weaker. And for me, In A Little While became the unconscious end. For it was this song that got that emotion welling, that stirred and amplified those feelings. When Bono sings “Slow down my bleeding heart” I’m right with him, and I know it hit others the same way. That’s the power of a moment.

      Bono stated at one of the concerts U2 recorded that Joey Ramone’s family told him In A Little While was the song that he listened to in hospice, which changed the song for Bono, the guy who wrote it, from a hung over dolt going home at the end of the night to something bigger. Something more meaningful. I never heard the song as anything but soul-stirring, which just goes to show, art might begin with the artist, but it becomes whatever the audience wants it to be.

      I think about that as I write. About reaching moments of emotional connection in my writing. About crafting something of depth and substance, something that amplifies that nugget of desire or fear or love in your soul. Surely I’m a work in progress, but still climbing. Following the trail and scattering light. Still dreaming of flying.

    • Telling Stories

      “The true beauty of a story is not in its apparent conclusion but in the alteration in the mind of the reader that has occurred along the way.” – George Saunders, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain

      The more I live, the more I see the connection between success in any pursuit and the connection you make with your audience. And this connection is directly related to the gravitational pull of our stories. When I was a shy kid I’d avoid telling stories because it put me squarely in the center of attention. I no longer worry about being the storyteller, because I’ve realized over time that the attention isn’t really on me at all, but on the story I’m telling.

      Think about the last time you were listening to a powerful story. You were pulled in, compelled, maybe even fascinated. Each of us wants this kind of connection. Each of us wants a story to resonate. Each of us wants to be part of something. And when you have this level of audience engagement you’re halfway there. Just don’t let them down.

      It goes without saying that this applies to writing as much as it does to a speech or conversation with someone. When you start stacking that pile of words together, who are you doing it for? Yourself? Nobody likes to listen to someone talking to themselves. No, craft your story for someone in your mind. Decide who the audience is and craft something that creates connection and transforms and shapes ideas.

      Humans are either connected or driven apart through the stories we tell ourselves. Stories of religious and political views, ethnicity, sports and a hundred others. The best story tellers sprinkle a magic spell over the audience, drawing them in and making them a part of it. And that’s where the beauty is in a story. And a beautiful reason to master the art of telling it and then use it for good.

    • Towards Exciting Things

      “That’s the whole secret: to do things that excite you.” – Ray Bradbury

      Truth be told, there are many things we do every day that aren’t exciting, yet we keep on doing them anyway. This is the attractive rut of doing the same thing: familiar and predictable and comfortable. But does it stir the soul?

      If we agree that life is short, shouldn’t we pursue that which excites us? I know, we’ve all gotta make a living, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t find the fun in both work and living. And if life is short, why waste years of it doing things that bore you to tears? Shake yourself out of the rut and dive into the deep work. The meaningful and enlightening. The exciting stuff.

      For most of us, exciting is reserved for vacations and weekends. I should think a healthy dose of exciting ought to be injected into each day. Too bold an ask? What are we here for if not to feel the thrill of stepping beyond your comfort zone? Too old? When are you going to get younger than now? If not now, when? If we’re going to slowly fade, why not use our brightest days moving towards exciting things?

      Really, this shouldn’t be that much of a secret.

    • What Dies With You?

      “Imagine if you will being on your death bed – And standing around your bed – the ghosts of the ideas, the dreams, the abilities, the talents given to you by life.

      And that you for whatever reason, you never acted on those ideas, you never pursued that dream, you never used those talents, we never saw your leadership, you never used your voice, you never wrote that book.

      And there they are standing around your bed looking at you with large angry eyes saying we came to you, and only you could have given us life! Now we must die with you forever.

      The question is – if you die today what ideas, what dreams, what abilities, what talents, what gifts, would die with you? ” – Les Brown

      You may have heard a version of this in a Denzel Washington commencement speech with something like 40 million views, but the framework for this story is older than that, and as far as I can tell, Les Brown was the first to tell it. And honestly, his version flows better than Denzel’s, and thus quotes better.

      I’ve been thinking about this lately myself. Whether to keep blogging or focus on the bigger writing I want to do. Whether to travel and explore to the level I want to or defer until some undefined, unlikely time in the future. Asking myself, what do you finish when you don’t have an infinite lifetime?

      Questions demand answers. Most of us distract ourselves from thinking about these things. Our lives are filled with white noise and busywork, but eventually we need to reckon with our ghosts.

      What dreams, abilities, talents and gifts will die with you? We can’t do everything in life, but surely we can do more. So what will you bring to life before you go?

    • No Likeness to That Human World Below

      You ask me:
      Why do I live
      On this green mountain?
      I smile
      No answer
      My heart serene
      On flowing water
      Peachblow
      Quietly going
      Far away
      Another earth
      This is
      Another sky
      No likeness
      To that human world below
      ~Li Po, On The Mountain: Question And Answer
      (translated by C.H. Kwôck & Vincent McHugh)

      Three days later and I’m still on a mountaintop. The aches and pains fade but the glow of walking the ridge line between peaks stays with me. And I wonder at this world I’ve created for myself, pressed in close to a desk, laptop at the ready, always asking for more. The mountains don’t ask for anything of you, but it’s understood that they demand respect.

      Solo hiking, for all the social abuse I receive for it, offers meditation and a connection to the mountains that you don’t get with even the quietest, most reverent hiking buddy. So occasionally I like to indulge in time alone on trails, walking until my own voice finally stops talking to me and I begin at last to listen to the song of the infinite.

      Yet you’re never quite alone in the mountains. There’s always a fellow hiker on a pilgrimage of their own, with a knowing look and a brief exchange before turning their attention back to the trail. The mountains aren’t entirely about solitude, for there are more people than ever on the trails. And every one of us with a reason for being up there.

      There’s an energy that you draw on when hiking with others. A momentum of common purpose, shared struggle, and shared beliefs. I do like hiking with others, quite a lot, and look forward to sharing the mountains with them again soon. Just give me a moment alone with this sky before I reluctantly descend to that human world below. Where I’ll plot my return.

    • Judging a Weekend

      How do you judge a weekend? By the afterglow? Or the fog? By the accumulated soreness? Or the spring in your step? If a weekend is celebrated upon arrival, how do we view it in the rearview mirror on Monday morning?

      What you do with your downtime is your business. I don’t judge someone that lies on the beach all day, I just don’t want to do it myself. You’ll find me in the water swimming laps or testing my mettle against the waves. That staying still business is all fine and good, but for a restless spirit it’s torture. Yes, I have people in my life that shake their head when I won’t just sit still for awhile.

      I tend to view weekends by what was accomplished over the two days. What projects were completed? What summits summited? Who did we see and what places have we visited? This is scorecard living. Tally the moments, judge the days. But judging your days isn’t the same as judging someone else’s days. We all use our time in our own way. How we spend our days is how we spend our lifetimes.

      When you see someone on Monday morning, one of the first things you might say to them is “How was your weekend?” which on the surface is closely related to “How are you doing?” in that most people expect a response of “Fine” or even “Great”. And honestly, most people just leave it at that. But when you ask about someone’s weekend you’re inviting a response bigger than one word. How you answer it generally reflects how you’ve judged it.

      I hope it was more than fine.