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    • 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.

    • Hiking Passaconaway & Whiteface

      Hot, muggy August days create hazy, sweaty conditions for hiking, with a dash of risk for thunderstorms. But it’s been six long months since I’d last hiked a 4000 footer, and I was way overdue to notch one or two more. The question then is, who do you hike with? For me, the answer for this day was to hike solo. I needed to work out the rust of hiking on granite again without feeling the obligation of keeping pace. And more importantly, I needed the mental space that hiking offers after another half a year of working during a pandemic.

      My thoughts on hiking alone aside, I didn’t want to drive an extra hour to find the less crowded peaks of the northern White Mountains. So my focus turned to Mounts Passaconaway and Whiteface, each part of the Sandwich range and relatively close with relatively good elbow room. And planned my hike the way most people seem to do it, to hike Mount Whiteface first and then loop around to Mount Passaconaway afterwards. Plans are lovely things, aren’t they?

      When you’re hiking on a trail and come across a spot where you can either haul yourself over a boulder or bypass it entirely by taking the worn path around it, which do you choose? The answer is subjective, isn’t it? It depends on the size of the boulder. It depends on the condition of the worn path around it. And it depends on your mood at the time. My mood at the time I reached the Tom Wiggins trail was such that when I read the sign warning that the trail was not recommended because it was “steep and loose” I paused for a couple of minutes to consult my trail map, contemplate the implications to the overall mileage I’d do that day, and opt for the out and back option instead of the loop. This decision added almost five miles to my hike, and I’d second-guess it the rest of the day, but sometimes you have to trust your gut.

      Decision Time

      Decision made, I hiked the Dicey Mill Trail to the junction of the Rollins Trail, where I had another choice to make: knock off summitting Mount Passaconaway first, or hike over to Mount Whiteface via the Rollins Trail and save Passaconaway for last? And here I made another choice that I’d second guess the rest of the day. I chose Whiteface, and hiked the 2.3 miles over to the cairn that marked the summit, went past it to the next trail junction and then turned around and hiked all the way back to where I’d begun. Far simpler to have just knocked off Passaconaway while the legs were fresh. It would have given me the option of descending the Tom Wiggins Trail (which was admittedly advertised as steep and loose). I may still have doubled back, but at least I’d have the option. Anyway, these are the hindsight options you think about as you’re sweating through your hiking shirt and feeling your knees and ankles remind you of your choices in life.

      This out and back hike wasn’t all that challenging, it was just long. And that’s exactly what I’d signed up for back at that sign. Sometimes you have to make peace with your decisions in life, and I’m okay with this one. Seeing comparable hikers who started right in front of me finishing the loop I’d contemplated after me, I recognized that either option was fine. I’ll hike the steep and loose section another day, probably in winter when the only part that matters is steep.

      This was my non-traditional hike of two more 4000 footers. I know if I’d hiked with friends I’d have just done the loop I’d planned all along, but sometimes you’ve got to just go it alone. And live with your choices along the way.

      Second Decision
      Summit of Whiteface

    • Prepping the Night Before

      On the fence about whether to hike a pair of 4000 footers, I decided to just start getting my pack ready, just in case. When the backpack was ready, the boots and hiking clothes laid out, it became a foregone conclusion that I’d actually get up and go at 4:30 AM. But it all started with packing that backpack.

      There’s nothing revolutionary about putting your workout clothes out, or getting your bag packed for an early flight. The work you put in the night before sets the tone for the morning. You don’t forget important things, you aren’t scrambling to find things that you swore were right where you left them the last time you hiked. But mostly, you do what you said you were going to do. Waking up to the alarm with everything laid out eliminates excuses, and pokes you with some positive pressure: I got everything ready, the least I could do is get my ass out of bed and get to it.

      So when you’re on the fence, or when it really matters that you follow through, prep the night before. It’ll make all the difference the next morning. Just remember to set the alarm!

    • The Perfect Day

      When you hear someone say they had a perfect day, what does that mean to you? We have this stack of days, one to the next, before it ends someday. What makes a few of them perfect, while the rest fall slightly short?

      Let’s start with the obvious: Waking up this morning, the day is already off to a great start. If you celebrate that moment the rest of your day may ebb and flow, but starting from a better place you set the tone for what follows. Carpe diem begins with celebrating the gift of life. If you’re bored with life or indifferent to the potential of each moment you’ll never have a perfect day. Each will fall short in some way because your mind isn’t open to the joy of living.

      Perfect requires stacking the moments in a day with just enough beauty and sparkle to reflect back at you, leaving an afterglow in your last moments awake as your cheek feels the cool softness of your favorite pillow. Perfect ought to include certain elements mixed in an elixir: A dash of wonder, moments of connection, the realization of experience, breathless celebration and sensory perception. You drink up this elixir, feel it soak through your pores and course through your veins, and feel high on life.

      We all have moments of perfection in our lives, but to ask for a full day of it seems almost too much. More likely, we forget the down moments in a day. Pushing moments of discomfort or awkwardness or frustration down in our minds for the glow of the rest of the day. And sure, maybe there’s really no such thing as a perfect day at all, but we can surely reach for it.

      As I began my day, I wondered, how can I make this one perfect? I may not reach it, but knowing the recipe you can get pretty close. Does seeking perfection make it artificial, or deliberate? You only find what you look for. There is no perfection, but there is magic in each moment. Often hiding in plain sight.

      And so I seek connection with each of my fellow life passengers that I stumble across, and keep my eye out for new experiences as big as a new summit and as small as watching leaves stir from a hummingbird’s wings, and tickle my senses with a new song on the radio or the scent of garden tomatoes growing on a summer day. These moments of aliveness, stacked together, are where perfection lies. It’s not the day at all, but the moments stacked together. For what is life but that?