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    • A Rich Life

      “We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.” — Cesare Pavese

      I went out for a ride yesterday, cycling the streets in this small town I’ve lived in for so many of my days. It was the first ride of the season for me—admittedly very late to be back at it again, but we get pulled in so many directions, and cycling is only convenient when we’ve got everything ready to roll (including our mind). As with any habit, we make it easy and we’re more likely to do it. We make it hard and it never happens.

      I’m a kid again on a bike, and sometimes I forget to be a kid. A quick ten miles just to blow the rust off a bit and remind myself that I can do this more frequently if I would only put aside the excuses and just go do it. The ride was a rolling reminder of how much I love to ride a bicycle, of how many hills there are in this small town, and a series of flashbacks to who I was at different moments moving through these streets. The days are all a blur, it’s truly the moments that stand out.

      Knowing this, we must aim for the memorable in our days. Moments of clarity, moments of exuberance. What in this routine day will be the thing we will most remember one day when all the rest of it fades away? Break out the highlighter! Dare to be bold, or watch it blur into the obscurity of a life cautiously lived one day at a time. Rise each new morning with insatiable curiosity, wondering, what will we remember of this day? And then being that person that does those things. That’s how to live a rich life. That’s how to make this journey a hell of a ride.

    • Knowing the Score

      Well the sun is surely sinking down
      But the moon is slowly rising
      And this old world must still be spinning ’round
      And I still love you
      So close your eyes
      You can close your eyes, it’s all right
      I don’t know no love songs
      And I can’t sing the blues anymore
      But I can sing this song
      And you can sing this song
      When I’m gone
      — James Taylor, You Can Close Your Eyes

      I’ve been busier and more focused lately. This offers the potential for productive days at the very moment when I’m less inclined to be productive. But I power through because to do otherwise would be to do dishonor to the work. Work is transactional, with both parties doing their part to honor the agreement. Employee at will, as the lawyers say. Today I will work, because life goes on and there’s just so much to do before I’m done.

      Life can end abruptly for any of us, but those who enter hospice do so knowing the score. Or sometimes it’s their loved ones who know the score while they quietly slip away. Perhaps we’ll know what they experience when we get there ourselves one day. One day they’re fully with us, the next they’re not fully there, and one day they’re gone. Yes, we know the score.

      I’ve been saving this song, anticipating my father’s passing one day soon. What a thing to do, holding a song for someone’s passing! But what I mean is it’s been on my mind while he’s been slipping away, and to share the lyrics before he passed seems to rush his passing along. I decided to use it today, because it feels like holding on isn’t fair to him. And maybe not fair to me either.

      So what does being an employee at will have to do with watching my father slip away from us? Maybe nothing more than perspective. Life offers many opportunities to honor agreements that we’ve entered into. We are born into a family, but we stay with them by choice. Dad and I have both been busy with other things the last few years of his awareness. We’ve come back together late in the game, but we’re still in the game. At least for a moment before it’s gone.

    • All Politics Are Local

      It occurred to me while walking just last night that the neighborhood had snuck back up on me again. For a few years there it felt isolated and suspicious, and angry at the state of the world. Or maybe that was always me, reacting to the trend in national politics, the trend towards oligarchs, the trend toward meanness and selfishness and isolationism.

      The world is a complicated mess—surely it is, but our world, the one that we live in every day, need not be. Community is the people who surround us. The people who knew us ten or twenty years ago and still choose to ask how we’re doing now. It occurred to me that the neighborhood is full of people who are just trying to make a go at this one precious life just like I am.

      It took a lot of walks with the pup to lift the fog of perception away. A dog is an invitation to shatter the cone of silence that hovers over people in this strange new world we live in. Polite nods become long conversations, which in turn flip the script from divisiveness to connectedness. And soon it feels like the place we were meant to be at this time in our lives.

      They say all politics are local. We all just want to be heard. We all just want to be accepted for who we are. Well, that requires a reciprocal investment in hearing others out, and accepting them for who they are too. The pendulum swings abruptly one direction to the next and back again over time. And all the while, we still have to live with one another. We might as well enjoy each other’s company.

    • The Produce of Our Season

      “Work while you have the light. You are responsible for the talent that has been entrusted to you.” ― Henri Frédéric Amiel

      I went to a local farm stand to find some fresh produce. The woman at the register asked me how my winter had been. We know each other through produce transactions from mid-summer to early autumn, and little more than that. So winter in this instance meant the time from October to the 4th of July. Every conversation I’ve ever had with this woman has revolved around the variability of the growing season, the way to deal with groundhogs who snack on your tomatoes (with extreme violence, she suggests helpfully), and when they expect to have certain vegetables that aren’t yet available. Transactional, but pleasant conversation—but of course, I’m not a groundhog.

      A farm functions with the seasons. You must do the work to sustain the farm, grinding out the days with productivity. There’s no time to waste on a farm if you have any expectation of making a living from it. A farmer manages urgency and purpose with every waking moment. There is nothing unclear about the days on a farm. Grind it out again and again until the harvest, take a deep breath and start all over again… and again still.

      Would we only have this level of clarity in our own creative work. We know that there is work to be done, for there is still a fire within. Of this there is no question. The question has always been, what will stoke the fire and warm the soul? Do we dabble in uninspiring work, merely to make ends meet? Or do we dive deeply into finding the light within, wrestling demons to bring it to the surface? What are we producing that adds value?

      We are each entrusted with a unique combination of talent and perspective. We must learn to make the most of these gifts in the growing season we have before us. Like the farmer, we must feel the urgency of the day at hand, we must wrestle with our purpose and push through the challenges that each day presents. When we look at the farm stand that is our own work, what have we produced? There lies the truth of our season. There lies the answer for what we must do next.

    • Cats and Dogs

      To have a cat is to have a nocturnal tinkerer who doesn’t care a lick that you’re sleeping. My bride seemingly never hears the tinkering. It seems that pleasure is reserved for me. Just me and the cat… every night. Got something on the shelf? Not for long. Got flowers in a vase? Let’s knock it over and watch the water run. Got a favorite plant? Tastes great! But don’t you dare forget to feed me before you do anything else. A cat purrs in contempt—I’m convinced of it.

      To have a dog is to have a personal greeter who is delighted to see you once again when you walk down the stairs to start your day. A dog is someone to walk with. A personal coach who will get you back out there walking even when you just want to sit down for a little while. A dog is a shared treasure in a house full of hope and love, because a dog helps fill that house with love.

      Now you may read this and get the feeling I have a strong opinion about cats and dogs in this world. And for the most part, you’d be correct. But the thing is, I like a cat just fine when it forgets that it’s a cat and just meets you halfway to cordial now and then. And I’m not a fan of dogs that believe they should have been cats, behaving like spoiled children running amuck. It’s attitude that counts with me, not what you were born as.

      And this naturally goes for people as well. The arrogant and entitled are not welcome in my life. The generous and kind have an open door whenever they wish to return to our home. We learn to read people over time, seeing the wolf in sheep’s clothing for who they are, learning to forgive the occasional mistake from those who meant well but stumbled nonetheless. It’s not who you were born as, it’s who you decide to be that matters most. Be kind and generous. And for god’s sake, stop tinkering in the night when I’m trying to sleep.

    • Being Mad in a Prudent World

      “Run from what’s comfortable. Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious. I have tried prudent planning long enough. From now on I’ll be mad.” — Rumi

      We are too often prudent. We like to think ourselves mad, but we gradually move back to doing what is expected of us, what is logical, what will pay the bills and such. When all along our wild side cries for release. Do you still hear the cry, or has it been smothered to death?

      I’m not suggesting we each take the sum of our 401(k)’s and put it all in at the craps table, merely that we stray off the straight and narrow more often. Do what nobody ever expected of us now and then, just to keep them from believing they have us figured out. We are more than the expectations others that have of us—at least we ought to be.

      We stack our experiences neatly in a line, one day to the next. Towards the middle, we start to see a trend as our collection of experiences become our identity. This is who I am is as powerful an anchor as any. To slip that anchor in favor of this is who I will be is a scary proposition. And this is why most people never sail beyond that safe harbor. They reach the end of their days wondering where they might have gone but for a little courage to weigh that anchor and set the sails for adventure.

      I see my light come shining
      From the west unto the east.
      Any day now, any day now,
      I shall be released.
      — Bob Dylan, I Shall Be Released

      A blog is a form of expression. Perhaps it’s a way to let the cries have their say, or to document the gradual release of this writer from the anchors that once held him firmly in place. There’s far more to say and do, and following the heading of who we will be is easier said than done. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither are we, friend. The voyage begins with each step away from prudent, towards what once seemed quite mad. We find that what was prudent at anchor is mad when we’ve sailed beyond who we once were.

    • This is Not Enough

      “There are some days when I think I’m going to die from an overdose of satisfaction.” ― Salvador Dalí

      This summer, I’ve changed.
      A lot.
      Some people have noticed the changes,
      most have not…
      Ahh, but I have.

      Whatever leaps forward we make ought to be celebrated, but not lingered on. For we must reach further still. We must seize what flees, as Seneca warned us. To be complacent is to wither in place. To be satisfied is to leave our best on the table, conceding that we weren’t all that after all. Screw that! We must keep moving. We must keep changing and growing and discovering more of that untapped potential lying dormant under years of apathy and bliss, For this—this is not nearly enough.

      Some days this blog is just behind where I’ve landed. Some days it deceives the reader, for I’ve already crossed a chasm to another place. Today’s blog is just where I am—hitting some milestones, hungry for more and not nearly satisfied, poised to leap into the unknown again and again. We all must feel this way to become who we were meant to be. We all must put aside who we once were for something more compelling. That is our mission each day we rise to face the challenges change brings to us.

      “Non est ad astra mollis e terris via (There is no easy way from the earth to the stars)” ― Seneca

      A Seneca-heavy post today, but when the philosopher fits, wear it. The thing is, quotes and poems and our own words are nothing but affirmation until we do the work to close the gaps. It’s easy to say we’ll do something, harder to actually do it. Action, not words, are all that count in the end. Dissatisfaction is a trigger for the work that must follow to be all that we can be in this short go with a vibrant life. Being infers action. It is the creative act of climbing to possibility. For there is no easy way from the earth to the stars. We must go to them.

    • The Incredible Gift

      And under the trees, beyond time’s brittle drift,
      I stood like Adam in his lonely garden
      On that first morning, shaken out of sleep,
      Rubbing his eyes, listening, parting the leaves,
      Like tissue on some vast, incredible gift.
      — Mary Oliver, Morning in a New Land

      I’m nearing the end with my father, I can see that clearly now. In some ways our time ended years ago, back when we lost him to another life. And then we lost him again when his mind began to fail him, and you no longer recall the last time he said your name, because maybe your own memory betrays you in the recollection. Dementia is a bastard in this way, stealing the lives of people well before the heart stops beating. But eventually the heart will stop beating too. It won’t be long now.

      We may live in the present, but we still carry the past. Whatever it is that we carry is part of who we are, wherever it is that we are going. We may choose to release some things to lighten our load, or to hold on to memories that feel like someone else’s story the further we move away from them. Memories drift with the winds of time, offering glimpses of who we once were, like some movie that we watch again and again even though we know how it ends. When memory ends, does the story end with it? I think that those with dementia have had their burden released to those they leave behind—their memories are now only for others to carry.

      Life is this incredible gift, too often wasted on frivolous distractions, or perhaps we believe they are harnessed in relentless pursuit. But tell me, the pursuit of what? The gift is the present itself, whatever it’s wrapped up in. We must savor the days for what they bring. Even this. The long goodbye is its own gift, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.

      Amor fati: love of fate. It’s easy to say these words, harder to live by them. We cannot control what fate brings us, we can only accept it and do the best we can on the test. For the sun will rise again, and we must carry on. The miracle remains that we were ever here at all.

    • The Waterfalls of Letchworth State Park

      If you love waterfalls (and who doesn’t love waterfalls?), Upstate New York is the place for you. Get beyond Niagara Falls and you find hundreds of waterfalls worth exploring (officially over 2000). I’ve written about many of the waterfalls of New York over the years as I’ve explored them, but circumstances had never gotten me to Letchworth State Park to see their beloved three on the Genesee. During a drive from Cleveland to Boston, we finally stopped to see what all the fuss was about.

      Once you get off I-90, the rule is single lane roads rolling up and over hills through the never-ending farmland and woodland of New York. This rule demands two things: a full fuel tank and an empty bladder. Obeying these rules will get you to your destination eventually. Letchworth State Park is a destination worthy of that drive.

      Rolling in on a hot summer day, we pulled up to pay the $10 day entry fee. The park official looked up at the bug-spattered roof bag and asked if we planned on camping. “Nope, just here for the afternoon”, we assured her, and followed her instructions that led us to the restrooms. We all must prioritize our time based on the urgency call of the moment.

      After getting our affairs in order, we drove back towards the southern entrance to the park to the impressive railroad bridge spanning the Genesee River (Portage Bridge). There was ample parking for a Sunday hike, and we quickly made our way to the trailhead at Portage Bridge. Being a New York State Park, you come to expect elaborate public works like staircases, walls and railings, and there they were to greet us as we made our descent.

      The three waterfalls in the southern section of the park are the Upper Falls, Middle Falls and Lower Falls. The Upper Falls, with the railroad bridge spanning the river above them, offer a beautiful view. The Middle Falls are the most impressive and are the falls you can get closest to. The Lower Falls are further away as you’re hiking, but on easy terrain for the average hiker. Once you’ve arrived at the Lower Falls you can either continue hiking through the canyon or turn to head back to where you started. We opted for the out and back, making a solid 5 mile round trip.

      Letchworth is a park full of campers and day-trippers. There are plenty of amenities situated along the route, from restrooms to a restaurant with gift store for those wanting perfume-fragranced candles and such. Closer to Upper Falls there’s even an ice cream stand. That proved a fortuitous opportunity for us to purchase some cold drinks to reinvigorate for the final climb back up to the trailhead.

      As we were rehydrating four girls with their grandmother were walking away from the ice cream stand with soft serve cones quickly melting in the sun. As they licked to keep up, one of the girls said, “Best day ever.” as they made their way to a picnic table. I thought to myself, you just might be right.

      Upper Falls
      Middle Falls
      Lower Falls
      Genesee River below Lower Falls
      Classic New York State Park stairs and railings

    • Returning to the Cascadilla Gorge Trail

      For a few years I found myself spending a lot of time in Ithaca, New York. If you love waterfalls and a relaxed college town vibe, it’s the place to be. I forgot how much I missed it until I returned.

      My connection to Ithaca runs deep. My favorite Navy pilot went to the big red school on the hill. My daughter went to the big blue school on the other hill. I have a long affinity with the Moosewood restaurant through the cookbooks and [not nearly enough] visits to eat there. There are other connections but you get the point.

      It’s those waterfalls that root deeply into your soul and never release you. My favorite Navy pilot used to tell me that Cascadilla Gorge was his favorite, and I feel the same way. It doesn’t have the jaw-dropping impact of Ithaca Falls or the height of Taughannock Falls, but it’s a more intimate experience—especially early in the morning when you have the place mostly to yourself.

      I was with my favorite Navy pilot last the last time he visited Ithaca, to see his granddaughter and see the campus again. We saw some waterfalls then too, but not Cascadilla Gorge. It was beyond his ability at that point in his life. I thought about him as I descended back down along the rushing waters. We are only here and healthy for such a brief time. Will I ever visit this gorge again myself? Who knows what the future brings? But I am here, now, when it matters most.