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    • As Best We Can

      “I perceive that, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man.” — Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience

      It’s been a while since I’ve quoted Henry. I think it was the bumper crop of acorns that prompted me to revisit his work. When you live amongst the oak trees, you experience the full gamut of seasons with them, from catkins to acorns to stubborn leaves that hold on long after the maples and ash trees have gone bare. The oaks were here first, and (hopefully) they’ll be here long after I leave this place. I am but a steward of the land in my time.

      We know that time is flying rapidly along, because we experience the fruits of our own seasons. My catkin season is long past, I’m gathering as many acorns as I can before the harvest is over. With any luck, my own leaves will hold as an oaks, and not a swamp maple’s. Time will tell.

      The lesson, of course, is to learn to live according to our nature, but also in harmony with nature. Those who thrive in a lifetime do so with vigor, but also balance. So it is that I got back to my kettle bell workouts, and read in earnest, and yes, write this blog to keep growing and flourishing as best I can. We all ought to strive to deeply root ourselves with a sense of place and time and see just how far we can stretch ourselves towards the light. To exist otherwise isn’t really living at all.

    • Resonance and Depth

      “It goes without saying that a fine short poem can have the resonance and depth of an entire novel.” — James Wright

      Poems are like friends: find the right one and it will change your life. And like people we encounter throughout our lives, they serve as stepping stones between who we were prior to landing on one and who we become as we launch towards some other insightful plateau.

      So what is reading a great novel, if not more time with something of substance? Like a marriage that carries us on a journey of discovery? We may find a resounding truth in a few words, or one that unfolds over the course of a lifetime. A resolve towards discovery is the thing.

      I started reading The Count of Monte Cristo again. And in reading it, I came across a business card from a decade ago that I’d stuck between the pages as a placeholder marking the last time I’d passed this way. Have I mentioned that I’ve started and stopped reading this novel a few times over the years? Perhaps this time I’ll finish it. Twenty pages a day and it will be wrapped up by Thanksgiving. I can surely outpace that metric, given enough time… and the inclination.

      We are the sum of all that we layer atop the foundation we venture out into the world with. No doubt a solid foundation helps a great deal in reaching a higher potential. Isn’t that why we strive to put our children in the best neighborhoods and schools we can afford? But a solid base means nothing if we don’t grow from it. We may shore up our own foundation, and fill gaps through a regimen of lifetime education. This is our duty to ourselves, to reach for that elusive arete in our time. Or we could simply coast into a lesser version of who we might have been. The choice is ours.

    • Be Inclined

      Had I known that the first was the last
      I should have kept it longer.
      Had I known that the last was the first
      I should have drunk it stronger.
      Cup, it was your fault,
      Lip was not the liar.
      No, lip, it was yours,
      Bliss was most to blame.
      — Emily Dickinson

      Time is quickly devoured, but too seldom savored. Opportunities are sometimes seized, often missed. That’s life; figured out as it’s stumbled upon, scorned when reflected on. Don’t beat yourself up friend, for all of us are figuring it out and being our own worst critic. That’s life amongst we humans.

      Opportunity knocks, daily. We are what we repeatedly do (excellence being a habit). To be better, we ought to work on our inclinations. Be inclined to seize more moments, be inclined to say yes to bold and courageous, even in the face of pragmatism and logic and the biggest enemy of audacity, comfort.

      Fear wears many cloaks. Regrets feed on timidity and indecision. Don’t play tomorrow’s blame game: Be inclined to be bold today.

    • Do You See?

      Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”
      Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”
      Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again—and she was a blade of grass.
      And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my winter dreams.” — Kahlil Gibran, Said a Blade of Grass

      Stepping out with the pup, the acorns thudding across the yard, the crisp welcome of change in the air. A perfect day for an autumn tale, and Gibran’s classic fits the bill nicely. Why haven’t I used this before? Have I, and don’t recall? Everything is recycled eventually, given enough time.

      We have a few weeks to go before the leaves really begin to fall vigorously. It’s still harvest time for most everything. There’s still time to track the changes, to be aware, to present. Dare wait a day and look at all we’ve missed!

      I’m reminded of a rower I once coached who came from a different part of the country. Autumn in New England was all new to him, and he marveled at everything. Every day he would get to the boathouse early and look at a maple tree to register the changes from the day before. He did that for the entire fall season, from green and leafy to bare tree limbs, never taking a picture, just being present with that one tree every day. And in his shared awareness, I began to see what was right in front of me all along.

      A lot of years have passed since that time. I wonder what ever happened to that rower, and all of those rowers, really. Reflecting on the accumulated distance, I feel compelled to be more aware myself. For the changes come quickly as the days grow shorter. What’s here today will change tomorrow. The cycle continues well beyond our time here to witness it all. Do you see?

    • Been There

      The last few weeks, I’ve noticed friends and family going to places I’ve been as well. It’s interesting to see their pictures, compare them to the ones I took when I was in those places, remember favorite places and recommend they check them out if they have time, and wonder at the places I missed when I was there that they found. Bravo! Now I want to go back again.

      Having been there doesn’t make us experts on the place, it only makes us familiar with it. My six day in Paris were wonderful and I wouldn’t trade them for anything, save maybe more time in Paris. And I feel the same way about Rome and Vienna and Dublin and Edinburgh and London and Barcelona and… you get the point. Having been there is simply a starting point in the conversation. The real question is, what did we get out of the experience of being there?

      It goes without saying that I want to go back to almost every place I’ve been to. But I know it’s unlikely I ever will with most of them. Sure, two or three major cities warrant a return, but if we don’t actually live near that city, the chances of us returning are pretty remote. There’s just so much to see and do in this world, and life, as we know, is ever so brief. So make the most out of every visit, for we may never pass this way again.

      But let’s hope we do.

    • The Forever Regimen

      “21 days? 30 days? 66 days?
      The honest answer is: forever. Because once you stop doing it, it is no longer a habit.
      A habit is a lifestyle to be lived, not a finish line to be crossed. Make small, sustainable changes you can stick with.” — James Clear

      James Clear had it right; the answer is forever. At least when the question is about how long we should do something for it to be deeply-engrained in our identity. This applies equally well to fitness and nutrition, writing, reading, disciplined action at work or any other habit we wish to sustain for the rest of our lives.

      Nothing affirms this more than taking a break from our routine for more than a few days. Suddenly what was simply who we were and what we did becomes a task we must add back into our day. Nature abhors a void, and the time we spent doing a weight circuit or writing a blog post is seized for reading a book or watching Schitt’s Creek. The new habit dominates our muscle memory and we have to force ourselves back on track.

      The regimen is who we are, forever. Until we stop, and then we are this other person who used to be more consistent with that positive habit we’ll one day we wish to get back to. Begin again today, if we must. But stick with it this time. We’ll thank ourselves later.

    • Like Any Great Story

      “Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” — Mark Twain

      I’ve delighted in a series of great books this year. I wonder what my top ten will be when the year is over, mostly because I keep working to up the ante with another great book after finishing the special one that resonated most recently. Momentum in reading, as in life, is built incrementally. We know it when we experience it.

      I have several books I’ve been meaning to get to this year. Some are new to me, some are old favorites that will read differently as I’ve changed. I’m one of those people who don’t “count” the books I reread the same way as I count new to me books. It’s like the number of “friends” we might have on social media; the total means everything to some people and nothing much at all to others. How many true friends can one person have? The only score that matters is what we experience when we’re together. May we each measure up in that moment.

      Some books, as with some friends, are better than others. What we immerse ourselves in means everything. Some books we love we can only read once. Some we choose to read again and again, finding nuance and meaning missed or forgotten in previous encounters with the page. So it is with the inner circle with whom we spend our lives.

      Our ideal life unfolds before us, like any great story. What seems ordinary when it’s happening turns into something life-changing as we turn the pages day-to-day. I think about the first time I met a few people in my life who changed me profoundly in later chapters. If we’re lucky, we each have one or two life-long friends in our lives who make life ideal, but we also have those people who meant something in a moment who stay with us in our memories for the rest of our days. Their voices play in our minds like a Favorites playlist.

    • Climb

      “We should try to be happy, just to set an example.” — Jacques Prevert

      I make no secret of my disregard for the miserable. It’s not that I disdain them, it’s more that I choose to avoid their glass half empty view of living as much as I possibly can. Just because someone chooses to make misery soup doesn’t mean we have to slurp it up. Push it to the side and savor something delightful instead.

      There are plenty of opportunities to be miserable in a lifetime. Why consume it? Why seek it out? Life will delivery our share of setbacks, misery and horror. That’s part of being alive, after all. Live long enough and we’re sure to take two steps back. Heck, we may slide all the way to the bottom and have to start again, like Sisyphus forever pushing his rock up the hill. We can choose to wallow at the bottom or begin to climb once again.

      There’s no joy in wallowing at our lowest point—we must push ahead. Does that prevailing attitude make me an optimist, or simply anti-fragile? Call me pragmatic, but something better is always a climb above where we currently lie. The good news is, we at least know which way to go.

    • With Urgency and Focus

      “Do that thing that honors life.” — John Kenney, I See You’ve Called in Dead

      I’ve written about this before, but it bears repeating. I have people in my life who question me for writing about death. I remind them that Memento mori is not a morbid fixation, it’s a call to action. We must acknowledge our ending in order to begin living fully, with urgency and focus.

      John Kenney’s book is delightfully funny with an underlying sadness that washes over you in alternating waves. It’s a lot like life in this way. We fully savor joie de vivre precisely because we experience darker moments in our lives. How can we know the good if we never experience the bad?

      If I repeat myself, it’s simply a reminder to do more of the things that honor life. We are each blessed to be alive for this brief window of time. Optimizing that which makes us most alive seems prudent given the certainty of our eventual expiration. Dance with life, even as we accept the reality that the music will end.

    • Passing, and Preserving (RIP Annie)

      ‘Evolution loves death more than it loves you or me. This is easy to write, easy to read, and hard to believe. The words are simple, the concept clear—but you don’t believe it, do you? Nor do I. How could I, when we’re both so lovable? Are my values then so diametrically opposed to those that nature preserves?” — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

      I woke up to the news that Annie Dillard passed away yesterday. That triggered me to look back on her most famous book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, for which she won the Pulitzer in 1974. Having read it, I’ll never think of creeks or barnacles the same. In that way, she will live on forever in my mind, and in the minds of countless others who read her books. Creating something is to dance with infinity, or at least for the duration of recorded memory.

      Writing is one form of creative output. Apparently Dillard grew weary of the life of a writer and turned to painting in her retirement. The output isn’t the real point, it’s honing awareness through listening and observation, and interpreting those encounters into something tangible that we might share with others. We will all pass from this earth one day. What will be preserved of us? The creation of something beautiful, in whatever form it takes, is a whisper of who we are, and one day too soon, who we once were.

      I’ve quoted Dillard in this blog several times over the years, but her quote that resonates the most with me serves to shake me from complacency and force me to focus now. We all need someone to remind us that today matters a great deal in the big scheme of things. Because the scheme is the thing. Structure and productivity matter, when we have something we want to do with our time here. It’s the most stoic of reminders:

      “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living.” — Annie Dillard, The Writing Life: The Classic Essay Collection on the Creative Process

      Thanks Annie.