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    • Developing Oneself

      “If by some fiat I had to restrict all this writing to one sentence, this is the one I would choose: The summit of Mt. Everest is marine limestone.” – John McPhee

      Now and then I re-read that quote to shake myself out of my own head. The implications of that McPhee sentence are profound enough on the merit of “marine limestone”, but wait; there’s more. There’s also the craft of forming a sentence so starkly beautiful, so elegant in its simplicity, that it inspires you to be a bit better at your own writing.

      “No one will ever write in just the way that you do, or in just the way that anyone else does. Because of this fact, there is no real competition between writers. What appears to be competition is actually nothing more than jealousy and gossip. Writing is a matter strictly of developing oneself. You compete only with yourself. You develop yourself by writing.”
      ― John McPhee, Draft No. 4: On the Writing Process

      I have this McPhee book, partially read, in my virtual stack of books to finish this year. I began reading it, was pulled towards some weighty books that demanded attention, and keep looking back at it wanting to finish what I’d started. Another case for reading one book at a time, as if it were required to build a case at all.

      Ryan Holiday writes about this time during the pandemic through a Stoic lens. He’s a prolific reader, and also a prolific writer. His mentor is another prolific writer in Robert Greene. What he said rings in my ears as this crazy year spirals towards an end:

      “I remembered a piece of advice I had gotten from the author Robert Greene many years earlier. He told me there are two types of time: alive time and dead time. One is when you sit around, when you wait until things happen to you. The other is when you are in control, when you make every second count, when you are learning and improving and growing.” – Ryan Holiday

      I note the challenge, and accept it. We’ve all wasted too many seconds in 2020, and the years that preceded it. Focused action, high agency, and discipline matter more than ever. You don’t get down the path if you keep detouring off to view every distraction along the way. To ship the work you must complete the work.

      Reading inspires action, but it also distracts. If you’re caught up in the greatness of the work of another you can get cavalier about your own work. Reading is alive time, but so is productive action towards a goal. There’s time enough for both in a day, should you use your day wisely, and with urgency. You develop yourself through the work. Embrace it.

    • John Lennon in Four Songs

      Taken away from us forty years ago today, John Lennon remains the most complex of Beatles. With this anniversary of his murder, he’s been dead for as many years as he was alive, which is a surreal indicator of how large his presence has been well after he’s been gone. I wonder what he might have said about the world of the last four decades had he lived long enough to see it. He may have some pointed words for this world of ours.

      Summing up John Lennon’s prolific career in four songs seems folly. I mean, what do you leave out? A freakin’ lot, that’s what you leave out. But there are four that stand out for me as core standards of the Lennon catalog. Forgive me if you’ve heard them before. If there’s a common theme in John Lennon songs it’s love and unity. Today’s a good day to listen to the entire body of work and remember the man. Personally, I’m starting with these four:

      Stawberry Fields Forever
      Living is easy with eyes closed
      Misunderstanding all you see
      It’s getting hard to be someone
      But it all works out
      It doesn’t matter much to me

      Go ahead: pick only one John Lennon Beatles song. Not at all easy. It really comes down to Help! or Give Peace A Chance or Strawberry Fields Forever. Sure, I went to Strawberry Fields and can post a cool photo of me there, but I think it may have been the top choice anyway. I’m one of those music geeks that adds it to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band because it belonged on that damned album and was taken off to meet demand for a single. Even the Beatles had to compromise with their art. Anyway, Ringo Starr asked everyone to play SFF today to honor John, so it seems that endorsement is enough to put this one on top.

      Imagine
      Imagine there’s no countries
      It isn’t hard to do
      Nothing to kill or die for
      And no religion too

      I’ve had moments of ambivalence with this song. Not the message, mind you, but the sheer number of times I’ve heard it played made it numbing in a way. When you overplay anything it gets old after a while. Imagine should never get old… As I’ve gotten older the song resonates once again in new ways.

      Instant Karma!
      Instant Karma’s gonna get you
      Gonna knock you off your feet
      Better recognize your brothers
      Ev’ryone you meet
      Why in the world are we here
      Surely not to live in pain and fear
      Why on earth are you there
      When you’re ev’rywhere
      Come and get your share

      John Lennon was a Rock & Roll guy molded in smoky clubs in the gritty cities of Liverpool and Berlin. If the other three songs on this list are ballads or trippy narratives, Instant Karma! is a rock song. The relentless drum beat from Alan White drives the song. Instant Karma! was recorded in one day and rushed out in 1970 before the Beatles had announced they’d split up. It was John Lennon telling the world, here I am! Solo artist. And maybe I should resent the song for that reason, but it’s too good to dismiss. And as fellow Beatle (and collaborator on this song) George Harrison would soon remind the world, all good things must pass.

      Happy Xmas (War Is Over)
      And so happy Christmas
      For black and for white
      For yellow and red ones
      Let’s stop all the fights

      As Christmas songs go, this was always my favorite. Happy Xmas was released two months after Imagine in 1971. The two songs pair well together. It’s another song that pointed out the absurdity of wars and racial divide. More relevant than ever. And that’s why John Lennon never really died, he’s still on the airwaves pointing out the folly of being human and showing the way towards peace and love. That he died violently is one of the tragic ironies of popular culture.

      This being 2020 and all, I think about the final lyrics of this song, and how the meaning has changed for me as I’ve grown weary of all the negativity and strife and isolation and life struggles that this year has represented. I view it, somehow, with a bit of optimism and hope:

      And so this is Christmas
      And what have we done
      Another year over
      A new one just begun

    • Awaiting Discovery

      “It is remarkable that men do not sail the sea with more expectation. Nothing remarkable was ever accomplished in a prosaic mood. The heroes and discoverers have found true more than was previously believed, only when they were expecting and dreaming of something more than their contemporaries dreamed of, or even themselves discovered, that is, when they were in a frame of mind fitted to behold the truth. Referred to the world’s standard, they are always insane.” – Henry David Thoreau, Cape Cod

      This is a year of the commonplace and unromantic if you let it be.  Lockdowns and border closings and mandatory quarantines tend to temper the passions of the high agency traveler.  But then again, if you keep your expectations and dreams focused on regional adventuring until things open up again you might just find the world under your nose.

      Yesterday I watched a bobcat, set against the snow, on the hunt.  It was slinking along the edge of the forest where the fence announces wilderness begins.  I expect it was attracted to the bird feeder activity, for there were squirrels and juicy birds for the taking for the ambitious hunter.  Unlike my snowshoe hare encounter I wasn’t prepared for a picture, and I settled for locking her image in my brain.

      Leaving Cape Cod the other day I stopped to fill up the tank and, glancing up, noticed 9-10 osprey hovering in the wind, all clustered together.  I’ve never seen so many osprey flying together, and there they were right above me gliding gracefully about.  By the time I finished fueling the car the osprey had drifted away to awe others elsewhere, but damn if they didn’t capture my imagination first.

      For all his fame as a transcendentalist and beholder of truths, Thoreau didn’t travel very much in his lifetime.  He spent most of his lifetime in Concord, Massachusetts, with notable trips to Cape Cod, up the Concord and Merrimack Rivers to the White Mountains, to the Maine woods, and one solitary trip across an international border when he visited Quebec.  And yet he saw more than most people who travel far beyond the northeast corner of North America.

      There’s light at the end of the pandemic, though we remain in a dark and treacherous tunnel.  This isn’t the time to cross borders, but the world outside our Twitter feed remains vibrant and alive, awaiting discovery.  The bobcat,  osprey and Thoreau have each inspired me to shake off the creeping prosaic mood that shorter, darker days cloak you in and dive back into adventuring.

      Et toi?  Are you ready to re-join the hunt?  Nothing remarkable was ever accomplished in a prosaic mood.

    • To Hell With Comparison

      “We have so far to go” sighed the boy
      “Yes, but look at how far we’ve come.” said the horse
      – Charlie Mackesy      , The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse

      I listened to an associate talk of stocks purchased and his regret that he only made $300K on his Moderna but would have made a million if he’d stuck with it. He’d already made millions selling his business, and talked of starting another business to build and sell. He’s a hustler, a builder, a big shark in a red ocean always hungry for more. And a charming guy who quickly wins people over with his personality and work ethic.

      Another friend who worked for this friend learned all he could from the big shark and started his own company. He’s built it up to be substantial. There’s no doubt that he’s a big shark himself now, and he talks exactly like the first guy. Rattles off accomplishments in every conversation, big wins, and a trophy house on a famous lake. Also a hustler, he’s built something special but isn’t slowing down. No, he’s got an empire to build and the climb isn’t over.

      You can quickly feel inadequate when you talk to someone who leapfrogs the average. These two make me dizzy when I talk to them, and there’s plenty more just like them who will rattle off wins like entrees on a Cheesecake Factory menu. I can’t help but admire them, and compliment each accomplishment for what it is. And there’s a little bit of comparison that slips in right about then where I think about what I’ve done in the industry versus what they’ve done, and… I silently curse myself for not being a bigger shark.

      “Comparison is the primary sin of modern life.” – Michael Ray“

      When you try to keep up with the Joneses you willingly enter into an arms race you can’t win. But the tendency to compare runs deep. And I thought about my two friends. They talk often, and I wonder about their conversations. I did this! Well, I did this! And so on until their next client calls with a billion dollar deal just in time for the holidays. And I shake my head. I don’t want to swim in that ocean.

      “Comparison is the death of joy.” – Mark Twain

      When you live your life based on how you perceive yourself to be in relation to someone else you can never measure up. And you set yourself up for a life of frustration and exhaustive one-upmanship. And yet most of us do it anyway. Worse, we start looking at what our children have accomplished compared to the neighbors kids and seed our issues right in to the next generation.

      “The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.” – Lily Tomlin

      You can’t help but think about how far you have to go when you start comparing yourself to others. But it helps to look back and recognize just how far you’ve come. Often the best views are well before we reach the summit. We’re all on our own path, and it might just look pretty good to someone else. Shouldn’t we recognize that ourselves and appreciate where we are?

      And still comparison persists. Comparison can be a spur or a cancer. It serves to fuel progress, inspire action, alter our course and generally goad us out of complacency. Comparison isn’t all bad. Until you use it to degrade yourself or those you love, or to win at any cost. In those moments, to hell with comparison. Isn’t it better to be George Bailey than Mr. Potter?

    • Calling Out Crazy

      It used to be that a few among us would get spun up believing Elvis was still alive, Paul was dead, aliens kidnapped the most isolated segment of the population for experiments and Jesus appeared on burnt toast. Those were the days…

      Used to be the this sort of belief distribution system was isolated to the National Enquirer and other cheap sensationalist checkout lane rags. Today any of us in a free society can have our crackpot beliefs and conspiracy theories and broadcast them across the globe with our own domain name or YouTube channel. Amplify the crazy and collect your followers. Find enough followers and the clickbait revenue starts trickling in. Find a crazy enough theory and a big enough audience and you make real money. Now that’s America for you.

      I believe the problem isn’t the crazy theories swirling around us – they’ve always been there – the problem is the amplification of crazy. The enablement of crazy. The endorsement of crazy. And the acceptance of crazy.

      When do you reach the tipping point of crazy? When political leaders endorse the burning of accused witches at the stake? When they start mixing the Kool-Aid and locking the doors? Or when the President’s inner circle endorses beheading rivals or rolling out the military in a declaration of martial law?

      I hear people parroting crazy theories more than ever. You either engage and refute in a vain attempt to educate or you slowly back away. I believe it’s normal to back away. But when the crazy gets amplified, enabled, endorsed and accepted too much and you reach that tipping point the crazy start pointing the finger at you and stacking firewood around a pole with your name on it.

      Sometimes we’ve got to temper the madness around us. Ostracize the outliers to protect the village. Throw that wet blanket on the sparking wildfire of crazy. Call out crazy for what it is and move on to some measure of normal. Before things really get crazy.

    • White Cap

      “I am in love with Ocean
      lifting her thousands of white hats
      in the chop of the storm,
      or lying smooth and blue, the
      loveliest bed in the world.”
      – Mary Oliver, Ocean

      I anticipate a white cap day on Buzzards Bay as a Nor’easter rolls through. For now the bay is restless but content to let the rain fall in abundance to its surface instead of rising up to meet it. For the march of thousands of white hats the current and wind must be more contentious than this. It will come in time, as it always does on Buzzards Bay.

      Nor’easter days are meant for hunkering down, catching up on reading and sipping hot beverages. On Cape Cod the storm will bring heavy rain and high winds. The salty water will surely rise to greet her fresh visitors. I’m a visitor myself; like a river forever moving between the mountains and the sea. I want to leave the comfort of the warm house to walk on the beach. You don’t come this far to look at it from afar. For I’m mostly water, shouldn’t I rise up to meet it too?

      Up in New Hampshire all this water will mean white hats of a different kind, with heavy snow in the mountains and clever swirls of white donning posts and mailboxes in the lower elevations. I’ll welcome the grace of snow-packed trails covering the ankle-breakers when I return to the mountains. Whenever that might be – I really don’t know. But they’ve heard my silent promise to return. We have unfinished business, those mountains and me.

      I laugh when I read polls asking where you would want to live forever. How do you choose between the mountains and the sea? Its a Sophie’s Choice question; asking one to pick between a mountain waterfall and the crashing surf. Instead I look to the Abenaki who moved for generations between the White Mountains and ocean fishing villages. They didn’t choose one over the other, they chose a life in between. And that’s where you’ll find me too.

      So today as the white caps rise, I’m reminded of the Mary Oliver poem above. I’m on the very edge of that in between for this Nor’easter, and the chop of the storm has begun. Who’s up for a walk?

    • Filling the Lantern

      “You should be a lantern for yourself. Draw close to the light within you and seek no other shelter.” – Buddhist Wisdom (according to Leo Tolstoy)

      I waited in the darkness for the sunrise. When you wake early that can be a long wait. The sunset last night was way down the bay and just after 4 PM, making this a long wait indeed. Such is winter in New England.

      But I walked outside and find it really isn’t all that dark at all. The moon is bright, a few stars shine through, and we’re well into nautical twilight start. Were I to let my eyes adjust I could get about quite well outdoors, even if it looks dark from inside the comfortable house. Perspective, on such things as light and time and relationships with others, offers insight.

      For all the darkness in this year of years, there’s still plenty of light even now. It starts from within, and shines outward on the world, reflecting and amplified by others back towards us. But sometimes it feels like the bowl is empty. If your own light is dimmed in the darkest moments, add fuel and oxygen. Seek reflection. And venture out. It’s brighter than you might believe it to be.

      December means early sunsets

    • Halifax Christmas Tree

      If you live in Boston or Halifax you likely know Boston’s Christmas tree is an annual gift from Halifax. Since 1971 Halifax has sent a tree to Boston. Fifty years of tree giving. This isn’t inconsequential. The cost of transporting a tree 700 miles to Boston surely add up. So why make the commitment at all? The story behind that tradition is lesser known.

      In 1917, at the height of World War One, a French ship named the SS Mont Blanc was loaded with munitions and set out from Halifax Harbor for Europe. The ship would never leave Halifax. She collided with another ship in the narrows and caught on fire. When the fire reached the munitions there was a massive explosion that wiped out part of Halifax, killing over 2000 people and injuring another 9000. At the time it was the largest manmade explosion in history. And it occurred in a heavily populated area.

      When Boston’s Mayor Curley heard about the tragedy, he immediately sent a group of doctors and nurses to aid Halifax with medical supplies. Boston’s response was actually significantly faster that Ottawa’s. The team of doctors and nurses spent Christmas 1917 in Halifax, decorating Christmas trees in the hospitals. The bond between Halifax and Boston was forever fused.

      The connection between the two cities goes beyond Christmas trees: Halifax broadcasts Boston’s WCVB and also has a large following of Red Sox and Patriots fans as the games are broadcast there. And then there’s family connections. Since the Port of Halifax was the Ellis Island of Canada, many New Englanders are descendants of immigrants who came through Nova Scotia. The bond is indeed deep.

      In 1971, within the lifetimes of many of the people who lived through that tragedy, Halifax began donating a tree every year. I bet there were several survivors of the explosion who shed a few tears the day that first tree was shipped to Boston. Boston remembered as well, and the tree serves as a reminder of the common bond between the two cities. Today is the lighting of the Christmas tree in Boston, and we turn our eyes north to our friends in Halifax.

      The pandemic has closed borders, blocking access to people and places we took for granted. With the border closed even the Christmas tree took a unique route to Boston in 2020: It was shipped from Halifax to Portland, Maine and then driven down the rest of the way. Many of us look forward to having the borders open again so that we may once again see our friends and kin up north.

    • From Asquamchumauke to Baker: What’s in a Name?

      The Baker River flows from Mount Moosilauke to the Pemigewasset River in present day Plymouth, New Hampshire. On the map the name is cut and dried: Baker. But when you cross the river at the Gorge Brook Trailhead another name emerges from the past: Asquamchumauke. History once again whispering for all who might hear.

      Dartmouth College honoring the original name

      Asquamchumauke means “crooked water from high places” in the language of the Abenaki tribes that once thrived here. It’s a lovely, descriptive name that brings romantic notions of Native Americans living in this place for generations. Yet we’ve called it Baker since well before the American Revolution. The story behind the name change is another fascinating chapter in the violent history of New Hampshire.

      Thomas Baker was a soldier in Deerfield, Massachusetts on February 29, 1704 when the Deerfield Raid occurred. Deerfield was a seminal event in Queen Anne’s War and New England history. French and Native American warriors overran the fortified settlement, 47 settlers were killed and 112 captives, including Baker, were marched up to Montreal. The Native American warriors came from around the northeast, including several tribes of the Wabenaki Confederacy. One of them was a Pennacook sachem named Wattanumman.

      Whether Baker and Wattanumman met during the fighting or forced march to Montreal is unclear, but events would bring them together again eight years later. Thomas Baker led an expedition north with around 30 men and ambushed Wattanumman, a dozen of his men and their families at the site in present-day Plymouth where the Asquamchumauke River meets the Pemigewasset River. Wattanumman and several others were killed and scalped. The men collected furs and anything of value and brought it all down to Massachusetts where Baker was rewarded for his efforts with £40.

      And this is where present-day morality meets the violent frontier morality of New England in the earliest days of our history. Both men participated in violent raids against the other in a time of war. But for fate Baker might have been killed in Deerfield, which may have extended Wattanumman’s life a few more years. Who knows? All of us are subject to the whims of fate.

      There was one other reward for Thomas. To honor what Baker and his men did in this place the name of the river was changed from Asquamchumauke to Baker, a name it still has today. With one event the life of Wattanumman was erased, and the legacy of Baker was sealed. We Americans tend to honor people with place names, while the Native Americans honored the spirit of the place itself. Asquamchumauke: crooked water from high places.

      Has a nice ring to it.

    • Grains of Sand

      “Every time you wake up and ask yourself, “What good things am I going to do today?” remember that, when the sun goes down at sunset, it will take a part of your life with it.” – Indian Proverb

      I’m not sure of the source of the quote, but “Indian Proverb” seems as likely a source as any. There’s something timeless in the wisdom, even as it points out the value of a single day. That old cliché about time slipping by like sand slips through your hands comes to mind. The tighter you try to hold onto it the quicker it falls away. Making sense of time is folly; living each day as if it were our last seems a better place to focus.

      “People say that time slips through our fingers like sand. What they don’t acknowledge is that some of the sand sticks to the skin. These are memories that will remain, memories of the time when there was still time left.” – David Levithan, Invisibility

      The fact is, life is a blur. We aren’t walking down some endless beach here. This patch of sand is all we’ve got, no matter the mad swirl of wind or crash of the waves. What will stick and what will fall away?

      The central question from that Indian Proverb is “What good things am I going to do today?”, which is where those memories that remain come from. The grains of sand stuck to our hand are the interactions with others, the laughs and the tears; the memorable. Those are what make up a lifetime.