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    • The Sometimes Saucy Pedantic Wretch

      I was presenting a PowerPoint slide translated from German to English Tuesday, wrapped up our meeting and was discussing a few key points when a woman next to me quietly yet publicly slid a piece of paper across the table to me. It seems there was a typo on one of the slides and she was helping me out by pointing out the incorrectly spelled word next to the correctly spelled word underlining the misplaced “a” in “intuitive” and the correct “i”. Yup, I saw it immediately, laughed and thanked her. Sometimes you see things that bug you so much that you won’t hear anything else in the entire meeting, and that happened to her.

      I understand where she’s coming from. I fight pedantic tendencies myself and understood her need to fix something that clearly needed fixing. That she did it in front of the group in the meeting might have angered some, but for me it was a chance to laugh about it. I stopped worrying about such things years ago, and I was presenting other people’s material so how could I take it personally? But I immediately corrected the slide so it wouldn’t happen again (Never allow distractions to linger in your presentations).

      I rarely use the word “pedantic” in a sentence. And I certainly wouldn’t ever combine words like “saucy pedantic wretch” into a phrase, but when I saw the three linked together in a poem I smiled. I mean, who does that? See there? My own pedantic tendencies flaring up. Anyway, I plucked these words out of a John Donne poem called The Sun Rising because they leap off the screen in a magical swirl just as they likely did for Donne as he put pen to paper writing them.

      When someone uses the word “pedantic” or “wretch” they’re flagged in some circles as aloof. In this world of hipster speak who uses old dead guy words? Then again, the person lacing their sentence with clever words may well pity us our grasp of the English language. But a firm grasp of vocabulary can be either a gift or a verbal Heisman pushing people away: it’s all in how you use it. As I clumsily stumble along learning a bit of the French language I’m reminded to be more humble with the English language. It was clever for the muse to slip that Donne poem into my reading this morning. It got me thinking that, sure, sometimes I might be a saucy pedantic wretch too. But I have a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor about it. Ever since I read that poem I find myself swirling those words together like a tropical drink. And so I offer a toast to wretches everywhere.

    • Old Fort Johnson

      There’s beauty in serendipity, especially when traveling.  Yesterday afternoon while driving from Rochester, New York to Saratoga Springs, New York Waze sent me off the highway onto Route 67, which is a shortcut that cuts off a good chunk of highway.  The drawback of course is that you’re on back country roads in farm country, but I haven’t met an off-the-beaten-path route that I didn’t want to try anyway.  As a history buff I’ve long circled Old Fort Johnson as a place to visit.  It’s hard to hear the whispers of history when you’re blowing by at highway speeds, so having Waze take me off the highway less than three miles from this historic site seemed, well, serendipitous.

      Here’s the thing, small historical sites like Old Fort Johnson aren’t open year-round.  I’ve experienced this many times over in my travels, but you make the most of the opportunities fate throws your way.  The site is open to walk around, and I stepped gingerly in my dress shoes around the main house doing my best to avoid mud on a wet afternoon.  Sure, I could’ve put on my hiking shoes, which were sitting right in the car, but why dabble in logic when the ghosts are calling?  I walked across the bridge onto the mowed lawn surrounding the historic house, touched the limestone walls and felt the vibration of the colonial history…  or maybe it was the Amtrak train roaring down the tracks between the house and the Mohawk River.

      Okay, this was a quick stop, and not as meaningful for me as visits to battlefields or the homes of poets and writers.  But still meaningful.  This site was where William Johnson settled in a place he called Mount Johnson.  He was a fur trader and as such became friendly with the Iroquois, eventually building enough wealth and influence to be quite a power broker in the wilderness of Upstate New York.  When hostilities with the French broke out, he led the local militia as a Major General and was Commander when the French were defeated at the Battle of Lake George and other monumental victories at Fort Niagara and in Montreal.  In defeating the French at these three key sites, the British would control the waterways to the interior and forever evict the French from New York.

      This large home that Johnson built would eventually be passed on to his son John and other members of the Johnson family.  But here’s where things took a turn.  The Johnson family were Loyalists, and with the outbreak of the Revolutionary War, they chose to fight on the British side just as the Iroquois did.  When the British lost, they were evicted from New York, just as the Iroquois were.  There’s a profound sadness in the history of this place.  Where once there was a thriving collaboration between the Johnson’s and the Native Americans, there was now a void, still felt to this day.  Be careful which side you choose, for you may lose everything you’ve built for yourself in the process.  The house remains a monument to a greater glory, and to all that was lost in the next generation.

    • The Abnormal Climb

      “You can’t be normal and expect abnormal results.” – Naval Ravikant

      There’s nothing wrong with normal; the pursuit of normal usually offers you an average, lovely life. But if you want to be ultra-wealthy or a washboard abs model or win the Olympics or be an astronaut or a Nobel Peace Prize winner, well, be abnormal. They don’t just give space suits to the guy ahead of you at Starbucks. Unless that guy is a Navy pilot with a Masters in Astrophysics anyway, and even then his odds aren’t great. Nope, be different than the billions of people marching through life…. or embrace the beauty of average. We all have that choice.

      I’ve dabbled in the pursuit of excellence in athletics, and frankly I opted out early. Pursue Olympic-level rowing? Thought I’d give it a try. Learned quickly that it was a very steep and long climb. I opted to be a big fish in a smaller pond. Regrets? I’ve had a few. Pursuing elite rowing isn’t one of them. I’ve known several Olympians over the years, one rowed out of the same boathouse as me. She won a silver medal! Olympians seem average on the surface, there’s an abnormal core there – a focus, that I deeply admire. But I knew it wasn’t me.

      We all want to be excellent at something, if we’re lucky we figure out quickly what we shouldn’t attempt to excel in. Sometimes great or pretty good still sets us up for an exceptional life. I was a pretty good rower back in my time, but not willing to do the “abnormal” work needed to be world class. I smile thinking about the lecture I heard from the National Team Coach emphatically telling a friend and me that the work needed was far beyond what we were doing at the time (and we were very fit). I appreciated his time and candor, assessed my willingness to execute on the plan and opted out. In a different pond I might have pushed through, but the pond I was in seemed good enough.

      “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain

      This quote on the surface is funny (or scary in this political climate), but peel back a layer and there’s truth in the message. In the context of pursuing the abnormal there’s magic in Mark’s clever quip. Find your unique path, work hard and be excellent at it. Don’t be the majority, be something more. I’ve long since hung up the oar, but hey, maybe the writing will take off. At the very least I owe it to myself to become a better writer. There’s honor in the pursuit of excellence, even if we never reach it. Somebody once said that “never” is a belief, it doesn’t have to be shackles. I saw that in rowers who accepted the same challenge I opted out of who eventually wore Olympic hardware.

      “Blah, blah, blah, blah. DO THE WORK.” – Jocko Willink

      At some point you get tired of regurgitating excuses and you find something to be singularly focused on pursuing. We’re all running out of time, get up and do something already. Balance is important but it’s also an excuse. Prioritize, focus and do the work. Want to be a writer? Do the work? Ab model? Do the work. Olympic athlete? Do. The. Work. We arrive at excellence by what we focus on, and by what we say no to along the way. The day offers the same opportunity for all of us living in a free society, so why exhaust that day coming up with excuses for why you didn’t do something? Get fit, work abnormally hard at your chosen craft, whether writing or astronaut or parent, be consistently, abnormally doing the work, and you’ll reach a level of excellence – or at the very least, be well above average. Seems a worthwhile climb after all.

    • Poetry in Plumbing

      Where does poetry live?

      In the eye that says, “Wow wee,”
      In the overpowering felt splendor
      Every sane mind knows
      When it realizes—our life dance
      Is only for a few magic
      Seconds,

      From the heart saying,
      Shouting,
      “I am so damn
      Alive.”
      – Hafiz, “Wow“

      This morning I assessed the third different shower I’ll use this week. This one was different from the others. Upgraded to a suite for the sole reason that I stay in hotels too much, I walked into a massive room. I’ve written about this experience before, I’ll never use the space and don’t welcome it when I see it. But the shower… the shower I welcomed. It was built like a water park ride that you walk into in a labyrinth of walls and tile. Once inside you’re greeted by a network of plumbing protruding from the walls: huge rain shower head, massage jets on the right and left sides, and a variety of levers to control the whole thing. This was no ordinary shower, and the volume of water used in a shower negated all the towel re-using of the rest of the hotel combined. And it was amazing. I laughed to myself as I was blasted on three sides by pressurized water. What a way to start the day!

      Life is in the moments of wonder and the everyday.  Live every moment in awe of the dance we’re all blessed to participate in, or complain about the things that aren’t perfect in our lives.  Tonight I’ll move into another hotel with (no doubt) a lesser shower. It’ll be back to reality, but for this morning, I was king of the travel world.  So damn alive!  I should’ve booked two nights.  Wow wee…

    • The Calendar Waltz

      They say people are increasingly stressed out on Sunday night with anticipation for the work week. I don’t tend to get stressed anymore. Being in a job I like helps, but so does structuring my days with some measure of sanity. Looking at my calendar this Monday morning, I see that the week is fully booked. That is as it should be, but this year I’ve looked at my schedule through a different lens; Is this block on my calendar the best use of my time?

      “A busy calendar and a busy mind will destroy your ability to do great things in this world.” – Naval Ravikant

      Naval throws out a challenge with this statement. And I struggle with the idea of not being busy all the time. On the face of it I know it’s true, but I tend to overbook myself anyway. There is a rush in being busy, but busy doesn’t translate into productive. Nor does busy equal effective. The next time you watch a great TED talk, pay attention to the gaps; the pregnant pause between words. Space to digest what is being said is critical in a great presentation. And space is equally important in our day-to-day. Increasingly, I use the time in between meetings as quiet time to assess what just happened and what will need to happen in my next scheduled meeting for things to progress. No chatter on the radio if I’m driving, no background music if I’m in the office. This is my space in between to reset my mind, line up my follow-up items, take action as required and to think.

      I write this with an eye on the clock, as it ticks towards a stack of consecutive meetings. I’ve just finished a long drive, reset to write, and will jump back into the day. This pause keeps me sane, more effective when I switch back “on” and overall happier in my life. I’m eager to begin the day, as opposed to being stressed about what I’m forgetting or rushing to a meeting cursing and distracted. I’m all in on the open spaces in the calendar. They make the rest of it more of a waltz than a forced march. Isn’t that a better life?

    • Memories, Kept Secretly

      “What we are given is taken away, but we manage to keep it secretly. We lose everything, but make harvest of the consequence it was to us.” – Jack Gilbert, “Moreover”

      The Carolina Wrenn has been singing to me all winter. I thought he might have gone south to try the dating scene down there, but instead he calls out for companions here. Maybe the mild winter encouraged him to stay, or maybe it’s the seed I offer to the wild birds. Whatever his motive, I appreciate his distinctive voice in the choir of cardinals, blue jays and chickadees.

      Things and people come and go in our lives, as we come and go from other people’s lives. We have images of old friends, our children as younger forces of nature, older relatives long gone from this world and of ourselves as very different people that flash in our memories. Every relationship is temporary; whether five minutes or fifty years. We live and grow and move on, and each experience and relationship brings a measure of depth to our own life. What do we offer of consequence in return?

      This morning I’ll top off the feeders and leave the nest for a week of travel, leaving others behind to watch over things. The feeders will be close to empty when I return; the songs of the fed unheard. The irony isn’t lost on me. We do what we can to build things of consequence up in our lives, and these things enrich us on our own journey even if we don’t always fully experience it. I’ll leave sore all over from a full day of labor on renovation of a bathroom. I must admit the new floor looks good. I always say I’ll never do this again but deep down I like the work and the feeling of accomplishment for having done it myself. I look around at this nest and mentally check off the hours of work I’ve put into it over the years. The bathroom is just the latest project. Eventually, inevitably we’ll move on to other projects, or another house, and this will just be another memory, kept secretly in our minds, with old friends and old relatives, our younger children and maybe, if we’re lucky, the unmistakable song of a Carolina Wrenn.

    • The Possible Nows

      The sky is pastel pink and blue, announcing that there will be a lovely sunrise today. I’m down in the valley in the woods of New Hampshire this morning. To properly capture this show would require a drive to the top of a hill two miles away. I sip my coffee and contemplate the mad dash for the perfect Instagram image, and turn back to my morning routine. I look for the moments and embrace them when they appear, but I usually choose not to chase them.

      By all accounts it’s been a great winter for the Aurora Borealis. I check its progress often, but concede I’m not getting to Iceland, Norway, Labrador or even Northern Maine anytime soon. I’m deeply immersed in work and renovating a bathroom, firmly setting myself in the foundation of family priorities. There is a time for everything, and I’ve chosen not to chase the Northern Lights; once demolition started the work was no longer a choice.

      As I’ve matured I’ve gotten a little better at negating the effects of temporal discounting in my actions. Meaning I’m not dropping everything important in my longer term future to visit friends island hopping in the Caribbean or family beachside in Florida. I count seven spots on my hands where I’ve donated blood to my bathroom renovation this week – believe me, I’d rather have deposited that money into flight tickets and a new bathing suit. But the bathroom offers a greater return on investment at the moment.

      Temporal discounting is more challenging in our daily habits. I have a goal to lose some weight by my birthday in April. But I still grab a handful of M & M’s in the bowl by the door on my way out. One habit offers immediate gratification, the other offers longer term benefit but involves sacrificing gratification in this moment. Temporal discounting is a tough bear to wrestle. The answer lies in removing the bowl of candy next to the door until you can stop seeing it as a desirable gratification in the moment.

      The flip side of temporal discounting logic is the recognition that I’m not getting any younger. There are plenty of examples of people in my life facing cancer or other instant state changes in how they’re able to navigate this life. There’s only now. And so perhaps driving to see the sunrise was the better choice, just as buying the flight tickets might be. Do it now, before it’s too late is a version of do it now because it feels good. It’s temporal discounting disguised as logic.

      And there’s the wrestling match between the possible nows. Do what feels good now or defer it indefinitely (or dismiss it forever) for the greater good. An angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other, both whispering their advice. I could be in Iceland staring up at the sky, swimming in warm tropical sea water this evening, or I could finish this bathroom floor and pack for a business trip tomorrow. I know the right choice, and I know the desirable choice. Don’t we all? Another George Bailey moment on this march through life. But in the end his story turned out okay, didn’t it?

    • More Art

      “If beautiful art does not express moral ideas, ideas which unite people, then it is not art, but only entertainment. People need to be entertained in order to distance themselves from disappointment in their lives. ” – Immanuel Kant

      A nod to Tolstoy for this quote…

      Sometimes you see the truth immediately in a piece of art, in a poem, in a paragraph or a scene. Something that transcends. Something that lifts, prods, pulls you. Art speaks, if we listen. I can remove the word “art” and insert “nature” or “spirituality” or maybe even “love” in that sentence and it resonates the same. Art is all of those things, and all those things in turn are art.

      I’ve learned to say no. No to television news. No (but thank you anyway) to Facebook. No to most entertainment, not because I don’t like to be entertained, but because I want to think. You can’t meditate on the world with a laugh track playing. No isn’t a rejection of the world, it’s an acceptance of more essential things.

      Does that make me boring? Perhaps to someone seeking only entertainment. Then again, I have a lot more to say than I once did. I’m moving towards art, towards uniting people, towards the essential truth in life. Perhaps I’ll find it, but I’m already better for seeking it.

    • Scattered Thoughts

      Today I’ve driven all over the state of Connecticut, and I’ll be honest, I look at the woods and see the ghosts of the Pequot who conceded this land to English settlers.  I also think of Benedict Arnold, a native son of Connecticut, betraying his own neighbors in battle after he defected.  These woods could talk, if given the chance.  Instead I rely on the whispers of those who came before, and it’s really hard to hear them over the hum of highway traffic and bulldozers clearing more land for commercial development.  There’s a lot I love about Connecticut, but the ever-expanding development isn’t one of those things.  Knowing the history of a place makes you angry when you see that place abused, and too much development feels abusive to me.  Does that make me a preservationist?  Probably.  Venus and the moon are dancing this evening, and the wind is howling in Connecticut, as if voicing it’s displeasure at being left out of the tango in the sky.  I stared at the two for a few minutes and left them to finish their dance as I checked into my hotel for the night.  It’s not lost on me that I complain about development while staying in hotels and driving on highways and visiting customers in office buildings. I don’t have a problem with development when it’s done well, it just seems to be mostly down and dirty profit-maximization development in most cases, and where’s the magic in that?  I love the quiet corners of Connecticut, and wish that there were more of them preserved for the future.

      “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” – Anais Nin

      The beauty of writing every day is in the magic you relive in the moments you’ve lived, and in pulling magic out of the air that you weren’t even aware of until you start typing.  I’m not sure why I waited so long to begin writing, but I know I can’t go back to not doing it.  Writing is transformative for the writer, as reading is for the reader.  I’m currently being transformed by reading Josh Waitzkin, Leo Tolstoy, Ryan Holiday, Jack Gilbert, Mary Oliver and Nathaniel Philbrick.  I’m in a routine where I’ll read a few pages of Waitzin, Tolstoy and Holiday in succession and a poem or two from Gilbert and Oliver early in the morning.  I read Philbrick in the evening in a traditional book because I appreciate the tactile experience of reading a book more in the evenings and don’t want to start my day wearing reading glasses, thank you.

      All this highway driving around Connecticut reminded me of an unpleasant moment five years ago as I was driving up I-95 through Connecticut.  A man had committed suicide by jumping in front of an 18-wheeler that had no chance of swerving out of his way.  I was close enough to the situation that they hadn’t covered up the body yet, and I still see the face of the man staring blankly in my direction as his broken body lay unnaturally twisted like a bag of laundry broke on the pavement.  I’ve never been to war, but I imagine my experience with this man shortly after his demise was close to what a soldier might experience.  One moment you’re talking to a person, the next they’re a corpse.  We’re all just bags of flesh and blood and bones.  What makes us alive is our spirit and an energy force of electrical and intangible energy.  That man on the highway chose to give back his energy to the universe, and his body became nothing more than broken matter on the pavement.  Aren’t we so much more than that?

      That intangible energy carries on long after we’re gone through the people we’ve touched in our lives, but what of future generations who never knew us?  Well, I never met Mark Twain or Henry David Thoreau or Mary Oliver, but I feel their intangible energy in the words that they write.  I never met Katherine Hepburn but I feel her energy when I drive through Old Saybrook, Connecticut.  And I never met Coleman Hawkins but I’m stopped in my tracks whenever I hear him preach through his saxophone playing Mood Indigo.  We’re more than a bag of bones and blood.  Our humanity comes from that intangible energy.  When we interact with others face-to-face or through their words on the page it creates sparks, changing us.  Don’t we owe it to the world to pay this energy forward?  To weave our own version of magic?

      So that’s the mission, isn’t it?  Make it your life goal to take that intangible energy, that life force, and transcend the flesh and blood we live in.  Offering more to the world requires learning more, seeking to understand more, observing more, and becoming more.  And in return we reverberate beyond the now.  That seems a better path to me.  Focus on the contribution, and don’t worry about stupid things like WordPress changing you to Block Editor all the time.  There’s so much more to do with the time you have.  Get to it already.

       

    • Reaching New Harbors

      “He is the best sailor who can steer within the fewest points of the wind, and extract a motive power out of the greatest obstacles.  Most begin to veer and tack as soon as the wind changes from aft, and as within the tropics it does not blow from all points of the compass, there are some harbors which they can never reach…
      The poet is no tender slip of fairy stock, who requires peculiar institutions and edicts for his defence, but the toughest son of earth and Heaven, and by his greater strength and endurance his fainting companions will recognize God in him.  It is the worshippers of beauty, after all, who have done the real pioneer work of the world…
      To say that God has given a man many and great talents, frequently means that he has brought his heavens down within reach of his hands.”
      – Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

      I wonder at the sheer volume of words that Thoreau crams into works like A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.  This is not poetry, works like this, but Thoreau’s work is a journey of a different kind, full of observations that make your head spin in wonder if you take the time to digest his prose.  Thoreau is best read in stillness, like great poetry, when you have the time to dance with his words in your mind.  Take this analogy of poetry as sailing with the fewest points of the wind.  A great poet can work with the smallest little puff of prose and go to harbors the rest of us can’t reach:

      “I
      held my breath
      as we do
      sometimes
      to stop time
      when something wonderful
      has touched us”
      – Mary Oliver, Snow Geese

      As with watching a great sailor and learning from the way they set the sails as the read the tell tales and scan the horizon, reading great poetry instructs and inspires.  It’s pulling the heavens down within reach of our hands.  Thoreau finds his way to brilliance often in his work, he just takes a long time to get there.  Reading Thoreau requires sifting.  Reading Oliver you see that she’s already done the sifting for the reader; Whittled down to the essence, what’s left is something wonderful.

      When I write I tend towards Thoreau-level volume.  I’m working on setting the sail a bit closer to the wind.  To dance a little closer to the essential truth.  There are harbors I’d like to visit still.