Alexandersmap

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    • A Creative Life

      “The creative adult is the child who has survived.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

      A creative life is a lifestyle choice more than an economic choice. I once had that mixed up in my mind, chasing a career path that didn’t suit my particular passion. But with anything done repeatedly, we develop business acumen and an ability to communicate with others that lends itself to business success. But is that enough?

      When I began this blog, it was a way to start incrementally introducing myself back to creativity. It’s paid dividends in other parts of my life as well, with better writing and communication skills (as one might expect), but also in more creative thinking applied to problems encountered along the way. When we let creativity out of the box it becomes a trusted advisor tapping us on the shoulder when most needed.

      Whatever the future holds for all of us, there’s no doubt that the need for more creativity in our lives is essential. It’s a call to arms for the self: do the work that inspires, and grow with it. So what is whispering in the ear now, eager for expression? We must give creativity the light it needs to grow, that we may grow with it.

    • A Fragile Walk

      On and on the rain will say
      How fragile we are how fragile we are
      — Sting, Fragile

      A woman in town walked out on the pond ice to take a picture of the moon and broke through the thin ice. She fought to get out of the frigid water, and when that failed, to hold on for help. After several minutes of struggle a rescuer had a hold of her and it felt like she would survive. But the ice broke on the rescuer and in his plunge he lost grip on the woman. Exhausted and hyperthermic she slipped under the water to her death. The rescuer, distraught and frozen, was himself rescued. I wondered what her plans were for the Saturday evening she wouldn’t live to see.

      It’s thankfully rare for someone to drown in this pond. A friend with a long memory can only recall two other incidents in the last hundred years. He had walked on the ice himself not far from where she broke through, but knew the ice better. She had simply strayed too far from the safety of thicker ice as dusk turned to dark to see the moon. Were it an hour earlier perhaps more people in the area could have made a difference.

      We all tread on fragile ground. Memento mori. Our duty is to recognize this and optimize the time we have left. Don’t fear dying, fear not living while we may.

    • Bridge Building

      “Agency is a divine gift to you. You are free to choose what you will be and what you will do.” — Russell M. Nelson

      “Francisco, what’s the most depraved type of human being?”
      “The man without a purpose.”
      — Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged

      Agency is the essential difference between going through life a serf or carving out a life of self-actualization. It’s the combustion in our engine on this locomotive we call identity. Otherwise what are we but freight cars being towed by someone else’s dream?

      This year has already brought challenges beyond our control, just as every other year in our lives has. We should help those in need where we can, but we must remember not to focus on the chasms we cannot close. Doing so leads to feelings of hopelessness and indifference. These aren’t the tools of agency, they’re given to those who would take them to break their spirit and put out any fire burning inside, that they too may be towed along with all the rest.

      Those with high agency focus on what they can control and take measurable steps to build bridges to realize their dreams. This internal drive is within all of us, but it must be coaxed back out to be realized. Step away from the chasm of indifference the world suggests is our lot in life and move towards bridge building. If we are to do anything in this life, we must begin now. There is no other right time than this one.

    • In the Ripple

      “Men see God in the ripple but not in miles of still water. Of all the two-thousand miles that the St. Lawrence flows—pilgrims go only to Niagara.” — Henry David Thoreau, The Journal of Henry David Thoreau

      As a pilgrim to many a waterfall, including Niagara, I know the call of white water. Isn’t it thrilling to experience the power of water channeled into a plummet? Yet Niagara herself is only a fraction of what she was before most of her water was redirected to hydroelectric power. It turns out that I’m keen on productivity too, and appreciate the clean energy even as I wonder what those falls felt like before they were diminished.

      We focus so much on the ripple we’re making that we forget that a pond was beautiful before the splash is made at all. Deep down we know that those still waters may still be here for what feels like eternity, but humans don’t have that kind of timeline. We feel a compulsion to do something in our time. If it any wonder we’re attracted to the ripple?

      Action is thus our call. Sometimes it’s in service of the harvest; productive and purposeful. Often it’s merely busyness for its own sake, as if churning the waters enough will make up for direction. The thing is, it’s no secret that water that’s been churned up is often murky. To bring clarity we must also have stillness. All this busyness in our lives doesn’t lend itself to insight or revelation.

      I grew up in New England, where great mill cities were built with the power of channeled water. In the spring when the waters are flowing quickly it’s not difficult to maintain momentum in the mills. But after the waters recede, the mills have difficulty getting enough power. So the mill engineers built giant reservoirs to help regulate the flow of water for optimal performance.

      We run ourselves dry if we don’t pause now and then and gather ourselves. We must learn to settle into our stillness and see what it brings. We may find our creativity flows far better when we fill our own reservoir. Seeking out balance in this way brings us to sustained productivity and the ripple we wish to make, and also to revelation and purpose, that we may find the right channel for our power.

    • Realizing Growth

      “You are under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago.” — Alan Watts

      “The purpose of learning is growth, and our minds, unlike our bodies, can continue growing as we continue to live.”— Mortimer Adler

      I finished a second book this year, a good pace if you look at how early in the year we are, but these were stubborn books that didn’t want to finish with me in the prior year. Everything has it’s time, and certainly this rings true with books. Looking at my highlights and notes from each, I’ve made a couple of incremental steps forward this year. Let’s call that a win in a year that has otherwise started out in concerning ways.

      We know that we’re all (sometimes reluctantly) connected, but we must remain focused on our own development over the trends of humanity, and then use our growth as a catalyst for change. Knowledge isn’t something to hoard like a greedy billionaire’s money, it’s something we share with others as we navigate the world together. This blog is written to share what I pick up along the way, but so is a conversation with a random stranger sharing the same space in a café. We never really know how far our ripple will carry, only that this is our time to turn our accumulated experience and learning into a bigger splash.

      The aim isn’t to be an influencer, but to be influenced by the experiences and knowledge we gather along the way. Shouldn’t we all calculate our lives, not by time alive on this planet, but by our accumulation of experience in our living years? As a tree with it’s rings marking seasons, some years are growth years and some are survival years, but there’s a ring either way.

      It’s no coincidence that ripples from a stone dropped in a still pond resemble the rings of a tree (we might take this analogy all the way out to the universe itself—naturally we aren’t the center of it, no matter what our mother’s told us, but surely our energy and matter are an integral part of it). At the core of each of us is identity, focused either on growth or survival (holding on to what we have already). What will this year be for us? We must act on our intentions if we wish to realize growth.

    • Using Words Well

      “A writer is a person who cares what words mean, what they say, how they say it. Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight. By using words well they strengthen their souls. Story-tellers and poets spend their lives learning that skill and art of using words well. And their words make the souls of their readers stronger, brighter, deeper.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

      I’ve had a song stuck in my head for a week that is so profoundly beautiful it changed my perspective on how I want to spend my days. We’ve all had those experiences with art that change us in unforeseen ways. When we encounter prose, poetry or lyrics that awe us with truth, we are inadvertently rising to meet a higher plane of understanding about ourselves and our place in this brief shining moment. We know that the game has changed, and must rise to meet a new personal standard by mining deeper with our own work.

      So many writers tell us that to write better we must read better, and really this goes for all art. But to write better we must also learn to live better, be more present and aware, and through heightened awareness, move closer to personal excellence (arete). Some characters and places are formative, and lead us to places unanticipated before we ascend to that vista. We experience the thrill in discovery in the immediate, and the assurance of familiarity in time. And then it all repeats again with the next encounter.

      The goal is to keep building on the gains made previously. To find new paths worth exploring, to learn something new today, to use that as a stepping stone for something more tomorrow. Writing has brought me farther faster than I would have gone otherwise, but more, it brings creativity to my days that may be applied to other aspects of my life. This creates a snowball effect as each act builds upon the other, as each day builds upon the previous, to create an exponentially greater soul than the one who started this journey.

    • The View of Here

      Gratitude—is not the mention
      Of a Tenderness,
      But its still appreciation
      Out of Plumb of Speech.

      When the Sea return no Answer
      By the Line and Lead
      Proves it there’s no Sea, or rather
      A remoter Bed?
      — Emily Dickinson

      As I write this, my daughter has moved twice to put some distance between herself and the wildfires raging in Los Angeles. She is now thankfully in a safer place, but it was a stark reminder of just how fragile our days are. I read about people losing everything but what they carry with them and I look around and wonder what I’d grab on my way out the door should it happen here. The answer is both everything and nothing at all but the souls who orbit my world.

      It’s no surprise that this blogger leans into productivity and improvement. The question we must always ask ourselves is, towards what? Where is all the hustle and effort bringing us? When we read a book, is it for the simple pleasure of reading that book or are we trying to glean something out of it to help move the chains down the field? We ought to remember the simply pleasures in our march, and learn to savor the view of here.

      The things we are grateful for generally outweigh the things we find lacking in our lives, but humans have a way of focusing on the latter anyway. Constant, never-ending improvement is a blessing and a curse, for this march to personal excellence means we’re rarely satisfied with where we are. Simply taking stock of all that we have already clarifies exactly how deep our blessings run. We don’t need a crisis to clarify, we simply need to stop forever chasing the promise of potential to swim in the abundant depth of here and now.

    • Silence, Exile, and Cunning

      “I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it calls itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defense the only arms I allow myself to use—silence, exile, and cunning.” ― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

      We’re in a strange new world, full of people believing unbelievable things. Or maybe the world has always been strange and unbelievable, and I’ve just risen above the din to finally see it all myself. These are days we’ll remember, at least if we survive long enough and the victors are on the right side of history.

      Belief is a funny thing, carrying us to places we may never have imagined we’d go to, simply because we believed the story that pulled us there. This can serve us well, when used for snuffing out imposter syndrome and such things for productive work. The day I stepped away from anonymous blogging to having friends and family fully aware of what I’m writing (if at all inclined) was a notable moment in my development as a writer. There are other notable moments to come this year on the writing front (I believe this to be true).

      Belief can also be used to control the masses. The world is a far more dangerous place because of shared beliefs of “us versus them”. It leads to mass indifference at the separation of families at borders and the bombing of hospitals and schools, all to keep them from threatening us. We all know the world is a complicated place with no easy answers, but when someone loudly starts pointing their fat finger at another group and screaming “Them!” it’s usually time to back slowly away to look for the real story. But who tells real stories anymore?

      There is no them
      There’s only us
      — U2, Invisible

      The thing I tell people who dare to ask me what I think is that we must build resilience into our lives. Some people believe resilience is hoarding guns, food and toilet paper. There’s a whole economy built around those folks. My own form of resilience lies in creating more diversity in my diet. Better nutrition for the mind and body through selective consumption. More books, poetry and song, less curated social media and billionaire-run mass media. And, as James Joyce suggested, the use of silence, exile and cunning to build a mote between the zealots and all that I know to be true in this world.

      There’s nothing silent about a blog post. It’s a stamp of stated beliefs marking this moment in time. A betrayal that I’m still trying to change the world for the better. We may choose to be a voice for reason and acceptance, after all. At least until things really go to hell and they ship us all to Greenland to mine precious metals for the next generation of self-driving cars, weaponized drones and phones that tell us what to believe next (I digress).

      We may be selectively silent when it suits our purposes, just as we may exile ourselves from the zealots who would have us fall in line. Both tools have limitations in a small world with big reach. That leaves us with cunning. We must be smarter than the average bear, to stay one step ahead of what they want to tell us is true. This is the ultimate resilience, and it begins and ends with our audacity to think differently.

    • Begin Already

      “Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past. Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go.” — Brooks Atkinson

      My writing desk is filled with old receipts, business cards, lip balm and coupons from the holidays. Why do these collected scraps of the past accumulate on spaces we mean to use for more productive, forward-looking work? It’s time to clear all that stuff off and get back to the work that I created this space for. It’s time to write, to dive deeply into questions, to create something more than the scattered refuse of prior days.

      We can’t very well dwell on all that’s come and gone and expect to get to the places we still want to go to in our lives. Are we awaiting warmer days? Inspiration? Enough of limbo, it’s time to begin climbing again. Our future depends on us doing something productive with our time now, not thinking back on what we did then. Begin already!

    • Crossing the Threshold

      “To see that your life is a story while you’re in the middle of living it may be a help to living it well.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

      Some change is obvious. Quit drinking for the month and you can say you had a dry January. Stop eating for a day or two and call it a fast. Write a blog post every day for a year (or six) and call yourself a writer.

      Some change is more subtle—sneaking up on us over time. Read enough books and you begin to think differently. Walk a few steps more each time out the door and find the scale doesn’t mock you as much. Change can be abruptly obvious or a drop in the bucket that overflows with time.

      We are all writing our life story. We are the sum of all that we’ve written thus far. So which chapter are we working on today? Are we encountering the threshold in the hero’s journey, leaving the ordinary for the extraordinary? To feel the rush of crossing the chasm is as exhilarating as it is terrifying. Most of us feel we aren’t crossing thresholds every day. Mostly we feel we’re in the ordinary because it sure feels that way to us.

      Seen another way, every day is a threshold to be crossed. We woke up again! What a thrill that should be! We know where we are, but not always where we’re going. Life is our puzzle to solve in our time. A master class in becoming someone we only imagined before. Doesn’t it serve us to be more creative with the script we’re writing for today? To be bold in our daily decisions pulls wonder out of a previously blank page. So spice it up a bit, grateful for the opportunity! Be bold today.